Surfacing From the Mist

There's a press of bodies around you and you can't see the door anymore
from all around you is thud and a beat and the floor seems to be shaking and if you had any thoughts you wouldn't be able to
hear them at the moment
near you someone is jumping up and down in what you think is supposed to be in time to the noise around you
but you're not sure
it's all just heat and haze
your ears are ringing with the murmured shouts of blended voices
it's all one
someone not paying attention bounces into you and somehow the wall of flesh surrounding you manages not to hold your weight and you go tumbling into the solid foundation of the wall
catch your breath
stop look and listen
your breath is hammering a cadence not in time with anything in your head and you can't seem to back away far enough and you can barely make out individual people in the crowd anymore, it's just whirling and spinning forms
in the semidarkness someone looks at you and a grin flashes in the halflight and you can feel dazed half glazed eyes focusing on you
isn't this great they say to you or at least that's what you think their lips are saying
oh
ha
ha ha ha
hahahahaha
shift
it's going to be great you think to yourself as you survey the room
it's empty now for the most part
a few people are sitting at tables having their own little conversations, sharing stories that'll wind up being much funnier when retold under the aid of beer and wine
you stalk around like a caged animal, in a sense you are, the room will be your confines, your hell and your heaven for the next block of hours
and you wouldn't have it any other way because the important thing is that'll it have people talking, a million stories will form out of this night
they always do
exaggerated and retold and restructured and recreated and some are completely made up out of nowhere but nobody will have any idea which are which in the end
when in fact it really doesn't matter because if enough people believe that something is true that makes all the difference, right
isn't that the way it goes
isn't that the way things are supposed to be
the expectations of the looming event are the only answers that resound in your head
the doorbell rings and you slide over to answer to let one of the guests come in
he greets you politely and steps in, you know that he's imagining what the next few hours are going to be like
you can see it reflected in his eyes are surely as if he shouted it in your face
grinning at him, you pour something in a glass and offer it to him
it hovers between the two of you for a moment and he glances at it
then rolls his eyes and sighs
and you find yourself starting to laugh because it's just so damn
shift
the first drink slides down as smooth as grease and you only have to wait a second before the simmering bomb hits your stomach and the warmth of its explosion tingles through your entire body
after a few you won't even feel that
after a few you won't be feeling anything
but then sometimes that's the entire idea
some people don't get that and you don't get them, the whole point is to relax and let your inhibitions go
it's all about going with the flow
going with everything
the party has a spirit and a current that you have no choice but to follow
already it's forming, the eddies and tides the rhythm that'll propel you through the night
like a gateway
but they can't see that
you can
and it makes all the
shift
cast your eye around the quickly filling room
they're all there, what you came here for, just the sight of them makes your heart quicken and something within you spark
they gather in packs, they slip through the crowd gracefully, in the pockets and the spaces, seeming to go nowhere but following the patterns and pathways that continually open up, faster than even your eye can detect
the room seems to be getting warmer but you really don't mind at the moment
adds some ambience to the atmosphere and maybe if you're lucky the increasing heat will cause clothing to start removing itself for comfort
that you can deal with
a dark haired girl slides past you and rubs against you, the barest of touches but it sets off a million sensations in your
body
you follow her with your eyes as the crowd closes around her
you're sure that you'll meet again
but you really don't know and besides, you never really want to focus on just one
tunnel vision never did anyone any good, did it now?
