Good Times

It was a flurry of bodies. A friend of mine called, asking to hang out. I said yes. I didn't think much of it. We spent a bit of time at a shared location, a church building on campus. It was safe and familiar. She asked me if we could go to a bar. I didn't have a problem with it, and called my roommate. There's a function, I told him, and gave her the details. He had work the next day, but I knew he'd drop anything for a chance to get out of our roach infested pretty pink princess palace. When we got to the bar, something else was happening.

Next to the bar, across from the barber shop, was a thrift store. Tonight, I saw a surprising amount of people there, and muted music was blaring from the windows. Thankfully, my roommate had a bit of cash on them so we were all able to get in without a problem. It was dark, sweaty, and filled with the noise of drum and bass. Kick drum, pause, snare, kick drum snare, and I could recognize it anywhere. It was surprising. We all lived in a small town in the Southern United States. Not a place known for its electronic music, nor a place known for accepting—only tolerating—the kind of people in this establishment today. There were all kinds, in all colors, with all kinds of hairstyles.

I knew I wanted to dance, so I asked my roommate for money for a drink. Already buzzed from a Steel Reserve I pounded in the parking lot, I went up to the bartender. Drinks were five dollars. She smiled at me and asked me what I wanted, I said, rather bluntly, anything with alcohol, and a lot of it. She asked me if I was okay with vodka and I said yes. Then, she asked me if I wanted something else with it, and I said yes even though I didn't hear what she said because the music was too loud. It was cranberry juice, in all of its dark crimson glory. She poured a truly prodigious amount into my cup. It must've been at least 3 or 4 shots in one drink. I drank about half of it before asking for more juice to dilute the alcohol. Finally, on Noctulian demon time, I was able to enjoy myself.

My roommate was dancing, my friend was dancing, and eventually, I was dancing. Not well. It was paradoxically awkward and smooth. My mother once told me I had no rhythm, and treated it as a transcendental endowment that you either had or didn't, but I knew that with every kick drum I heard, an arm or a leg should flail in one direction or another. I was in a deluge of sweat. I danced, like Zarasthustra, or Shiva, presaging the end of the world. I didn't care if it looked good, I just wanted to move with the fullest intensity by body could muster, because I wanted everybody around me to move with everything the monads of their souls could offer to a sick world, bathed in Coleman breaks and their universal infection, terminally online sped-up 4 by 4 pounders, dark lights, lubricated by alcohol.

But, after that, there was a problem. My friend was too drunk. It took an angel to save them, with hair blonde like the Valkyries of Valhalla. Suddenly, I was outside of the bar, sitting with them both, trying to make sure my friend got enough water into her system. I was drunk myself, and nearly useless. The concert ended, but a bar was next door. Plenty of people moved there afterwards. I was floating between the bar and the street outside, watching my friend and watching the crowd. My roommate didn't help, their indifference was palpable. I couldn't expect them to try, but it would've been nice. Polite strangers of no relation had to fill in the gaps between my own personal absences. It's there, in that space of care, where we find ourselves descended from the Gods.

After a shuffle of drunk calls, my friend got picked up by an ex-boyfriend outside of the Masonic Lodge because we made the miraculous decision to drive three blocks down the road, and she was too drunk to try to drive home, and neither me nor my roommate wanted to leave. I went back into the bar, between smoking a cigarette every chance I could. It was karaoke night. Everybody was singing while I was waiting for the bathroom. I made a few different ephemeral connections with people who passed by, people I never expect to see again, but who I was glad to share a single, solitary night with. We spoke of class, metal, professors, music, life. It was a college town with college concerns.

Unfortunately, to the detriment of everyone there, I sang. It was a number from April March, Chick Habit, which in my mind I dedicated to both my status as a bachelor and my utter stupidity, which was on its utmost display this evening. Other people sang songs that I remembered as a teenager, but the one I remember the most was a rather spirited rendition of Chop Suey, from a trio of college students. After that I had to wait a while before my next. While incredibly drunk I sang Le Pénitencier from Johnny Hallyday by requesting House of the Rising Sun by The Animals and trusting that I wouldn't fuck it up. The place was almost completely empty by the time I got there. We ended the night by singing My Way by Frank Sinatra. I sang it with the karaoke host and I couldn't get Perfect Cell from Dragon Ball Z Abridged out of my mind.

As I was waiting outside I saw a woman come out while I was smoking a cigarette. She told me she was waiting on a ride. She said she was too uncomfortable to walk home with how she was dressed so I asked how far her apartment was and if she needed someone, someone who looked like a man, to walk them them home. My roommate came out of the bar after getting stuck in a conversation with someone they didn't seem enthusiastic to talk to, I wasn't either, hence the cigarette. We walked with our new friend all the way to a fast food place. I spent most of the time there listening to music on my phone, from Skrewdriver to Bathory, while watching stray cats wait around to see if anyone would give them food. We walked her to apartment, chat a bit, met her cats, and ended the night. I was finally able to sleep, and I dreamt dark, bizarre dreams, where I saw my friend, angry that I had spent the night with someone else.

1,141 words.

Special thanks to R for helping take care of my friend, truly our presence was blessed by your arrival.