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2001-08-09 || 11:40 a.m. || club lubbly underwater || holding our breath and walking in: all the eyes and fashionable hair and dark lacquered wood and christmas lights are swimming. we hold onto the bar and catch our breath and order drinks fast. we know some of these people. we feel like we know others. there are rock stars here, at least to us, and we sit at a booth and point them all out. exchange stories of star-struckness and terrible things that have happened while in their presence. there is a creepy man sitting at the bar watching us and i am wondering what he sees: me and lucinda (wow! tandem entries!) sitting on one side of the booth, talking and laughing and hands distractedly touching faces, covering mouths, tugging at hair. i think he likes lucinda. lucinda is hott. lucinda looks nothing like a nautical grandfather. brook comes over and we share stories, old ones from when we lived together. we tell lucinda secrets. brook asks about jason and michael and lucinda and i tell secrets. we tell her about when we were in portland and i like how it sounds like we were together- like we are brilliant friends who stayed with michael and owen in the pink house as a team. i add to her sentences and she adds to mine and it is the nicest feeling, watching her talk and getting a bit familiar with the way she says her words and the way she leans forward to listen. brook eventually leaves and the creepy man is watching us again. does he think we are a team? does he have any idea that this is the first time we have gone out just the two of us? we are watching boys and girls and rock stars and jeff sits down. we are catching up, watching him grimace at the taste of gin and tonic, making room for more people in the booth. it feels like l and i are stationary and everything is moving in a procession before us, the people and drinks and twinkling of light from the chandeliers. underwater drifting. we decide to go up to the dance floor. it is pretty empty and we are standing in the middle of the floor, the three of us bobbing slightly. i am feeling horribly self-conscious for some reason. empty dance floor panic. my legs want to dance but the top of me is still and rigid, shoulders up around ears, jacket clutched to chest. we all sit on the edge of the stage and watch. there are more people on the dance floor but i don't have the power. me and l and jeff. there is a little talk but a lot of watching. cece in high heels comes over to l periodically to get her to dance. i don't know whether to smile at her or look away. she doesn't see me at all. i go back to watching everyone watching everyone. some people are better at it than others. some of the dancers are so good at it that it makes them dance harder, wringing hands and knocking knees and keeping their eyes closed to slits to peek at who is around them. i spy joe and matt and they come over and we all hug in a very clumsy way and i am so very glad to get to see them. we talk a little and matt says that a boy we were friends with when we lived on campus years and years ago is at the bar downstairs and we make a bee line to him. i am walking downstairs thinking of all the pictures i have of him. 1999: very short san diego emo hair and glasses and a tie. when the picture was taken we were listening to weezer. later, 1999: he is in a hardcore band with spiky hair and a baby blue bass. bracelets and tight pants and all the coolness making him scowl. he does not yet have the (f) (pretend that is a circle with a fancy lowercase f in it) joy division tattoo. he has not grown out his hair. he has not yet gained so much confidence and stature and tiny crinkles around his eyes. we find him at the bar talking to brook and i stare at him for a minute before he fully recognizes me. we hug that hard i-actually-miss-you-very-much type hug and i kiss him on the cheek. our conversation is jagged and full of awkward holes, and too often i am caught watching him. how old he has gotten. how he is very handsome and so self-assured and i want to show him the pictures. remember when we were great friends for those couple of months? remember the postcacrds you sent from canada while you were on tour? remember that crazy intensity between us that ended up fizzling out because all of the sudden you got very cool? remember when you forgot your coolness and watched breaker high with me at my flat, and we kept holding our arms up like branches to see if the reception would get any better? and there was nothing moer to say and we all stood in awkward square dance stances so matt and i went outside. lucinda eventually came out and a bunch of us stood talking about shoes and job options and dancing and band stuff. and it was getting late so we went back inside to say our goodbyes, swimming past my old friend at the bar, past all the kids slumped in booths, past the pool players and the one rock star who gave us very hard looks, i am sure of it, and into the dance room. it was very dark and hot and full. i fell on someone sitting down and grabbed their arm to say sorry. i weaved around to the kids i knew and dodged the flailing arms of three girls dressed alike in black button-down shirts and ties and big hair. i wanted to jump in their little circleto tell them they were great, but i was too afraid of losing lucinda and getting knocked in the face with one of their dancing fists. we finally made it back down and outside and breathed fresh air over and over until we got to the car. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |