2009: A Club Odyssey pt. 8

She lay there, unconscious, a thing amongst other things. In her drugged haze she dreamt she was with him, not with him; they were apart and yet together, that somehow without even moving she could get closer to him, which made no sense but then she also dreamt she was in a boat, going by a perilous passage between terrible menacing rocks and a swirling spiralling luscious green whirlpool; beautiful to look at, but death itself. The boat was steered to safety, but she could barely breathe, save for thinking - hoping - he was there.

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He could not face life without her; he was brave enough to know this about himself. He could no longer do it; he had done it for so long, he didn't know what else was possible but this was it. The rumbling and rambling of the crowd meant little to him; he had to figure it out for himself. It would be a crushing weight if he could not find her, or if he found her in a certain way. He would lay there in bed and not move for weeks, or so it would seem. The little bird could only tell him so much. He was a patient and understanding man; obliging; but he would either collapse altogether or erupt at this point. His friend was on the floor dancing and occasionally giving him a glance as if to say; we are not alone here, you know. He smiled and continued to gauge the crowd.

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He fell into a reverie; a recollection of when he met her and vowed to change; vowed he would be loyal to her and her only. It was not a difficult promise in the least, he was proud of it, and proud that he kept it. He could not look away from the scattered twigs and leaves from the tree that he passed by on the way to her house, though; the winds blew strongly there and relentlessly at times, and there would be times when the wind would try to blow them over as well. This was life, simple and plain, and he promised to shelter her as best he could from these winds. He felt vulnerable then, but the tree, though wracked, stood. A good omen, he felt.

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"Hey pal, what are you doing here? Looking for someone?" He looked up, a bit warily. It was his old pal and, he knew in his guts, a witness. He kept his head down. "Sorta. Not sure if she's here." "Well, there's plenty of fine girls who are, if you're looking. Not that you look like their type, exactly." "Hmmmm." He drank a bit more and decided to chance it and look at him directly. "Was the laughing girl here? You know the one? She likes to dance." It was their old nickname for her, due to her laugh, of course. "No, can't say I've seen her lately, but she is still around, yes....you look a bit rough." "Been in hospital you know. The food, the drugs. Feeling better though" he laughed, as his old pal didn't know him from anyone. "Maybe she's upstairs? That's where couples go when they get...you know..." "Thanks." He started upstairs, the song in the background he hoped would stay in the background, thank you very much.

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He reached the top of the stairs and it was dark; far darker than it was downstairs. How cold and mysterious it was! And he felt uneasy. This area was called, illogically yet inevitably, the underworld; he shuddered as he walked past the doors, the various noises coming out from the rooms. This was not a good place to be. His friend caught up with him just in time, before he turned back. "What do you want up here? This is off limits you know." "I know but...a guy who I think knows something said she might be up here." "As if she would want to be up here, really." "I have the feeling that she isn't really...awake. No, I don't feel that about her at all. Damn it's quiet up here. I...let me go through this door--" "No, I don't think you want to do that. That's where we are hiding, after all." "Huh?" The green-eyed stranger, who had been something of a witness himself and who knew perfectly well that he was talking to her partner, stepped out of the stairwell. "Our hiding place is there." There was a pause which could best be described as awkward. "You hide amongst these people?" "She's not there; I have been looking for her myself." "You what?" "She is a symbol for us, of resistance...she doesn't really know about us, but we care for her." He paused and thought for a moment; huh. He hoped this wasn't a tall story.

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"You have been...looking after her?" This was unthinkable to him; he always imagined her having to save the besieged fortress that was them himself. "Well, this is our club...not that that is well known..." "So she is going to be alright?" "Yes. Still don't know where she is though."

He heaved a sigh of relief; the interior burden was getting to be too much for him. He felt like crying, out of sheer happiness that seemed to be gushing from within him the way blood once did; he found a chair, suddenly feeling much safer here than he had before, and even got up and did a little dance. His voyage was not for nothing; he felt like Dionysos now, knowing that Naxos was in sight, merry and yet determined. "I think I will have a drink downstairs. What do you say?" The radical gleamed and said it would be on him.