either way it's going to be an eventful night
you can feel it
shift
the pounding is what does it for you eventually, it's what does you in, drives you from the room
it's the mass of people you want to tell yourself, it's the horde that surrounds you and moves in tandem
but that's not it
the music beats against the inside of your skull, an army of marching drums each keeping to the same time, the same sound
a guitar solo screeches through your head sideways and you wince, stumbling through the indifferent partiers
it's not the noise or the fumbling headache that sends you running, it's not the rumbling that you feel beneath your feet when you think you can't hear anything else
the music presses around you as you make a halfhearted dive for the stairs, nearly running into a couple pressed against the wall, who are standing very very close to each other
you barely give each other a passing glance
the stairs are dark and you just go headfirst
under your feet you can still feel the vibrations and the drowned out shouts of people who are starting to get drunk enough to not realize how loud they're shouting
nothing you really give a damn about though
nothing that you want to care about
what you do care about was what scared the hell out of you, something that you had never realized before
and the music thuds the symphony in your bones and you realize what you were so frightened of
it's not just music you see, it was just noise, the volume pumped to the point where the instruments just blended into one another and this crushing wall of sound was falling down on you
and nobody could make out what was playing
and everyone was moving in time with it
and you found yourself losing yourself in the crowd, not being who you were anymore, just some faceless movement in the crowd, nothing more than some ill shaped puzzle piece crammed into the wrong spot
that's not you
there's a sink nearby and you splash water on your face and as you think about it you realize that you're probably just blowing it all out of proportion
you told yourself not to have that one drink, it always makes you exaggerate things
ha, it's just silly, you think as the water drips down your face, strangely warm and slick
might as well go back downstairs and enjoy yourself, immerse yourself in the antics and forget about everything for a little
while
just some mindless fun with some friends
and then the beat shifts ever so slightly and you find yourself tapping your foot along with it
and you stop
and you look at it
and you just stand there
shift
the world is swirling and your viewpoint is that of a million balloons released into the sky, carried by the wind in any direction, the facets of a jewel are your eyes
you're walking on the ceiling
you're standing on the moon
the music is a far fetched cry in the distance, you're listening to music in your head, singing to a tune that nobody can hear
no some can, you can see them, lounging around on a couch, someone has their arms around a girl already and they're going at it
haha
at least you think it's a girl
if your vision wasn't blurred at the edges, if faces didn't fade in and out with alarming regularity
if you could even give a damn that the food in your stomach is stirring unhappily, mixed with an enemy they don't seem to like too much
your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, you're saying things that don't make any sense, even to you but who the hell cares in these days
you move to the thudding you hear around you, jerking your body in directions that feel more fluid than they actually are
you're made of rubber
you're sharp as glass
someone runs into you and you stumble a bit, laughing at the weirdest, funniest joke ever
because it concerns you losing your balance and your face hitting the floor
and the world turns again and you forget to move with it and ha ha that actually happens and the ground is rushing up and someone is cheering on a spectator
and
shift
whew things are heating up
the door seems to resist you opening it, almost like a suction
no one wants you to leave
but you do and the cooler air from the outside drapes you like a shroud and you breath deep as the heat and the sweat sloughs off you like old skin
the door shuts behind you silently, a click you never hear, the music changes from a piercing wall of noise to a more ominous thudding and pounding
the floor gyrates at your feet, the vibrations shaking you ever so slightly, if you stood there long enough they might just shake you to the stairwell and you'd fall down and die and
everyone would say, ha look at that the music made him kill himself, it's the devil's songs indeed
load of bull
you descend the steps carefully, the amount of alcohol in you not enough to make you feel weird but enough to make you feel good
and you're feeling good, lightheaded, on top of the world, the night is young and warm and as soon as you get outside you can enjoy a cigarette and get back into having fun
your steps seem to echo even with the swirling vibrations singing around you, you can see the door to the outside down below, the bastion against the outside world
that's what it's all about you realize, the parties, everything, it's a defense against the real world, it's going to get us eventually, it's coming and this is just flipping the bird at it and saying screw you we're not going down that easily
we can still be ourselves, goddamn you
but it'll come eventually, it always does
that thought depresses you somewhat and you find that you're really missing the acrid burn of a cigarette searing into your lungs
almost to the door
your hand is on the doorknob, cool and rough against your hand when you hear the voices outside, but you can't see anyone but that's not surprising because the window only see straight
out and you can't see below
never see the things coming from below
they must be sitting on the outside steps, and you don't want to interupt them and the proper thing to do would probably be to go back upstairs and wait until they come back and not
listen to what they're talking about but hell if they wanted a private conversation they should have gone somewhere private not out there in public
just go out and smoke and screw them, it's a goddamn free country
but you stand there and listen because in the end you can't think of anything better to do
there seems to be two voices, one a girl's and one a guy's and you can barely tell them apart because they're talking so low, as if they don't even want to hear each other
"I loved you once, you know."
"Did you? I always wondered that actually, like, I mean I thought so for a while but you never said for sure and I was afraid to ask."
"Why? You always said that it was never about love, it was just about two people getting together, you know, there was nothing to it."
"I . . . I guess I was wrong. I don't know, I always told myself that, that even if I did know, you know, if I knew for sure that it wouldn't make any difference but in time I think . . . if I had known otherwise a little part of me would have . . . died?"
