Jesse

31: Night Out

31: Night Out

            The hypnotic trance music thrummed through the air in sync with the dazzling display of multi-colored lights. Reverberating loudly into my ears, the bass shook the dark, over-crowded nightclub in St. Louis. Ian had said it was new, and was called the NiteOut Club. It had only been open for like three months, and tonight it was packed. Full of sweaty, dancing bodies, the air broken by random, moving, raised hands. One of his older friends made the fake I.D. that surprisingly had got him through the front door of the place, and since I was eighteen—I just had to go get an I.D.

            Ian had asked me a couple days prior if I wanted to go, since it was the Thanksgiving holidays; at first, I wasn't sure—I mean dancing in place full of people I didn't know? So many drunk, wild people. Craziness going on. I had enough of that in my head. Ian insisted it would be good for me: to help get my mind off things. I told him, despite all of that, sure. I wanted to have fun. Forget. And just let go.

            The older friend happened to be Marcus Jones, who was twenty-one, and worked at Jack's BBQ, a waiter, alongside of Ian. They had become good friends, or so I heard. It wasn't until that night I actually met the guy. He was taller than both of us, lean, and had dark brown hair, and a pair of deep blue eyes. He seemed nice, first impression. Marcus had told us we would be staying with him in his apartment for the night; Ian explained he already had this straightened out with his parents, somehow. I didn't mind at all.

            I passed through the narrow gaps between the gyrating bodies, looking for a better place to “let go.” Ian followed. Once we found somewhere decent, I shut my eyes and let the music take control. I had already had a couple of drinks before we came here, so I stumbled a few times, hitting various people. As time passed, I could feel the vibrations of the music echo with my movements: feel the sweat, and heat of Ian's body near me. My hair was becoming drenched. My heartbeats pounding in my ears with the music.

            "Let's dance."

            I turned seeing a young woman I didn't know, her dark hair thrown up in a messy pony-tail, begin to grind against my leg. She shouted hysterically, raising her arms, shaking them, and I realized she was really out it, really smashed. Damn. I felt Ian's eyes glaze over me—and then lost his face in the constantly moving crowd; I caught glimpse of him; he was also dancing with some other drunk girl. Then he was gone again.

            This girl pulled at her hair, and gave it loosely to the air, and flinging it with sweat, and the slow trance of the pumping music. The invigorating adrenaline enlivened me, as I rocked my body with the synched sounds. The breaking rays of neon blue and green, blazing red and brilliant yellow, speared through the shadows, glaring, and dimming, as we moved together. Suddenly, I became exhausted, and the song thankfully ended. I thought of Ian, and that he would want to find me. In this crowd it would be nearly be impossible.

            But I tried. And I got nothing. He would appear sooner or later. He had to at least. I needed a breath of fresh air; and, a cigarette. When I stepped through the bouncers again, and into the brisk night air, I breathed it in, sighing, relieved. I saw someone standing in the shadows of the building, smoking: it was Marcus. I told him hey, and he offered a cigarette. I didn't turn him down. He asked where Ian had went; I said I had lost him in the crowd.

            "Hey," a familiar voice said, and we turned seeing Ian approaching us.

            "We were just talking about you," I said, smiling.

            "Oh, really?—"

            "Yeah, about how I lost you in the crowd," I explained.