by Julie Helms

Created on: August 17, 2009   Last Updated: November 01, 2009

Uplifting

Warm, close, a murmur of voices. The people in the room are animated and connected to each other. I feel I belong though I am watching, not interacting. I am wrapped in security and isolation, quiet and listening. The crowd presses in on all sides, I am protected. The conversation blurs, the level of noise rising and falling, a cadence with a life of its own.

Then across the room, a frothing of laughter erupts and I look over to see my good friend, Heather, hoisted up on someone's shoulders. Her brilliant red hair curling around her face is magnificently set off by the emerald green silk scarf draped around her neck. The scarf puffs out behind her as she is moving through the party on the shoulder of her captor. I can hear her laughter ring out above the conversational murmur. She is so beautiful and happy. She must feel like a princess!

I raise my hand and wave to her, trying to get her attention. She sees me and waves back! But she is not in control of her destiny and is inexorably moved in a direction away from me. I weave and wedge between the warm bodies to try and catch up to Heather. I am laughing, too, because I am so happy to see her again. Her bouncing red hair and green scarf retreat faster than I can catch up.

I reach the edge of the room where there is an elevator. The doors are closed now. I don't know why they have taken her to another floor-I thought the party was only on this floor. I can see by the lighted indicator that they have gone up one floor. I will just wait for the elevator to return and follow her up. While I wait I turn back and look into the low-lit room, flashes of a dozen different conversations drift toward me, people gesticulating to make their points, some slow dancing to an undercurrent of thumping music. The relaxed camaraderie is palpable.

I turn back and see the indicator has not moved. Enough of this. The entrance to the stairwell is on the other side of the room, so hugging the wall I head around the crowd. It is much faster, with fewer obstacles, than cutting across. I arrive at the door with its mood-busting, glowing EXIT sign, push it open and walk through. The heavy door closes solidly behind me, effectively blocking out all sounds from the room. I am bathed in a brilliant, glaring, white flourescent light from overhead and the silence echoes up and down the stairwell loudly. I quickly trot up the stairs, my dress heels making gunshot noises with each step.

The next floor landing arrives quickly and I

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