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You were scared. It was like an out of body experience; you didn't feel like yourself. The noise, the dizzying crowd, the people that spun around aimlessly, losing themselves and their inequity into the transient night. Incessant chatter of debaucherous nature elicited boldness for more of its own, encouraged by the excitable mood lights and its seedy atmosphere. The crowds’ collective shame, their loss and their unspoken words or maybe the regrettable change of heart; actions withheld, all simultaneously bubbled up to be released like the foam in their alcohol, the poison that increased the dizziness tenfold as the women laughed and laughed and laughed…
And the lights, oh, the lights. The advent of coloured, dazzling lighting tends to capture the attention of insects and folks alike, don’t they? Unfamiliar faces flash blue while glitter on their bodies shine iridescent. The swarm ravages amongst the pink, yellow and green, groping blindly, yet boldly along with their hobbling gait and uncertain footsteps. In the cold of the glossy dance floor, lost against the radiating body heat of the crazed gyratory folk. Hair of all types whip across your lonely gaze as you try to avoid stray marionette limbs. Outside the premises, you were sure the crows shaken up so badly by the inside noise were envious of the ostrich ability (a myth) to hide their heads in the taut ground while the devious party-goers who had one too much to drink empty their night’s content onto the undeserving silken-tiled floors.
The speaker was too close to your head. With every pound of the bass eliciting a spike pushed through your ears. You must leave. Or at least get away from that thing.
Pushing through the crowd was madness. They seemed too absorbed in their own opioid love for getting in your way. You try your best to prevent your toes from getting stepped on by stilettos at pinpoint, yet somehow dropping your head in apology to the unfaltering dancers. It wasn't like they could hear you after all.
Behind the counter at the bar, the rightful place of the mystical bartender where he stands for hours, performing his usual whirl of glass; you could swear he shot you a look of mere disapproval through the countless bottles of wine, whiskey and spirits that you were too young to recognise the names of.
There was a sudden screech of a lone microphone, followed by the tremendous roar of the masses. You didn’t hear what the announcement was about, you were too busy covering your ears. The lights dimmed further as the crowd grew more welcoming for an awakening, turn of the century disco-mania. Or so like it seemed.
You tried to peek through the silhouettes of heads and shoulders onto the glowing stage. A group of four people stood daringly atop it. A group? No…it appeared more like two troupes. A dance battle?
What was funny was that one of the guys looked really, really young. Perhaps it was the contrast of the dim lighting about you with the excellence of the spotlight on the boy, but you couldn’t make out his features very well. However, despite all that gleam and glow that obscured his face, his small stature remained obvious nonetheless. Standing beside his counterpart, he was an estimated 1.6 meters. No more than that. The distinctive rivalry of the players was made clear from the great length of empty room between the pairs, and if that wasn't clear enough to showcase their gamified dissension, each troupe had donned a coordinated outfit. A show of team spirit.
They began to introduce themselves.
The boy and his counterpart were dressed in a patchwork of neon colours. A suitable uniform for the ceremonial march-in of the new dawn of many more luminous nocturnes to come. He wore black boots that illuminated – reflecting that which belonged to the overhead lighting straight into your eyes, causing you to squint. What was funny was the two suspender belts that hung from his waist that sloped over to his knees. Avant garde, you thought.
A couple was going ham and screaming at the top of their lungs behind you. Funnily enough, their voices overpowered that of the now faraway speakers. You couldn't hear a single thing. The words the troupes spilt out sounded like distant rambles that resembled garbled input of one facing a major sluggishness. But the unmistakable adolescent pitch of his voice had confirmed your unremarkable postulation of his brazen quality, and you supposed that he was not far from your own age, causing a voice to ring in your head;
What’s a boy like that doing here?
The music played. It was forthcoming. The music of our era.
The endless nights of toil and neon solitude resonated and paired with the frequency of the bassy sound waves and they shot through your heart and probably the hearts of many others. The era of the new Millenia, the new age of the eternal, pure, fellow adolescent who have no choice of happiness but to lose themselves into the night. The kind that is searchable within every past generation. The parents scream of waste potential, but they scream back, defiant. The last chance for corporate defiance before they forget who they are. They are the bottom rungs of society, and though you might not feel that way, you understand.
