The Girl in the Flammable Skirt

Maybe it has to do with the fact that tomorrow night is a night in which all 5-10 ladies will go and hit the clubs/bars and go dancing…dancing to celebrate a future marriage, to relive college moments and to shake the ta-ta’s, but the end of this novel (literally the last line) really struck a chord with me at 5 am (while on an airplane).  I’ve disappeared for a bit and part of that disappearance was to lose my way and re-discover myself.  It’s taken a couple months for me to re-realize that I love my job and love myself, honestly.  What’s real and what’s an illusion of reality?  Either way, I’ll be dancing inappropriately with some ladies this weekend.  Holler.

 

I think of that girl I read about in the paper–the one with the flammable skirt.  She’d bought a rayon chiffon skirt, purple with wavy lines all over it.  She wore it to a party and was dancing, too close to the vanilla-smelling candles, and suddenly she lit up like a pine needle torch.  When the boy dancing next to her felt the heat and smelled the plasticky smell, he screamed and rolled the burning girl up in the carpet.  She got third-degree burns up and down her thighs.  But what I keep wondering about is this:  that first second when she felt her skrit burning, what did she think?  Before she knew it was the candles, did she think she’d done it herself?  With the amazing turns of her hips, and the warmth of the music insider her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?

 

Bender, Aimee.  The Girl in the Flammable Skirt, p.180-181.

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