Stealing The Shoes of Spontaneity

I am not sure if it was the miles of biking I had done all day or the fact that I finally got up and got my blood moving that made me pick up the phone on Tuesday and call my sister. I asked her if she want to go downtown and bowl like old times, when she still lived at home and we weren’t so busy. She was shocked that her newly dubbed lazy sister wanted to do something and she agreed right away. I called an old friend and asked if she wanted to tag along.
It was eight when we crawled in the Lexus and drove downtown. We stopped at Starbucks for a jolt of caffeine and way too much sugar, and by the time we hit the Union we were already too crazy for our own good.
I must admit, I was the best bowler. I could, and hold me to this, bowl 8 gutter balls in a row, while trying. I mean I would line the ball up with the little arrows and somehow, about halfway down the lane, my ball would get scared, slow and curve away from the lane, hop into the gutter, hitting not one pin. I had a crazy speed of 5.6 miles per hour with my orange ball, a close third to my sister’s 19.22 and friend’s 17.6 bmph. A night, obviously dull, picked up fast with the help of 3 nerd ropes and enough sour patch kids to send me spinning. Slippery shoes hit the lanes, and I was moon walking over the do not cross line. Three games, three girls, three pairs of shoes, walked up to pay. We set the shoes on the counter, got back our ids, paid the bill, and the lady turned away. The shoes were just sitting there, asking to slip into my friends over sized bag. We all locked eyes. We wanted those shoes, neon, tacky glory and all. Guilty conscience took over as we walked out, regret filling our soles, (of our shoes of course), and at that moment we needed enough spontaneity to make up for it. We ran down the long, dark sidewalks of campus, screaming songs too loud, swirling around lamp poles, attempting to moon strangers, sneak into the boys dorms, and steal bikes. We crawled into the car, cranked up the tunes, and drove, belting “All My Single Ladies” way too loud. Each stop light meant a crazy Chinese fire drill. Throwing our shoes off and running as many times around the car as possible, screaming and laughing until we hurt, we would throw ourselves back in the car and keep driving. As we twisted up the long hill of 2222, I told my sister to pull over, and swerve into a parking space at mount benelle. The curfew said 10, but at 11:30, we were prepared to face darkness. We crawled the hundreds of steps, in pitch black, past couples wrapped in blankets, who were silently macking, and stood at the top of Austin. It was gorgeous, lights acting as the towns little stars, and above us, a sky so clear, held the big dipper and a half moon. After several pictures, we ran back down the stairs, tripping and laughing each time we missed a step. High on spontaneous, we made the music louder as we made our way up to the condos at Jester. We swerved around poles and snuck in to the apartments.
The night was everything we would never do. Loud songs, roof down, cold wind in our face. We laughed and sang and gyrated to the music and had the time of our lives. When I finally got home, I realized how long it had been since I just had fun and didn’t care. How long it had been since I didn’t worry about homework or money or what I looked like and threw my shoes off and ran through the streets, laughing until I coughed myself into the grass and rolled down hills. It had been a long time. I missed the feeling of just being stupid crazy fun. I didn’t want that. Having to slow my life to make fun fit in. I wanted to live a life that was fun and never held me back.
I didn’t steal those bowling shoes, and I am glad I didn’t, because I wouldn’t’ve searched for the spontaneity somewhere else. But that high from fun, that, I always know I can get. One night can change your life, and I plan on letting it do just that. I will have more fun and be more fun, because you only live once, and because I can’t promise I wont steal the shoes the next time I go bowling.