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2009: A Club Odyssey pt. 7

"Look," he said, in between mouthfuls of chocolate orange, "I can withstand a lot. We're going to go in there and do whatever we are going to do. I cannot pretend to be neutral though. Neutrality? Neutrality? Fuck that. Really - " he paused to bite and eat again, continuing, "I can reconcile almost anything, for the sake of peace. She - " he stopped short. He shook his head. "Love is not the problem here. Or maybe it is. How stupid I was sometimes! But you know damn well the only person who is more naive than me is her. I dream about her; I cannot help it; I do. There with the open box. On the floor..." he starts to cry a little; his friend rubs his shoulder. "And I know she dreams of me, I know she does. For all I know she is throwing up in a stall in that club, or some guy has her all drugged up and who knows what is happening. I have my allies there, I know, but..." "Let's go there then and get this agony over with. She could meet the richest player there and be left cold. Fact! You know it." "Oh shit, I just ate two of these" he said, throwing the second wrapper away. "I'm going to be up all night. Just as well."

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And so they went. The club was small and yet elegant, exclusive without being that snobbish. There was feeling of wealth in the air, to be sure, but with that a certain anxiety, and the oppressive heat of the room is what first hit them. He could not see her, was not able to see her; it was packed and humid, restless, girls smiling at him even though, objectively, he looked like crap, his friend not really much better. "We have to go in disguise, windypants. Yeah, I know, you weren't consulted, but this is the only way. She can't know. They can't know. I know how you like your privacy."

He was determined to enjoy this, grimly so if necessary, and felt no real need to rush anything. That was one of the things that puzzled her about him, after all - his seeming passivity. How he could and indeed did just sit there and look at her sometimes, even though from her objective there were far prettier girls around. Here he could free his mind, as a student's mind will go blank before an exam, before the great outpouring. He noted the protesters coming in, wondered why they seemed to be following him and then laughed that off, all the while quietly waiting for her.

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He returned with another drink. "You can have this, you can have as many as you can handle," he smiled, handing it to her, "and whatever else you want. What you have is...nice, but I can give you so much more. I can give you whatever you want."

She smiled inwardly at the irony of this, as so far as she knew he could not get her the one thing she wanted. He held up a ring. It sparkled pink and gold and blue, so dazzling it seemed to be in some separate dimension. It entranced her in spite of herself; but she shrank back and shook her head, which unfortunately only made him more determined. The drink got into her and lulled her to a dull somnolence; she took the box and the ring fell out of it, underneath her chair and on towards the wall. She slumped down, and he smiled, easing her up and carrying her off like so much wet laundry.

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He woke up from his spell in an instant; the spell caused, to his shame, by a girl who was most definitely giving him the eye. He grew tired of this now, a bit contemptuous even. She was in trouble, he knew she was; but he still could not see her or figure out who to ask, even. So he got up and wondered. She said it was forever, well, here goes forever. He felt the song dance through his ears, marching him up around the stairs and towards her almost by its own will. He had to give in to the music, be like her, to find her; it really was the only way. He even began to dance a little, though it was more rhythmic walking than anything else. His friend was close by him, but not too close, patient, frowning at some men, high-fiving others.

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2009: A Club Odyssey pt. 6

"This is some city," he says as they keep bumping through, "people give up everything just to come here. They think they can shed their old selves and maybe they can." He sees some protesters marching along, but the bus turns and he loses sight of them. "And you know what? I don't blame her for wanting to be here, I mean this is our place. But you've got to get out of it sometimes because it's so big and loud and...cold. Just cold. I bet there's some guy who has ice in his veins trying to seduce her right now, and she can't even tell because she's numbed. Hell, I'd be numbed too. She probably can't even hear half of what he's saying." "Poison, my friend, that is what I'm scared of. In the air, the water, everything. I want a farm, you know?" He nods, now actually worried if she is safe; if she has been seduced and abandoned, as well. He cannot be angry with her - not after
what he has done, after all.

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And yet it is the city, where all things are indeed possible, where beauty hangs in the air waiting to be grasped, where the unexpected grace can still happen, and you can take the city as your sister, your friend, even as buildings and people collapse and rise, as the quiet night lets even a few birds and stars into view.

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It was just them against the city, or so it felt; the city that was indeed cruel to them and made him go away, only for him to become ill and nearly die, then return to see her again; it was just them and everyone and everything else had its own consequences, theirs were theirs alone and there was a kind of pain in that but a joyous certainty as well. He knew what could happen, hoped would happen, hoped against hope; that she would be there waiting for him, her face smiling, her eyes shining...and they would do whatever they wanted. Now, just to find her.