"Died?"
"Like . . . just gone away, shriveled up or something. But I couldn't win, it was funny because like, if I had known that you, that you loved me then I would have felt weird because then
I'd have to look at my own feelings, you know and I didn't want to do that, I just wanted to, to enjoy myself."
"Love doesn't always screw things up."
"Most of the time it does, you know that. Just in a good way it does sometimes."
"And sometimes it's bad, it's that too."
"But not all the time, not most of the time, I realized that after a while, like, if someone loves you and deep down you know it you start loving them just as a, as a mirror or something and even if you don't really love them at the start, you will eventually, you just do."
"You never said that to me before."
"By the time I realized it, it was too late. Would it . . . would it have made any difference anyway?"
"No . . . no, I don't think it would have. In the end. You know how it was."
"Yeah. I know. I know. And I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too."
and the voices sound thick, as if they're talking underwater and you wonder if maybe they're crying and you can't hear them anymore and just hearing them was stirring something deep inside you, something that you never wanted to admit
and you grab the door and yank it open, nearly hitting your leg in the haste and you step out in one smooth fluid motion that screams sober sober sober
and there's no one there
you look left and right but it's just the night and the lights and the cars speeding silently by in their creeping fashion and you realize that they're gone
put it out of your head, don't worry about it
with barely trembling hands you take out a cigarette and put it in your mouth, not even pausing in the motion to light it
smoke wafts into your eyes and you inhale deeply and you feel the ball of fire slam into the back of your throat and ricochet down your body into your stomach where it turns into a
white hot flare of burning sensation
and the smoke hits you and the sensation hits you and your eyes keep watering as you stare out into the night and they just won't stop watering and you can taste the cigarette and you can taste the salty wetness and you keep thinking about the boy
and the girl
and the two crying people and what it meant to you
and you say that it means nothing
and you keep feeling the wetness on your face
and you tell yourself that it's just the cigarette
it's just the cigarette
it's just
shift
it's just the way the room spins around you as you spin with it, feeling the music slam into your body and jerk it along like someone getting pelted by machine gun fire
you move without realizing how or why or even when, not writhing, not even sure what you look like to other people
there's a strobe light going off somewhere, a counterpoint to a beat you can more sense than hear, someone is singing in the background but you can't figure out if it's someone near you or
the stereo itself and you don't really care
the press of people around you makes it hard to breathe
it's intoxicating
it's like a drug
your world is undercut with jostling and spinning forms, all people like you, you're distantly aware of sweat running down
your face
it's hotter than you realize, each breath is a compressed puff of geyser steam into your lungs but you're not feeling it, you're not feeling anything other than the people and the movement and what it all means
it means nothing and everything
someone presses or rubs against you, body against body, you can feel skin against your arm and your head spins with the possibilities
the air is drenched in hormones and sweat, you empty yourself out and it fills you back up again, inhibition has no place here, it's a foreign object, checked at the door with your
jacket
off to the side you can see someone attempting to find the beat, his face furrowed in concentration as he tries to move a body that definitely doesn't want to move that way
it makes you want to laugh for some reason at the absurdity of it
and you're feeling light headed and spaced, barely noticing when the music suddenly shifts into another song and everyone subtly compensates for the change without even realizing what
they're doing
and you're dancing with someone now, the ebb of the crowd has moved him in front of you and you're staring at him and he's staring back and the world is clanging in industrial rhythms
the air smells like something humid and the strobe throws playful shadows on the wall, gyrating to silent tunes, flickering into existence for only a second and getting their two seconds of fame in before dimming into nothing
and his hands are on you dancing together you are and you're consciously aware of the feelings in your own body and of your body and all the things inside of it
you can feel the air and the world rushing into your ears
he leans forward or maybe you do
with life swirling around you it's hard to tell what comes first these days
it's the gravity of a faded silhoutte
it's the musical orbit of a revived memory
all of it means nothing
everything
because then you
shift
it's the near silent dripping that wakes you up
and your head is throbbing out of time with the distant music
the sour taste of acid and alcohol and the odd potato chip mingle in your throat
there's something cold and wet against the side of your face and something foul sticking to your lip and you feel like you have no energy
everyone must have taken a punch at you, that's what it feels like
and you remember vaguely, like a memory stretched out so thin that it's transparent
you remember when the pounding in your head got too bad and when your stomach rebelled and said no more and you had to listen
