first shot

This is my shot at fiction/non-fiction. I really want to write fiction mixed with some aspects of real life memories so here was my first draft go at it.

At some point today, they will all think back to that night.

The mama, in the midst of her own world - protecting the newest daughter from the turmoil and reality of life, will remember the time where she won the gold medal in convincing your daughters that everything is well when the world spins out of control. The big sister, plopped on a couch with her own girlies will see an 80's themed movie and remember the costumes & the show they put on for one another. And the baby sis, she will be prompted at a dinner party to conjure up her favorite childhood memory & will ultimately tell her friends about the night of the greatest slumber party ever.

In September of 1989, a hurricane swept up the East Coast as a category five killer - ending 82 lives and leaving 56,000 homeless. For years growing up, I saw people of all ages wearing t-shirts that read, "I survived Hurricane Hugo", and I'd laugh to myself. I was there, and I certainly survived it - but it wasn't an occasion I associated with danger or harm, not even inconvenience. I do slightly recall being without power for a few days and I know that school was cancelled - but when I look back on my five year old memories, I can't really differentiate between the most expensive & damaging hurricane to hit the US in history and the block party we'd had the summer before.

In those days, as now, I could vascilate between light-sleeping and short-term comas, and that was a deep sleeping night - despite trees falling and limbs crashing. The mama gently rustled me and then probably just pulled me straight downstairs into the party. Again, my five year old memory doesn't serve me perfectly but where history falls short, my imagination runs wild.

Down the stairs and turning the corner into the hallway, my sister and mother were gathered in what was obviously the safest part of our little townhouse. There were cartons of ice cream, toppings, and delicious perishables spread about. In my mind's eye, I can see my sister wearing some hilarious creation from the eighties - because a midnight slumber party just wasn't a party in those days without something sequined from the dress-up stash. We had numerous tubular, gaudy, pieces of fabric that we could wear as tops or miniskirts depending on our mood and in truth, almost every memory from that townhouse contains my sister wearing one of those somewhere on her body. I'm sure her thick brown hair was falling heavily beyond her shoulders and there is little doubt in my mind that I could find a hairbrush in her hand, appropriately standing in for a microphone. New Kids, Madonna, but probably Amy Grant blasted on our tape player - muffling the violence that hit against our windows.

Maybe that night we put on a little Cher and did our own version of "It's in His Kiss", as we were known to break out at parties, church functions, or just for our own good fun on a random Tuesday. My mom would stand in front singing lead and she and I would stand in back shoop-shooping to the left, then the right, then the left, then the right. That will be the first song I teach my daughter.

Everything about that night was so magical and awesome - so indicative of what life was like in those days. The world probably felt a little crazy and statistically against my mother, we probably felt a little crazy to her, for sure. Two wild women-little-girls, who unfortunately would only get a little wilder... but she convinced us that the storms were fun and the ice cream would all be gone in a few hours. What else was there to do but live and love in the moment?