I finally get to meet Molly.

      The flight to Missouri feels like an eternal journey, even with a couple rounds of vodka in me. Flying isn’t something I do well at all, so I figure, I may as well do it a little drunk. It’s not like anyone is giving me a test on it. Even with a couple rounds of vodka in me, the flight inches by ever so slowly.

When we finally land half a century later, I’m relieved to have my somewhat wobbly legs back on solid ground. Flying is the worst.

       As we’re exiting the plane, I spot Molly nearly instantly in a clearing amongst the crowd. Her face lights up when she spots me. Minutes later we’re wrapped in an embrace, while Jose juggles our luggage. Through excited giggles, I introduce her to Jose. It’s then that I finally notice her husband standing close by. As they all exchange greetings, I find myself studying Molly. It’s so odd to see her here, in real life, in 3D. After a few seconds of sizing her up I notice that she’s prettier, shorter, and much sweeter in person than I had anticipated. A tad quieter too, but that doesn't last long. Our husbands seem to take a liking to each other immediately — talking about cars and things that go vroom vroom or whatever it is that dudes talk about.

      As for Molly and I, we click instantly, but this doesn’t surprise me. After all, we’d already been best friends for months by now. We are virtually strangers, but virtually, we knew each other very well. Or at least as well as one could through electronic devices.

We start our weekend off by aimlessly exploring the streets of Kansas City, stopping at shops and pubs that peeked our interest. As we come across one of my favorite shops, we dart in and head straight towards the back to look for a more robust jacket. I’m pretty sure I froze off my nut sack out there. 

The smell of leather greets us as we breeze through the door. On our way to the back, we stumble upon the baby section. I pause to admire the stylish tiny outfits.  These babies dress better than me.   

Tracing my fingers over a tiny pink dress, I turn to Molly curiously. “Are y’all planning on having another baby?”

I’m not sure why I even asked her this. I don't have an obsession with babies. Not at all. Unless it’s a baby animal. Then the obsession is instant.

Molly shakes her head sadly at my question.

“He doesn’t want anymore,” she says nodding in the direction of her husband.

“Well, isn’t he just a refuser of happiness.” I say jokingly.

She laughs politely at this. It isn’t funny, and I know this.

A moment of awkward silence dances between us and the air seems to go momentarily still.

“How about we grab some drinks?” I suggest.

“I know just the place,” she says.

We wander past a half a dozen sports bars packed with drunken fans, upscale cocktail lounges with velvet ropes, and dive bars that looked like they'd been there since the jazz age, but in a good way. Each place had its own vibe, its own story. As we pass each one, I start to wonder just where she’s taking us.

It’s then that I hear it.

Piano music, but not just any piano music. It’s not the calm quiet, background kind. This sound is loud, vibrant, and accompanied by what sounds like a sea of people singing at the top of their lungs. That’s where she’s taking us.

Bypassing all of the other places suddenly made sense. Of course this where she’s taking us. It’s the perfect mix of classy and fun. It fits her perfectly. Me? Not so much. I’m classless. You could have taken me to one of those dive bars only a few yards away and I would have been just as content, but if I’m being honest, I love the fuck out of piano music. As Molly takes a hard left into the bar, we all follow her.

The entrance is practically vibrating with energy.

As we enter, the pianists are in the middle of a mashup that is somehow a blend of Journey, Cardi B, and a dash of Sting. The crowd is on their feet, swaying from left to right, drinks in hand, singing every word. The lights flash to the rhythm of the beat. I’m delighted by this detail. It makes the music feel alive, as if it’s breathing.

Before taking our seats, we grab drinks at the bar…something fruity and dangerously easy to drink. Sipping our cocktails we make way to front, near the pianos and take our seats at a table adjacent to the stage. A few sips later, I’m singing along to songs that I didn't even know I remembered.

Mesmerized by the collective energy of the room, I don’t notice Molly’s eyes on me. “Come on,” she says tugging at my hand, pulling me away from our table and out onto the dance floor.

Making our way through the crowd, we carve out a space on the dance floor, dancing in unison to the beat.  The lights strobe, making it harder to see.

As we settle onto the dance floor, the crowd melts blissfully away. Closing my eyes, it’s just me and the music, pulsing together in time. My heart seems to beat to the rhythm of the music. Boom, boom, boom, boom.

A few moments later, the vibe shifts. The dance floor fills and the music volume elevates. The crowd becomes alive — moving, swaying, breathing. With my hips swaying to the rhythm, I join the crowd, breathing together in rhythmic unison, giving life to chaotic celebration.

When I open my eyes, Molly’s chestnut brown is glistening beneath the rainbow of lights. Her eyes catch mine and her smile is big and bright. She looks so happy beneath the lights — vibrant, beautiful, and full of love and life.

As the music continues to pulse around me,  filling my existence, I feel is incredibly lucky to be here in this moment, but even more lucky to have found Molly, in a sea of humans, on the internet no less.

As the vodka makes its way to my brain, bliss floods me.

The energy of the room is pulsing and contagious, soon I’m surrounded by new drunken friends, laughing, dancing and having the time of my life.  As I’m letting one of my new friends use my vape, Jose snatches me back into reality. “What are you doing? “ He hisses with disapproval.

“Gotta go!” I say to my new friend, plucking my vape from their hand and giving them a small wave.

When we all finish our last drink, we stumble back out onto the street, drunk, giddy, and filled with a plethora of bar foods. I leave there with my voice hoarse, my face hurting from smiling so much, and three new Facebook friends. This was before I even had Instagram, but if I had, I’m sure I would have followed them there too.

As we leave, I notice the address on the door. 1334. For some reason, it sticks in my memory. As we enter the hotel lobby a few minutes later, I file it away with a variety of useless movie quotes and an endless list of lyrics.

Exhausted and tipsy, we stumble back to the hotel and slip off into our rooms.

When I see Molly the next morning in the hotel lobby, her eyes are big and wide. Grabbing my arm, she pulls me aside and she says in a hushed whisper, “I have to tell you something.”