This is my kind of music.
This is jump-up-and-down-and-scream kind of music.
This is wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve kind of music.
This is give-me-one-second-to-breathe kind of music.
This is a-future-we-can’t-believe kind of music.
This is where-were-you-in-2016 kind of music.
This is the music for me.
That night, we were defiant.
We were not stupid.
We knew what was happening to our world.
What had already happened to our world.
But we did not let that become our whole world.
So we went and we danced and we screamed along, because if we didn’t, we would be writing our history in cold sweat.
But also because we were 16, and when the DJ plays your favorite song, I’d like to see you not go and dance and scream along.
We were young.
We were young.
We were 16.
We had not felt 16 in so long.
That night, we all danced together.
Boys, girls, boys-who-were-girls, girls-who-were-boys, people in between and outside.
We danced and screamed and threw our heads back, because what else could we do?
Monday, we would go back to sanding over swastikas.
Monday, we would go back to boys being afraid to face the locker room talk.
Monday, we would be able to see the enemies all around us.
But that night, we could barely see each other, obscured by the DJ’s pulsing lights.
That night, we threw our heads back and cursed the world and revelled in the fact that we were young, we were young, we were 16 and making history.
We danced to my kind of music because if we were going to be a future student’s primary source, the least we could do was give them a good show before Rome burned down.