We like to party

"Rebellion is an essential skill." -Kelly Daniels, probably

“You sold your house?” I repeated what I heard with an upward inflection so it came out like a question. Melissa, a few paces ahead of me, swatted fake palm leaves out of our path as we searched for our seats on the restaurant’s outdoor patio. Mariachi music played softly from speakers hidden in the potted plants behind our heads.

Melissa had been living in rural red state Colorado in a neighborhood designated for single family homes. When she bought her 3,000 square foot house, she was married and thought she’d fill the home with kids. After her divorce, she covered her mortgage by renting out one of her rooms to a lesbian couple. The pride flag she defiantly placed in her front yard had been the last straw.

“I got written up by the HOA for having an unruly lawn. My next door neighbor was the president — an asshole cop that everyone hated. I went over there and told him, ‘Hey, my twin sister just killed herself so you can get fucked.’”

“What did he say?” I asked, incredulous.

“Sorry.” Her eyes danced with deviant satisfaction.

I met Melissa when we were eight. She and her identical twin Kelly sat cross-legged on the dusty wooden bunk floor, surrounded by a mountain of candy their parents had snuck in against camp rules. “Want some gum?” they offered in joyful unison, eager to share in their bounty and transgression. Under the shadow of the Poconos, we wove our childhoods together with brightly colored lanyards and our first tasty tendrils of freedom.

In 1999 all twin girls were forced to choose an identity: “blue twin” or “pink twin” (written into law by Mary Kate and Ashley and exhibited here by Kelly and Melissa)

Kelly and Melissa carried the invincibility of childhood into their adult lives. Melissa spent her free time backcountry skiing, rock climbing, and mountain biking. Kelly, meanwhile, was a music festival enthusiast and brilliant engineer. She once bought an ambulance and converted it into a mobile home using only YouTube as a reference. On a trip overseas, she bungee jumped twice in a row — the second time for free by agreeing to do it naked.

“So I guess the last time I saw you was a year ago, at Kelly’s funeral.” I scanned her face for signs of discomfort and saw none. “How have you been doing?”

“I mean, not great obviously.” She laughed. “The last three years have been absolutely fucked, but what can you do?”

Three years ago, Kelly started having unexplained neurological symptoms: 24/7 chronic pain, extreme, unintended weight loss, and a sudden inability to walk or read. An endless stream of doctors and specialists had determined that her immune system was attacking her nervous system but couldn’t explain why or offer any solutions. The pain was so unrelenting, the hopelessness so flagrant, it was not surprising to learn her condition was known colloquially as “the suicide disease.”

“You know, my health hasn’t been that great lately either,” Melissa said into her drink, averting my gaze. “I started having the same symptoms as Kelly, which obviously, you know, freaked me the fuck out. Apparently I fit all the markers for a connective tissue disorder, which, in a sick turn of events, means my immune system could begin attacking my nervous system.” Just like Kelly.

Our last summer at camp, we spent three weeks learning to film and edit a music video. We borrowed dusty costumes from the theater department, put glitter and found objects in our hair, and danced beneath the shade of red maples and chestnut oaks to the Vengaboys’s We Like To Party. While girls in other bunks were starting to bend their petals towards the boys’ sunshine, Kelly and Melissa gripped hard onto childhood and kept us away from lipgloss for at least one more year.

On the anniversary of Kelly’s death, I sent Melissa a Vengaboys t-shirt.

The summer before we went to college. Kelly bleached her hair platinum and refused to wear shoes.

“I listened to a podcast about a 60 year old woman who realized she hadn’t done anything important with her life. Can you imagine anything sadder?” Melissa said as we waited for our check. “I decided I’m going to do everything I want since, you know, who knows how much time I have left.”

I thought back to the day I learned of Kelly’s passing. How I had dismissed her illness as an anomaly: a virus she picked up in a developing country, or the wrong concoction of party drugs done carelessly, too many times. I hadn’t considered genetics, how her identical twin could be equally as susceptible. I hadn’t considered losing them both.

We spent the rest of the night listing things we wanted to do before we died, reminiscing about the spaciousness of childhood, and lamenting the inevitable narrowing of possibility. I promised her we’d do a real reunion this year with the other girls from our cabin. I tried to memorize the moment as I hugged her goodbye.

I was still thinking about Kelly and Melissa the next day when I wandered into my neighborhood cafe, clouded by brain fog and a profound sense of injustice. Even though I was close to home, I felt an internal nudge to use the bathroom before heading back. The moment I shut the door, the familiar circusy bass of the Vengaboys began to churn over the restaurant’s speakers.

We like to party, we like, we like to party.

My heart vibrated with knowing tingles that plunged into my stomach. I clicked the lock shut, steadied myself against the cool tile wall, and felt the tears I’d been swallowing fall down my cheek. “Hi Kelly,” I whispered.

I don’t think we ever really die. I believe our souls go on to play out other stories and other lives, connected through the lessons our spirits want to learn and the desires that propel us through each lifetime. Kelly’s soul came here to experience the party, and she burned bright with righteous rebellion and a hunger to do whatever anyone deemed impossible.

If you want to meet Kelly, it’s not hard to channel her — and while you’re still here on Earth, I recommend you do. Wear clothing with brightly colored patterns. Get a tattoo, but let the tattoo artist pick the design. Book an international flight that leaves tonight. Shave your head. Speak your mind. And always say yes to the party.