Friend P. came to visit the patients. Very nice, as I was at home with my leg in a cast and not moving much. I had spent the last few weeks knitting in the garden and in front of the TV, and P’s cheerful visit was a very welcome change from the dull days.

She took a book with her. I had opened several books on my e-reader since I was limping, but I gave up on everything after about three pages. In my lethargic state I couldn’t find anything to keep me interested for more than a few pages.

Fortunately, P. had known me longer than today, about 25 years, and she knew exactly what made me so happy. I unwrapped the book, sniffed it (nothing beats the smell of a new book), and let out a squeal of delight.

After she left, I started reading right away. I couldn’t stop. PhoenixDJ Joost Van Bylen’s new book was just what I needed right now. Great. A trip down memory laneRoXY time, Nighttown, MTC.

sparkling glitter dresses

I loved it. From Rotterdam to Amsterdam, as a teenager and student, I went to many parties. In completely crazy outfits, because that was the greatest pleasure for me: the clothes that accompanied them. I made all the clothes myself with a sewing machine, of such poor quality that I would have been happy if my hastily assembled shiny dresses had lasted all night.

My hair regularly turned the same color, making it look like dead straw after a while. I bought second-hand shoes for a guilder or two and painted them gold or silver. When my mother waved me goodbye, shook her head, and said, “You’re fooling me,” I knew it was all right.

Flashes, smoke machines, rockets, toasted sandwiches, and buying a stamp from the nursery lady for a guilder or something so I could drink water all night for free. The smell of cigarettes in your hair when you shower the next day. The endless dancing.

dripping old feelings

As I read, I found myself feeling a heavy, dripping, old-fashioned feeling. That everything was so much better back then. A time when you could do whatever you wanted without the risk of being photographed by a fellow partygoer.

A time when the internet barely existed. No angry comments and snarky reactions on social media, but warm together, dancing, in a dark hole. It was time for us to have a good party together again.

Every now and then I put the book aside to reminisce. Lots of time, with that broken leg on the couch. I pulled out old photos and posts I had kept in my journal as mementos. It brought back everything from that wild time, the bubbles. The people since then—who have all but disappeared from my life, spending hours searching for song after song on Spotify, clothes Mac and Maggie And from the thrift stores that waited patiently in the clothing box for Puck (12) and Ollie (9).

Yeah, we can all get out of our own way again, wouldn’t that be great? Sparkle out of the closet and go? Well, let’s heal up first. Because with this limp I couldn’t get anywhere for a while. Let alone a wild party.