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It was getting hot in the club; too hot to dance that much, but the heat made the dancing just that more friendly, her skin that more melting into the air, it seemed, and her dizziness was due to lack of water. "I have to go freshen myself up, please" she said to him, he who was now even more gracious than ever, as she went to the restroom to splash herself with cold water. "Could I get you a drink?" he asked, his smiling face cold (though she didn't perceive this), she said yes, oh yes, and smiled back, tugging at her dress in a way that she would have slapped herself for doing, ordinarily. Is this the edge, she wondered, or just the verge? Hmm. Interesting.

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He had to bear up against it, though it didn't please him. Not one damn bit. He could forgive her a lot, but love? Actual love? He knew she could not do it, could not just take someone else on in his absence. He winced at the idea; no, not winced, he shuddered. She was impulsive and capable of much, he certainly knew that, but they had their vows and she took them seriously. "We did that ourselves, we did that for ourselves, this is ours" she would say, "and it is magnificent and nothing in the world can destroy it. Not a word. Not a look. Nothing. I am in this with you hip-deep and no doubt about and I would never change that." He cursed himself for his doubts, maybe let himself look at a girl for too long, like rubbing himself the wrong way, just to punish himself. "Yo windypants you worry too much, why the long face?" his friend said as they were walking down the street.

"She likes life. She loves you. No reason to worry."

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Freshened, she is able to balance for a moment before she enters. She sees the girls who want to be noticed, the players noticing them, even that guy who is still looking at her but not really doing anything more about it. She sees the shine of the rings, the bling-bling that shines and shines but says so little, she feels; there are gestures, looks that far outdo them. She remembers him and how he felt trapped in a room full of gold things; excited at first, then slowly turned off, unable to see anything for what it was after a while. I never wanted that and that way of thinking is alien to me, she thinks, walking unsteadily over to him, to the reddish drink in his hand, taking it and aiming it to where she thought her mouth was the last time she knew about it. "Whoops, missed there. Let me get you another one. And sit down, honey, don't be shy." She sat and wondered at the many sequins and satins, the vague dread that maybe she wouldn't get up again any time soon just edging into her pleasure.

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2009: A Club Odyssey pt. 5

She is back again for yet another night, knowing he will be there; not her guy but him, that man who...she didn't want to think about it, she had to think about it; he didn't make her go weak, necessarily, but perversely gave her strength - strength enough to test herself. Come here, he seemed to be saying; if you dare, the very clear real meaning. She could only hide, avert her eyes, so much. Good and bad would cease to have meaning around him, and part of her wanted to see just what would happen if that was the case. She felt like one of those divers, looking down, aiming for water not rocks, a clean slippage into the sea.

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And so, sensing that inner courage - opening up the box, inhaling, bashing herself up inside, to release something - she walks up to him. "Care to dance? The floor looks a little...empty." He looks a bit taken aback to be approached, but he also seems a bit...relieved? "Generally I don't dance, but in this case...you must be lonely to ask me." Is he trying to disarm her? What does he know? She lags a little behind him at times, daring him to slow down. To give himself? She cannot believe what she is doing is so easy, but strangely he is growing on her and wearing off at the same time.

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The music, she reminds herself as he gets closer - she can smell his smell of grapes and salt now - is what is going to save me. She gave herself to the music, they will say. How she persisted on music alone for so many days, nights. The random melodies from a phone; a radio in a shop; the songs and snatches of songs in her head. I can't stop dancing now, and luckily he won't stop, as he thinks he has me. I want witnesses; I want him, perversely, to want me. And so he does.

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It is only in seeing others that she notes there are indeed very few women around and that in choosing him - though it was done lightly it wasn't done easily - there may well be others she hasn't met yet who may want her in worse ways than even him. That someone who she regarded as dangerous just a few minutes ago could be someone she needs more than she would like. She looks at him and he seems to realize the same thing. This is getting too complex already, where are the girls, the girls?

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There is one! Just the one but she has pulled focus away from her, to the point where she may as well not exist; and so she can breathe. "You're beautiful" he leans over to whisper as they pause; it is through sheer tiredness that she says "Thank you" as she has not heard anyone describe her this way for quite some time. "I like your hands," he continues, holding one of them, pretending he cannot see her ring, that it is merely a shaped piece of metal, "so graceful." "Umm...they are useful" she says in reply, already feeling lame, as the free girl displays herself, is herself, throws glamour as the moon sheds light.

