The Culture of Hooking Up

OBSERVATION

OBSERVATION

There's a difference.

     The girl is of average height, not tall enough to reach two of her friends, but also not the shortest of the group of five. Her hair is the darkest. All the other girls have some kind of highlights, while her hair is closer to a plain shiny black. She's also wearing jeans and sandals, while her friends are a mix between shorts, heels, and dresses. They all are just chatting at the edge of dance floor until one song comes on, and some of their faces light up. They beckon the girl to follow them onto the dance floor, but she only shakes her head and turns around.

     The smile fades on her lips as she shuffles back over to the mostly empty bar. The two guys at the opposite end size her up. Their eyes trace over all her curves, especially the two on her chest. She doesn't seem to notice as she tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the little stud in her nose and in her ears.

     She asks for a shot of tequila and tips her head as she shoots it back. Her lips pucker and her caramel skin crinkles for a split second before her face returns back to neutral. Her eyes remain trained in front of her, staring off at nothing in particular.

     Sometimes you come out to meet people—you only go out to meet people. Sometimes, other times, you don't go out to meet people, rather, just to be with people, surrounded by people, to just be one in a crowd people because it's easier to be other people than it is to be yourself. Other people make it look easier. You take a shot in hopes it'll quiet the noise. You dance in hopes to get lost in the beat. Or you just stare and stare and chug and chug and dance and dance and watch and watch as people move around you, as people seem to be living all around you. They always make it look so easy. Even though sometimes, most times, everyone just wants to be left alone.

     But no one ever really wants to be alone.

     There's a difference.