When your fever is 102, but Beyonce is playing.

Monday, May 25, 2009

I had been sick for a few days, but I was determined not to miss Salzburg's latest AG fest.  Everyone we knew would be there, and our friend Francesco was DJ-ing it.  Against Caroline's advice, I went -- there was no stopping me.  Kayla and Lindsay came along, obviously, as did the rest of our friends.  

And Francesco did not disappoint; he was playing all of "our" songs back to back to back.  As the night progressed, though, I guess I began to look sicker...and sicker...and sicker.  For example, Tim came up to me and put his hand on my forehead and said, "I think you need to go home and lie down."  "What are you talking about?!, I feigned confusion.  "I'm fine!"  

I began to sweat so much, though, that it was objectively undeniable that I was sick.  But just as Caroline approached me to tell me for the eighth time that night that she was calling me a cab and that I absolutely had to go home and get in bed, the intro to Crazy in Love started playing.  In that moment, even she couldn't deny that the only place I belonged was at that party, and, more specifically, on that stage.  

Caroline came with me -- and of course Francesco loved it -- as we made our way to the stage, front and center.  My fever was so high that the whole thing felt like a dream -- like a hazy, foggy, blurry dream.  In actuality, I could have been hallucinating and I wouldn't have known the difference.  Nevertheless, it was glorious.  It was ridiculous, it was crazy (in love), it was our moment.

After the song ended and I felt as though my fainting in front of (or maybe into?) the crowd was imminent, Caroline and I forged a path from the stage to the bar.  I had been holding a glass of white wine in my hand all night and hadn't taken a drink because I felt so ill.  Not only did I now have no idea where that glass of wine was, but I needed water and only water.  The line for the bar was long, so Caroline elbowed her way to the front and yelled, "Wasser!  She braucht Wasser; sie hat Fieber!", indicating to the bartenders that her feverish friend needed a water, and asap.  

I drank the water in an instant and then back to the dance floor I went, determined to make the most of this evening, fever or no fever.  Caroline had resigned herself to the fact that I was staying, so the four of us danced for hours, periodically ducking into the bar for hydration.  By the end of the night, everyone was a little sweaty, I'm sure, but I looked like I had just completed a triathlon.  Better yet, I looked like someone who had tried to complete a triathlon, but was ultimately too weak to finish.  Basically, I looked like someone who needed to go to the hospital immediately if not sooner.

When we got home that night, I went into the bathroom to change my clothes and get ready for me.  I took off my tank top and actually wrung it out over the sink.  It was that sweaty.

But you know what?  If that's not the sign of a night well spent in Salzburg, I just don't know what is.








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