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“Young Americans.” (Not so hard, if you remember most of the words.) I sang Cameo’s “Word Up.” (I was sucking wind by the chorus.) I sang “You Are So Beautiful,” which is easy since it has six words and lots of breathing room in between. I sang Neil Diamond, which felt like home—this, this , was the voice I was born to sing with. This was me, or at least some song-sung-blew version of me.
    I had tackled “Torn.” I had gotten tackled by the St. Elmo’s Fire theme. And I had tonsil-humped the shit out of Electric Light Orchestra’s “Livin’ Thing,” reaching into my voice box for some strange magic that would take me higher and higher, baby. “I’m taking a diiiive!” I had yelled, to the canned cellos on the backing track, with two of my friends clapping in time on the couch. “I am taking a diiiiive ! Because I can’t stop the sliiide !” Yes, truly, I had sung myself some “Livin’ Thing.” And every song I remembered singing just reminded me of a dozen others I wanted to sing right now .
    It had been a long night. It had been a crazy night. When could I do it again? Where was I going to look for it? Who was going to stop me? Where are all the people singing, and how can I get there? This night has opened my eyes, and I will never sleep again.
    One night of song had kicked open a few doors for me emotionally—I could tell that already—clueless as I felt about what was hiding on the other side. It was one of those and suddenly s that shove you into the final ten minutes of the Lifetime movie, the part where the heroine makes a bold move to escape out the passenger-side window or hit back with the shoe. It wasn’t the end of a story, just a twist, one of the transitions I dread in advance and resent after they arrive. Except this time there was no resentment whatsoever. Only anticipation.
    This was my first time, and other times soon followed. Once I got a taste of what karaoke was, I wanted more, and I began looking into places where this sort of thing happened. Staying out late reminded me how much I loved staying out late. There were still a lot of movies on TV; I just wasn’t home watching them as often. Obviously, singing Natalie Imbruglia songs wasn’t any kind of cure for the blues. It was just a sign of life. Whatever lay outside my room, it was time to go looking for it. I’d kept myself locked up too long.
    I felt like Keri Russell in The Babysitter’s Seduction , the one where she’s a high school diving champion who gives up her athletic career to have an affair with the dad from My So-Called Life , except she doesn’t realize until the last ten minutes that he’s not just a regular Lifetime dad-skank, he’s a psycho killer bastard maniac and he is in fact chasing her through the house with a knife and like, right now so she runs up to the roof where she blinks and gets an and suddenly where she remembers that she knows how to dive . So she dives. Off the roof, into the swimming pool, out of danger. She always knew how to dive—it just took a while for her to remember.
    Once I remembered how to stay out late, I did it every chance I could. I guess I never forgot how to stay out late; I just hadn’t noticed I needed to. There are things we know how to do when we’re on a roof. There are times when we have to remember what they are. If we get lucky, something reminds us to move.

SIX
    8:59 p.m.:
Livin’ on a Prayer
    Let’s get a couple things out of the way right now. One of these things is called “Livin’ on a Prayer,” and the other is “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
    These are easily the two most popular karaoke songs. Indeed, as far as many of my fellow revelers are concerned, they seem to be the only two karaoke songs. Once, spending a night at Sing Sing with my friend Dave, who works as a wedding videographer, he got stressed by all the believin’ and livin’ we heard through the walls. “These same two songs all night,” he said, shaking his head.