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"So, you think she won't succumb? How optimistic you are!" "Look, I'm no optimist," he said as they waited for the bus (his friend's car has inconveniently broken down), "but you have to understand that she gets into things and before she knows it, there's almost no way out. How many times did she lock herself out of our own house? Too many. So she wants to dance with a guy - fine, let her, I'm not much for dancing myself sometimes - I said sometimes!" His friend laughs. "Maybe she's waiting for you and maybe she isn't but dancing is not the problem. What happens between dances - that is the problem. And I bet someone is giving her the eye right now. No not the skunk eye, you know what I mean." He sighs, his friend hails the bus, a relatively small one that goes down streets regular ones can't. It's rough and intimate and reminds him of her, but then everything does. One pause, one look.

They bump along and he bumps along in his mind.

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He talks too much. This is her problem with him; he is gushing and she wants pauses, breaths, but he is just so busy upping himself and her that that is impossible. She is not disappointed, as such; she likes his voice, he is a fine talker..."you look awfully nice to be here alone for long, that man there has been watching you for instance...though somehow I doubt if he wants you as much as I do, and I want you right down to your toes..." And he goes on about how they were meant to be, not meant to be, but they there are and what about it. There is only the now, but now for her is almost an entirely different concept because it is as if her heart beats as his does, and he is not there. She wanted him to be a drug, but if he is one then he is not working. Try again, try harder, do better she practically wills him.

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2009: A Club Odyssey pt. 4

Oh, if she had something to throw; to cause something to happen without anyone noticing. Because she has an audience. And now that she looks around, she sees that other men there have courted her in the past; she dismissed them and now here they are; a rough uncomfortableness rubs up against her skin. She feels like a leader, but who are her followers? What is she leading? She can't even get his attention, as of yet.

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It is late at night; he sits, unable to sleep. What to do, what on earth to do. He knows well what he must do, and he is scared slightly of going into that oblivious state; he has just said no to a perfectly nice girl who is here for the possible memory of someone else, which he knows is wrong; but he cannot help himself.

And so he sits alone, watching the indiscriminate blue turn into gray and then into blue again, bearing up his own obstinacy. His own foolishness. Perhaps he was gullible to trust her, perhaps not. In the meantime something flies and buzzes and glows, just out of his sight at first; an irritant more than anything. It has wings; it seems as restless and stubborn as himself. He watches it and feels lifted, enough to keep going. The sun rises, sweeping the gray away, the vivid pink fingers of that known rosy dawn are there, against the blue soft sky; he is hungry and better, resigned to much but not giving up, not on her, not on their house in the valley. Not until he knows.

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"Wakey wakey windypants, time to get up!" "I won't get up" he says, his face under the covers, "I was not...consulted." "HAH!" his friend laughs, "you know a little birdie - looked like an owl but what the hell do I know, said he'd seen her in town. At the club you know, that fancy place. She might be there tonight, who knows? Gotta get outta bed before long now." The sun's rays fill the room, obliterating all need for considerations. He yawns and gets up.

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He can hear her now; hear her invocation; her own stubbornness meeting his own hapless gentle qualities. He is the still pond next to her bonfire; or, more prosaically, she dances on the bed he built, as if the furious action alone will bring him back. She's right, he thinks, munching his cereal and listening to the birds hoot and chirrup to each other.

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The pulse of the day quickens; there is foment in the air, a fresh breeze. He has been passive for too long, a rule-abiding man, but there is virtue in that he feels; virtue in that if he breaks the rules, it must be for a very good reason. Does he mind suffering? Not if is for her, which is to say for himself. To him they are indivisible, her and him dancing, her and him sleeping, her and him just ambling down the street, open as a door to whatever is happening.

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"You know what, bro?," he says, eating his sandwich, "I have nothing at all to lose here. I have to be resigned - no I don't mean that in a bad way. As soon as I see her I can adjust, I'm like a damn thermostat that way. She can be the same way once she calms down, but when I see her she may not be calm at all. She may well be beating down a door somewhere or something. But I can't expect anything too much or we won't work out. I think I misunderstood her at times, you know, and she me. But it's worth working on. Always is."

