Last Late Night

It seems that whenever my friend Patrick calls me up its nothing but a long drawn out game of phone tag. It’s also a very late night. That day had been long at work and I had said my last goodbyes to my friend James. Sending him off to medical school in Arizona with a hug and a CD of pictures, I waved rather sadly as I watched his big truck disappear into the city towing the little trailer that would hold all his belongings for the journey south. I remember feeling very sad that I didn’t have some new exciting educational prospects ahead of me. Jealousy gripped me as I trudged back inside to finish my lunch break; I long to go back to school but bills dictated otherwise.
The original plan had been for Patrick and I to go out, we had made those plans several days earlier. I had gotten a phone call at the end of work saying that he had the sister of a friend of his coming to stay with him so he wouldn’t be able to make it into the city after all. This bummed me out since I hardly got to see the guy. Our schedules conflicted and he lived north more than two hours away.
The phone tag began at about ten-thirty when his “buddy’s sister” decided she wanted to go out clubbing, apparently for the first time, and they were heading down to the city after all. It took me a while to decide if whether I would just ignore the whole thing and go to bed or if I would really try to pull this together and meet up with them. On the guilty side: we had made plans and he was calling me about every half hour in order get a hold of me. I still just couldn’t decide what mood I was in and whether I felt like being social with this “buddy’s sister”, the only name he referred to the girl as.
Twelve-thirty in the morning was when I pulled into the city. This is the latest I’ve ever still tried to go out dancing. The whole way I was getting text messages from friends saying that this was the most hardcore thing I’d ever done and on a freakin’ week night. This at least fueled my determination because at every exit off the freeway I was reminding myself what a totally foolish thing this could turn out to be.
Pulling in the parking garage I took my sweet time getting out of my car because of the less than savory guys that were milling about. One tapped on my window and complained that there was plenty of free parking. What was it with me and bums yelling about my foolishly spent money when it came to paid parking? Is this a sign or something? Was God trying to tell me I’m an idiot? Still determined to do as I chose and not what some scary man was shouting for me to do, I headed for the machine to pay. It was then that I indeed spotted places out on the street. Hurrying back to my car I parked behind the garage and hurried into the club more than pleased with myself for saving money, but also for managing this on my own not getting scared out of my spot because some unwashed man was barking orders at me. All of that aside from the fact that the clubs would be closing in less than an hour anyway, there had to be tons of parking.
By now I had sent about ten billion text messages to Patrick trying to make sure he was still around. Heading to entrance of Trinity Nightclub I realized that I foolishly had no cash on me because I had been expecting to hit up Ladies Night cover free and pay for the parking via credit card. Now I stood in line to get into the club and the bouncer seemed to be taking cash from everyone. I freaked out. All this way and I had no money to get into the club. I paced around the outside trying to call Patrick for monetary assistance, but got no answer. Manning the door and cat-calling at any ladies that wandered past his post was the same asshole bouncer that had had such a fit about taking all my crumpled one dollar bills the night Renzo and I had gone out. The last thing I wanted to deal with was him again. Finally I gave up on Patrick and asked the bouncer what the cover was. It was Ladies Night and I had been pacing around in the cold for no good reason.
Inside the club the lobby area was packed. I always tend to scan the room as I speed-walk through. Never hurts to check out the hotties before you get on to the dance floor. If the crowd is looking good that tends to improve my morale even if the dance floor isn’t very exciting. Straight to the Hip Hop Room I headed knowing that was where I would find Patrick and this “buddy’s sister”. Indeed I spotted them right off, dancing with wild abandon right in front of the DJ booth. Jumping right into the middle of an already well established dance floor, I grooved my way over and gave Patrick a good swift boot in the butt. That got his attention. They stopped dancing and he made introductions all around, none of which I heard over the music. I had expected to see something blonde and teen-model like when I met his “buddy’s sister”. She was very attractive but not model intimidating. She seemed very down to Earth and honestly, I liked her right off.
We went back to dancing and it’s always then that I realize I’m too tired to be trying to keep up with him. A very energetic dancer as I’ve mentioned before Patrick is a handful to deal with on the dance floor. I love him because he is a challenge to my talent and totally a source of inspiration. But none of these great qualities can be taken advantage of if I can’t even move my feet in the normal manner of my own usual talent. I felt like I was moving through caramel (molasses is so cliché). My feet just weren’t moving at the same pace that Patrick was feeling so I was left with circles being danced around me.
I ended up taking to my own corner and letting Patrick hang with his friends. I needed to wake up and warm up. Even as I found my own little island of funk, I still looked around me through the eyes of someone who should have been asleep. The lights and the music seemed surreal and in slow motion at times. It’s tough to synchronize yourself when nothing around you seems right. Closing my eyes to focus on the music I stayed in my corner trying desperately to fall back into my groove. Time to time I would glance around the room in order to keep an eye on Patrick as he moved about entertaining his crew, always a drink in his hand. I felt rather silly knowing that the whole group had been out enjoying themselves since about ten-thirty that night. They were winding down while I was still stone cold. I remembered a talk Patrick and I had had earlier about the fact that he was a terrible social butterfly. To know him was to have confidence that you were never forgotten. This knowledge made me feel a lot better for having driven all the way out there only to watch the guy from the other side of the room for the rest of the night.
