Awwwwwww Freak Out! (Le Freak, C’est Chic)
Last night as LCF and I were walking east on 9th street between 1st and A, we passed a veritable GAGGLE of teen girls clustered protectively together on the stoop of a brownstone, and they appeared to be in the midst of some kind of cataclysmic freak out. The blond star of the show was curled against the rail on the second step, and was wailing at the top of her lungs, “But I don’t WANT to go home! I’m SCARED of my MOM!!!” All around her, deeply concerned faces crowned by lush ponytails bobbed and weaved, consulting each other gravely and offering empathic advice. Clearly I was riveted. I remember so well how hungrily I fed off of drama like this when I was their age, how all of us did. I remember both the rush of being the center of all that burgeoning maternal attention when I was the one with hot probs, and how grown-up it felt to have to deal with a “friend in crisis.” In retrospect I can’t remember any of the actual circumstances, but I can still play back impressions of it like my very own Lifetime Original Movie, complete with commercial breaks so everyone can enjoy a round of General Foods International Coffee. I know I shouldn’t make light of the fact that a girl was freaking out on the street. Maybe her Mom really is a violent monster to be feared and protected from. But in my experience, kids in really abusive situations tend to be a bit more hush hush about it, even when they are reaching out for help. No, I’m pretty confident that this was a genuine teenage pity party supreme, and I can tell because I’ve been there. Part of me wishes that adult friendships could still be like that, even though I know it would be totally weird an inappropriate for my friends and I, even the ones I’ve had since I was a teenager, to act that way. Back when I still roamed in packs though, turbulent emotional catharsis was as natural as breath.