And through all the glitz and the glam, the resounding cheers of the fortunate onlookers, the boy started to dance his heart out. Each stride with lethal confidence yet the pure elegance of a kingfisher, under the loyalty of his very own precessing spotlight. His belts swayed with the snap of his hips, almost gracefully even, like the ornamental feather tails of birds of paradise. It was almost funny; perhaps it was the thrill of the loud bassy music or the blinding flash of the paparazzi lights, but he seemed to glow an otherworldly shine. Others seem to have noticed it too. The coruscating teen dancer captured and drew out quickly yet effortlessly, the support of the hysterical crowd along with their drunken bellows and javelin arms; they determined the morale of the night, the outcome of the battle which ended up terribly one-sided.
The boy and his partner gleamed with satisfaction, almost smugly, as if the outcome had been obvious since the start. At the resounding finality of the competition, the crowd behind you decided that they couldn’t get enough and maybe arranged in their own dazed hive mind that they needed to get one stage to experience more of their narcotic remedy, and started pushing to get onto the same dance floor. Unfortunately you were caught in the mess as well.
On the stage, you fell and scraped your knee. A flashy stranger helped you up and through the noise, mouthed an “Are you okay?”. You nodded, and that was about it, feeling a trickle down your knee.
Amidst the mob, you looked down and saw a pair of shiny, black leather boots amongst the vivid footwear that you swore you have seen somewhere before recently.
The rest of the neon couture confirmed your suspicions. His outstanding, feathered green highlights were what caught your eye. Just a few metres away from you, the boy swayed his body alone amongst the overwhelming sea of merrymakers. The realisation only hit you that you had been staring when he returned your gaze, which was surprising, considering the ever-moving crowd. Running away was deemed cowardly, especially since it seemed like you two were the only fair contestants for each other in this farcical showdown. The rest being either the responsibility-tethered or the drunken and lost. It was just him and you in this liminal headspace, and for some reason it was the latter who decided that the earlier performance on stage had been in need of an epilogue.
What had been the cause for this unprovoked boost of boldness, you wonder. There had been no reason for it. Maybe it was the similarity between both obviously restless souls that had elicited such purposeless rivalry. But then again, this night had been a purposeless dream.
The start of a new millenia for you shall be coerced with an esoteric moment on the dance floor. One with just the two of you, one of which is forced into this meaningless feud of your headspace.
You began to follow after his every move. With every lift of his hand came with yours shortly afterward, and with every step of his, you never missed a beat. It didn't take him long to notice, and even so, not a hint of resentment was depicted by the boy, not in his graceful movements, nor on his face. Catching on to your small competition, an accepting smirk grew on his face.
You wondered what was on his mind. Maybe a diss directed to your impertinence.
He continued to bring out the best in himself, yet the difficulty of the challenges rose. With each move you nailed down, he ends up proving that he was not to be bested so easily. After all, he did emerge victorious in the battle just a while ago. As if to shake off his newfound, unmannerly rival, he broke out into his signature pop and lock, devoid of his crewmate. His subsequent twist to break dancing caught you off-guard, ending off his lengthy move in an effortless one-handed windmill and finishing with his body to the floor. The envious on-lookers began to make space for him and gave a resounding hoot. It's not like you could emulate what he just did.
Dismissing your mild chagrin, you brought your palms together in a slow applause. Defeat was yours. It had always been yours to begin with. One should know better than to challenge a winning breaker. You gave a small smile.
The stage had been set with ample space now. The crowd has given in to the boy and let him have his moment of accentuated glory on display. Wrinkled hands with antiquated beads and sophisticated diagrams on wristwatches overpower those of which smothered with glow sticks, as they shoot from all directions to try and grab onto the boy. He simply let it happen, giving in to the crowd as they snatched the hems of his jacket and trousers, shoelaces coming undone. The popular angel of ardency bequeathed the yearning masses with a touch to spare for satisfaction, perhaps only to be forgotten by the time the next sun rises. He was so close to you, all you had to do was stretch your hand outwards to grab him, to free him from the grasps of the needy. However, his lack of a fight put up against them revealed to you a deeper form of resignation, even more so than just a silent ennui.
Suddenly worlds apart, the two of you seemed. You can’t save anyone who doesn't need saving. Heck, you can't even save yourself in the first place.
A piercing siren blared from the outer rims of the convoluted dream space. Disturbed by the sound that permeated into their contained reverie, the throng changed its direction and started to move again. This time in a dire state of frenzy. People let go of the boy to search for immediate escape, deserting the stage. Questionable retorts were heard, shouts of confusion echoed each other. You saw a prominent hurricane flash of the unmistakable red and blue through the small, frosted windows. Those who realized what it was had started to push forward and run, and those astonished by the headlights, frozen like deer caught in the headlights, were left behind momentarily.