That’s not to say that I wasn’t enjoying myself in my own usual manner. The music was definitely keeping me on the dance floor. I didn’t want to walk out or kill the DJ. Yet it was becoming more and more apparent to me that I’ve dived so far into my House music that I don’t even listen to Hip Hop anymore. Anything currently on the radio is a mystery to me. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about being so focused on one genre of music and leaving the rest to the way side. In the heart of it all I love to dance. House speaks to my soul but Hip Hop still speaks to my feet. I would hate to lose that.
The people that were dancing around me were all different types. It was great to see so many different people out there dancing, the majority on the floor alone and really enjoying themselves. The “hook-up” vibe was faint at best; the focus of the room was more on dancing. Even when guys did come over to try their luck at dancing with me, I would just smile at them and back into the crowd they would fade. That in itself was both handy and surreal. Even though I have no problem doing it, I hate the hassle that turning a guy down can end up being. I also hate doing that awful shy away dance move, where he insists and you just keep moving away to maintain your personal bubble. But I didn’t have to do any of that. Just a simple smile and it was seamless. No fuss, no muss, just continued dancing enjoyment.
The floor had cleared out for a moment, and I spotted Bryan standing in the middle of things and pondering the room with his usual air of total player-ness. We caught each other’s eye from across the room and nodded. For some reason I’m always happy to see Bryan because he’s the most exhibitionistic dancer I know and whenever he’s in the room I know that I can jump in at any time if I want to join in the fun. On the other hand watching him operate always makes me shake my head. The man is the most conceited person I’ve ever met. He’s fun, he’s hot, and he’s a huge pain in the ass. Neither of us made a move to do more than the manly nod of acknowledgment. I had since lost Patrick and I was getting seriously hot in the long sleeved shirt I had senselessly thrown on. The night had been a cold one and I had hated to crawl out of my warm clothes to leave the house in the first place. My compromise had been to put on this button down, long sleeved, white dress shirt. On the fashion side it was a sexy shirt with only three buttons that showed off my midriff, more specifically my navel ring; on the practical side it was a little warmer with the long sleeves (which were driving me crazy).
Out of no where I caught sight of Patrick as he came down the stairs from yet another trip to the bar. He smiled in my general direction and headed over to me. I found it ironic that I had managed to dance myself into a corner, hiding by the side of the DJ booth. I was, unintentionally, about as far away from where his friends were as I could possibly get. The only way he could have spotted me was if he had been keeping tabs on me thus far. Again we danced and I still just couldn’t keep up with the man. His style was just so out there and better described as flailing. He’s the sort that dances into other people, bumping them out of his way. I couldn’t mesh with that. As much as I could step back at admire it from afar, there was no possible way I could dance “with” him. Instead I tried to focus my efforts on at least dancing “next” to him in a manner that seemed complimentary. The problem I encountered there was the fact that the dance floor was too crowded for me to step back and really dig in to the music. As content as he was to smack, shove, and bump the people around him I on the other hand was way too conscious of how much I hate that shit myself.
Away Patrick disappeared again and I was almost happier to relax back into my own groove. Patrick’s enthusiasm had left me in the middle of the floor and facing several male faces that had watched my partner dive back into an all female group. One guy in particular I had seen the last time I had met Patrick here. An average sort of guy, he always dressed totally casual if more skater like, yet seemed to really have a passionate want to dance. He wasn’t terrible yet I had watched the series of rejections he had suffered through this night alone. By no means was I interested in meeting the guy, yet I couldn’t help watch him from time to time and smile at his tenacity. The guy had guts and that was commendable.
The floor cleared again as the DJ went on an Oldies kick. Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean” had come back with a force yet it was a party killer right then. As is his style, I watched Bryan head to the center of the floor and proceed to blow out a seriously awesome MJ dance routine. Even the DJ had to give him props and dedicated the song to his awesome moves. With the intention of getting Bryan more fame, I hopped up the stairs of the DJ booth. I had wanted to tell the guy Bryan’s name and maybe get a message said but the DJ ignored me quite thoroughly so I stepped down again feeling a little put down.
The oldies continued and Patrick grabbed me up to follow his crowd into the lobby. Passing Bryan on the way out, I gave him a pat on the back. Not moving from his leaned position he just gave me this look that said “I know I’m cool, I don’t need you to tell me.” I felt a little stupid as I was herded on but then the most important thing to Bryan is… Bryan.
Once in the lobby the music was a lot slower. The girls were already sitting down at one of the tables and I felt too out of the loop to just plop down with the rest of them. Pulling out a chair from the table behind them, I sat down feeling totally gross and sweaty. I never notice how sweaty I am until I sit for a moment or I leave the dance floor. Dancing is a lot like being in a gym. If you’re exercising and surrounded by other people that are exercising then you don’t tend to notice how sweaty you are nor do the people around you care. If you decide to walk out of the gym without a shower, all your hard work just looks gross as you try to head through the line at the grocery store or something. It’s just out of place. Even if I tried to put my hair up and roll down my sleeves, there was nothing I could do about being just plain flushed and sticky. Patrick’s “buddy’s sister” took the time to introduce me to the rest of the group and tried to talk a little with me. The problem was I had sat down and absolute exhaustion was starting to kick in. While I was fighting the glassy stare, I just couldn’t keep up an interesting conversation.