2009: A Club Odyssey pt. 3

The party, as it turns out, is a wedding one; he feels a little out of place here, but then he feels almost out of place anywhere. The song playing as he walks in is all eagerness and joy, nervous joy but joy nevertheless. His friend points to a girl and says "You know you would like her, come on" and he lets himself think so, for a moment.

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She is still, to her own embarrassment, in the bathroom, several minutes later; wishing she could be anyone else, anywhere else. The girls vamp for themselves, for the Other, in the mirrors; rehearsing spells, tricks, moments which they hope will happen, which may well end up in love; or at least a feeling of...something about to happen. She feels as if she can't unleash a thing, or rather that something has happened and maybe she can handle it; just.

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She steps, warily, out the door. If she doesn't treat him like a problem, then he won't be one. He will be here at any time, she feels, or tries to feel; the anonymous one, the one who is beyond any words, mostly. He never did say very much, she remembers, but then sometimes he wouldn't shut up. She smiles to herself, which is armor enough for now.

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That brave girl, she is walking right up to him. She can't look, she can't not look; she sees them interact and wants to be her, despite herself. The inner flood begins and won't end. What does she have, she wonders? Nerve? Yes, yes. I can do that; yes, I can do that; and once he brushes her off (is she willing this?) then up she will walk. To confront him is braver, but she will need a drink.

He doesn't dismiss that girl just yet; but now that she is looking at him, she has the uneasy feeling she is being watched by someone else, and has no way of knowing who.

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The party runs late; despite his friend's orders/suggestions, he doesn't take up with the girl, who is green and naive and terribly pretty, because he has heard a rumor - that she is over with him, missing him, the rumors change with the winds, the hours. She is there, at least, but how can he know until he gets there? He is still to weak to just walk there. Still she must accept me in some way; I am not returning with a new woman, expecting a purple carpet and adoration. I just want to rest in my own bed, with her.

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The one watching her is perhaps a bit demented, but fundamentally trustworthy; he has ways of seeing that others lack, and vice versa. He is attracted to her not because she is beautiful (she doubts that now, anyway) but because she has a sort of power; a power that he admires. She has nothing to lose, and neither does he.

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2009: A Club Odyssey pt. 2

The blood is back in his veins; he can face anything now, even hospital food. A passing nurse reminds him of her a bit, the shower he is finally strong enough to take is gratifyingly warm.

Oh dear, I could really go for this guy...He is all that. But does he want me? Or the symbolic trophy that is me? She, confused, retreats to the bathroom to sit and breathe. It almost seems like he is everywhere around her already.

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Someone's blood is inside me, others are keeping me alive. He senses this and feels new, or at least newish. His steps are still slow, as slow as the patient clock. The chill has worn off, the dizzy uncertainty replaced with a kind of calm. He sleeps there one more night and dreams that she is with him, but then she leaves, passing out herself from exhaustion, an open box beside her when he finds her. He looks in the box: there is nothing there.

I must get back to her. His eyes open, to blue-black darkness.

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He worries, as he waits for his bottles to arrive, of what she may have done and may well be doing. Does she even remember him? How he didn't have much but ran and ran to win her? She, the most valuable prize of all, kind of in awe of him, maybe a bit patronizing...at first. He has enough confidence to know she is still around, but also knows her well enough to know that she is not like that girl made of stone come to life. She is human, unhappy with his absence and has perhaps given up. He can't give up; after nearly dying he cannot but hope.

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Once he is able to leave he calls on his old friend, who is sneakier than him and most certainly laxer in all ways - to crash at his place as he recuperates beyond what the hospital deems an appropriate time to have him around. "You still look at bit rough, son, come on over. You still pining over her? You know she's not been seen looking for you for a while now. Aw, don't be sad, she's going to be okay. I'm going to a party tomorrow night, wanna come?" He smiles. "Sure, just don't expect me to do the watusi or anything." "Fine, windypants."

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"You know, there's nothing worse than trying and failing but how else are you gonna know anything? A lot of guys come back and their girls are gone, maybe for you it will be different. I know the right one is out there for me, I just have to keep looking. It's worse for you because you know damn well she is there-" "So you say," he sighs, "and she should be there, I know. I know. But how about if I show up and have to get in a fight all over again? Last thing I need, right now, and although you are a fine man, I don't want you to be a substitute for me. I don't know, I just feel like I'm being invoked all the time and it's starting to make me weird out a little bit." "You have to learn to relish that, that feeling. If only I could have that. Oh well."

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