“Uh oh.” Crinkling up his nose and smoothening the crumples on his shirt, the boy gave a sharp exhale.
You looked at him. His eyelids half closed, he bore an amused expression. It was surreal, as if this young boy had been a participant in this cat and mouse game one too many times.
Equally as confused as everyone else, you had no choice but to follow the mob and run, and like the others, you were tempted to give a scream of bewilderment. Shoulders rammed into you while you tried to access the situation. Run? Where to??
That’s right, out.
Smothered by your own disarray, you felt a sudden warm clutch on your wrist. It was him. He noticed your uncertain look, but didn’t hold back.
“Let’s go!” He scolded somewhat matter of factly, his lips breaking into a smile. The kind of smile that pushes the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, dimpling it, rounding his face.
He sounded different from before; more vibrant, yet his voice had somewhat a deeper quality than what you had heard earlier. The microphone, the speakers, whichever. They had garbled the originality of his voice. Standing right there, not even arms length from him, you heard his words in the purest form. Those first words from him, directed to you.
Before you could hesitate, he dragged you along his desired route and you simply let it happen. You didn’t understand why he did it, but was at ease that someone snapped you out of the stupid trance and made a decision for you. You gave in.
Your legs picked up the pace and tried to match those of his. His heavy boots gave a solid thud as it fell onto the asphalt, yet strangely it felt light and receiving. Its metronome beat rang in your ears as you let your feet fall to match his rhythm.
Thump, thump, thump.
The crunch of the stray pieces of gravel likened to the soft crackle of vinyl.
You tried to steady your racing heart. Led by the hand, you aimlessly ran, going all in in your trust in this boy and his directionality. Considering certain situations of malicious intent were not amongst your current available options. You passed through the swinging glass doors, as everyone did, dispersing out into the neon-lit night. Once outside, you were greeted with a cold billow of wind into your face, followed by the splendour of the city landscape. The glimmer of the shallow puddles on the street coupled with lingering petrichor painted a sensory work of childhood nostalgia. As wisps of hair fell past your face, you spared cursory glances at smokers who lagged by the neighbourhood trash cans, blowing clouds of smoke that lifted up gracefully into the dark sky.
Anywhere was fine at this point, there was nowhere to go. As you ran, a sour tingle ran through your two legs. For a person so small, he bolstered a boundless energy. You had trouble keeping up in speed and stamina as the cold midnight winds burned your hands and sliced your forehead and lips. The sweat that rolled down your face was blown off, leaving a piercing tang due to the icy breeze as your nasal passage became painfully dry. Despite all that, your wrist remained steadfast and warm.
Looking back painfully at the crosswalks, not a single police car nor person from the previous colourful crowd was in sight.
“Stop…Stop!...…I need to…”
He heard your plea for rest and slowed down by the river canal.
On one knee, you grasped at the railing, huffing and panting, simply catching your breath.
The wound on your knee opened up again.
The enticing river caught your eye while in your desired rest. The slow river current carried a dizzying amount of glitter in its peaceful stream, wholly gathered from street lamps, the above show of lacklustre stars, broken pieces of fallen leaves as well as the large piece of crescent moon. Your head spun from its beauty.
“You okay there?” He asked, pointing at your knee. Nodding lightly, he took notice of your breathlessness.
“Damn, girl, you’re outta’ shape.” The cheerful boy chuckled as you accepted his outstretched hand that helped you up onto your feet.
Ignoring his comment and still huffing, you asked about the situation back there.
Putting his hands in his pockets, he chirped his answer. “Drug raid.” Your face dropped. “Not uncommon in these kinda places.” He added, “such’re the norm ‘n sleazy clubs like that.” He proceeded to give you an innocent smile.
“Then are you…” You pointed at him with a cautious finger. Getting your point, he took a step back and put his hands up in mock surrender; “I’d never. I’m not that kinda person.” Looking at your doubtful expression, he laughed into his youthful features, releasing that of his carefree juvenility, his debonair loveliness. It was that one short spell of purity, you thought, that couldn’t be found in any other outside of that sweet period of a person’s coming of age. It made you want to share his laughter. Perhaps it was all due to the elusiveness of that very unfathomable night, the very illusion brought by the waves of adolescence. You found yourself strangely attracted to it.
Oh but then…
“What were you doing in a place like that?” You questioned, genuinely curious. He has said it himself that he wasn’t not one to indulge in the hedonistic soma.
“I could ask the same about you.” With hands still stuck in the pockets of his cargo pants, he gave a slight shrug and kicked a small pebble on the street which flew and hit a nearby trash bin with a soft thud.