The decision was made to head over to the Last Supper Club right around the corner and of course I was more than willing to head that way as well. It was Open House night which meant total House music and free cover for all. DJ Hyperfunk was one of the resident DJ’s who switched off every week on opening or closing. To me that was all the more reason to head right over as soon as possible. Out the door we all trooped, and even thought the rest of the group fell into a close nit mob leaving me to the outskirts I didn’t care. I was more interested in getting to Last Supper before it closed for the night. Having no idea what time it was every slow step was just a moment lost on the dance floor.
I didn’t waste any time with the rest of the club once I was inside Last Supper. The minute my foot touched the edge of that dance floor my body was already moving. Working my way in closer to the middle, the last thought on my mind was where Patrick or anyone else had ended up. They could drink, they could wander about checking the scene, or they could leave, I just didn’t care. After dancing to Hip Hop for the last hour or so, House music always seems that much sweeter to my ears. My groove returns as well as my confidence. Being tired was the last thing I was feeling as I dance my way around the floor smiling at people I knew and nodding to some guy that gave me a cheer of encouragement.
Coming up for breath finally after several really great songs, I saw Hyperfunk off to the side talking with a group of people. I was a little disappointed that I had obviously missed his set for that night. Whoever the DJ closing that night was, he was more that enough to keep me happily dancing. Looking toward the bar I spotted Shannon and headed over to say hi. When I got there it was totally slammed. The people I had thought were just milling about were actually fighting their way toward drink orders. It was impossible to get close and ultimately I couldn’t catch his eye. What would the point be when I wasn’t going to order a drink anyway?
I paced through the crowd seeing if I could spot anyone else I knew, all for the sake of a breather and seeing a friendly face. A flash back of having been out there last dancing with James made me a little sad. The place was packed that night and a good partner would have been great at that moment. Finding Patrick standing off to the side, leaning on a table, I veered over to stand next to him. It isn’t long before he was gone to find his friends.
I stayed where I was, feeling tired and unable to catch my breath. Some guy who had seen me dance earlier came over, reaching his hand out in invitation. From what I had seen of him on the dance floor, he would have been a good partner but I was in the middle of fighting a terrible energy drain. Shaking my head at the guy, the hand that had been reaching out to take mine flipped up in a move of rejection as he danced away. “Talk to the hand”, was what I got in response and I couldn’t help but smile. What a funny, girly thing for the guy to do.
When the lights came on I was in the middle of the dance floor trying desperately to find my second wind. I wasn’t having much luck with that. I spotted Patrick and his crew heading out the door and hurried to fall in behind them. For some reason Patrick decided that this was now our quality time. Walking back toward Trinity he spun all sorts of ideas of us going out and doing something else. What, he didn’t care. If I wanted to hang out with his “buddy’s sister” then cool, if not then he would drop her off at the place they were staying and the two of us would go off and do something. It sounded like fun initially. I hadn’t had an “after clubbing adventure” in forever, yet all I really could think was that I was hungry. That wasn’t really exciting.
Stopping at the corner with my car in view, I looked at my watch and felt both exhaustion and responsibility take over. I had to work in the morning and I was about to be in a coma any second. Neither of those things made me exciting enough to think of being in the company of others. Not and expect to make it home or up again for work on time.
As the group separated and veered off in the directions of their cars, Patrick turned to me and asked what the plan was. I felt really bad when I had to explain yet again that I was just too tired to hang out. His look of disappointment rolled into something like anger, and then smoothed out into ambivalence. “I guess this is goodbye then.” Just the way he said it I knew I’d never hear from the guy again. I was both okay with that and sad at the same time. Patrick had seemed like a really interesting guy. Reminding me a lot of Jimmy, I had looked forward to getting to know him better as well as have someone I could call to go out dancing should the mood take me. All of that was gone with just one look. If the guy couldn’t understand me or my needs then he wasn’t worth my time anyway. Our schedules had made it impossible for us to hang out. Parting ways was just inevitable.
Driving home I was fighting “the nods” the whole way. This was always the worst. A person can feel sleepy after a long day at work and get a little droopy eyed while fighting the traffic home. Then there was “the nods”. The uncontrollable dropping of your head to your chest and sleep takes completely over. This can happen for a second or several minutes but when you wake up, you have no idea how long you’ve been asleep. That is no way to operate a motorized vehicle. Thank God I hadn’t been stupid enough to think that breakfast would have been a good idea. Making it home alive was a little higher on my priority list.
I’m sad that Patrick deemed me no longer worth his time. Then again, we weren’t really spending time together anyway. I just find it tough knowing that someone out there made the conscious decision never to speak to me again. Life is just strange when you stop and think about how many people have come and gone from your life without your want either way. It just reminds me that time is precious and to make the most of it every day. Someone will enter and someone will leave, it’s only a matter of time. It’s the bits in the middle that make the difference.