Fine then, don’t tell me. You sighed inwardly.
He said his name was Glitch. An interesting pseudonym, you thought, raising an eyebrow. Seemed telling of his breaker background, and somewhat telltale of his fervour. The brash, yet unassuming humble ego of a young dreamer. Not very lofty, no, they’re closer than one could ever think; you thought to yourself and smiled. He and his friend are definitely going places. You watched as he pulled out a yellow cell phone from his pocket.
That’s right, his—
“What happened to your partner—”
“-Mo?” He snapped his flip phone shut. The snap of the device was as stout and straightforward as his blunt interruption. You retracted your voice and placed your weight onto the cold railing behind you.
Glitch and Mo, that’s cute.
His thick eyebrows gave a furrow, as he drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I’m sure he’s fine…but I’d better give ‘im a call.” He spoke up and whirled around, opening up his cell phone with a flick of his wrist. He talked to his friend over the phone in a low whisper, his back facing towards you. You noticed his wide shoulders and defined upper back, carved from years of relentless practice, that ribald look of just his silhouette emanated his long, unrivaled indolence at small faults, testimonial further told by his many numerous but tiny scars on his hands. He was indeed deserving of such raucous praise back there.
Tilting your head, and craning your neck, you tried to decipher the way his lips moved, trying to catch even a small part of their conversation, when Glitch suddenly turned his head back to face you again, ending his call on his cell and leaving you feeling a little awkward.
“Good news, he’s alright.” He put his hands behind his back. “Even better news, he told me ‘bout what he saw earlier back ‘n the club.” He beamed. “Baby, you’ve got quite the moves!”
You spared him another one of your raised eyebrows and gripped the railings even tighter. He wasn’t making fun of you, was he?
“Why did you grab me earlier?” You questioned.
He paused. His eyes shifted to a vague area behind you. Putting his weight on one leg, he spoke up with a slight hint of sheepishness that you couldn’t help but notice. “It's not everyday y’ see someone your age ‘n a place like that.” He found himself and continued. “I thought that maybe…” his gaze trailed back to your face: “Maybe, you might be a lil’ like me.”
A sentiment from a stranger, harping on the hopes of mutual understanding gained by the few moments shared together on the dance floor. What a spur of the moment! How unprejudiced! What a trusting white heart!
He took a few moments to scrutinize your expression. With a tilt of his head, he looked you in the eyes. Only now did you realise the green of his irises that clashed with that of his oriental appearance.
This moment you shared felt different from that of just now. This time it was less of a perfunctory mutualistic understanding, one created between the two of you as an excuse on the dance floor, but more of a showcase of inward feelings. The mutual desire seemed loud enough to be heard, reciprocated enough to be shared. It seemed like both of you had the same intentions;
—I want to know your story.
As if reaching an enlightenment together, the both of you smiled silently, cheeks flush against the cold air. The pale, opalescent moon has bestowed upon the boy a face with the essence of marble, or a glistening ivory.
You thought he was beautiful.
He broke the air of scrutiny with a clear of his throat. “Wouldja look at the time now,” He began, giving a cursory glance at his imaginary watch. “At this sort of timing, good kids like us oughta be at home asleep.” He gave you a wink. You couldn't resist another smile.
“Where’re you headin’? I'll walk you back.” With that, you gladly obliged.
The two of you began your walk back to the everyday norm with wide grins, ears russet from the chill and hands warm in pockets, laughter discreet. Despite your still throbbing knee with blood and a deep purple bruise, your footsteps remain lightweight and feathery. The hush of the neighbourhood encouraged the furtive conversations the both of you shared, the kind that you would spend the rest of the night thinking about, undisclosed secrets and thoughts that run in the back of minds. Yet the two of you laughed. Minds like that of those who frolick, those who wander.
You wished you never stepped back at your doorway, but alas you did. As you bade goodbye to a newfound reverie, an exchange of pivotal promises were made, as well as phone numbers.
You knew that the stories would not end soon– well, at least not what's left of today, or tomorrow, for that duality-driven paradise of a boy with his beautiful dreams shall remain in your memory steadfast.
He promised better, friendlier tomorrows.
“So I’ll… see you tomorrow?”
“…Yeah.” You raised a hand in farewell. Just for now.
In your right knee, blood started to fall once more. But you didn’t care. You made a promise to pick at the scabs, to let scars grow. A grateful moment of ardency you picked from a person full of zeal on the corrupt dance floor.