but even then you don't remember clearly
just the sensation of turning yourself inside out
and you absentmindedly run your tongue over the smear on your lip and you taste much of the same things that are residing in your throat
and you start to gag and lift yourself up and your head tried to keep you down and someone starts to moan
but of course it's you
and your vision fuzzes up around the edges and the edges become the center and you hear water running somewhere and you look down
into the toilet
into what used to live in your stomach
and you remember why you came up here
then the acrid stench hits an already battered array of senses like catapults lobbing plague corpses into the beseiged city
and your body folds and heaves
and you hear more dripping
the muscles jerk and slam into your sides, trying to eject your organs, or that's what it feels like and you can't stop it, it's nothing more than a train running from your stomach to your mouth and just as easy to stop
but it does stop and you just lean there, your breath heaving, your vision worse than before and wonder what was worth this
and you lean your cheek against the cool surface and listen to the somber dripping and wish you could close your eyes and make it all go away
that's when they find you
shift
you're watching
you're watching the dance
all of them, gently moving forms, in the blinkflash of the strobes it's an underwater ballet, people moving in slowtime, their lives a brief flickering brightness that leaves images that too quickly fade away
and you're standing on the side
back against the wall
one hand clasped around a cup of soda or something or other because you really don't remember
and you keep watching
and they keep moving
you keep sipping at it like you feel you need to but don't really want to and your eyes look out over the rim and you note the things you see and the things you wish you didn't see
you've seen drunkards staggering up the stairs
you've seen acts of baseless passion that meant nothing to either party, couplings fated by chance that were as empty as you feel where the only reason is to satiate the cloud of hormones
that used to be the air in the room
and nobody cares
and even worse, you've seen those same sorts of couplings where the emptiness is only one sided and it makes you angry and you find that even your anger is empty
and nobody cares
and you keep watching
because for the life of you you can't figure out what else to do with yourself
the music changes to a slower number, still so loud that for most people it's only intelligible as a blending from a faster
song into a slower one but they all move with it nonetheless
there are dozens of couples now, people pairing up for the forced intimacy of the moment, though for some perhaps it's not so forced
you see them, and you see the couples and you see the brave ones without partners determined to make their mark by themselves
instead
they're far braver than you, you realize, as you stand on the side with your soda and your loneliness like a prized cloak around you
you make yourself sick, frankly
but you keep watching anyway, because in the end you feel there's nothing you can do to stop anything from happening
and you watch one couple in particular
you watch the girl, and you think of all the nights you tried to think of things to say to her, tried to get her attention, those fleeting moments of eye contact when you thought
you saw something there
and even now you're not sure
and the endless debate and the endless interior monologues and in the end you did nothing anyway, the same damn thing you've
been doing all your damn life
nothing
and even now you stand there and you watch and you see the person she's standing with and they're across the room and within arm's reach
and you can see her eyes and what you see there tears at you
the song is reaching it's climax and you realize that you've just finished your drink
and the moment happens so suddenly and subtly that you barely notice it even though you're staring right at it
but they've moved closer and you see their faces touch and it lasts for more than a second, than five seconds, than ten seconds
and you feel warm suddenly and flushed
and the cup and the music and everything else feels very far away
and you stand there and you watch without really seeing
and inside a little part of you dies
shift
the darkness settles around you like a blanket, if you closed your eyes it would make no difference at all
you could be anywhere
but you're here
and you've stepped in here, answering the call that you saw in someone's eyes, felt the pressure of their hands on you and felt yourself responding in kind
it's dark in here
it's warm in here, the air nearly stifling
the door is sealed shut tightly, adding to the heat, each breath your breathe out never escape, it just circulates back and forth
you're breathing in each other
things become immersed in a layer of greasy sweat and his hands are slick and slipping all over you
at some point his shirt has come off
so has yours
it is hot in here after all
and the feel of skin on skin makes something ripple within you
you want to think this is all because of the drinks, because of the suffocating layer of hormones that has settled all over everyone but part of you wants to think that you wanted this,
that you need this, that every single moment, every step and every slide and every stare and every stride ran right to this moment
and it's dark and you can't see and you really don't need to because there's nothing to see
it's all instinct
theatre
and he runs his hand along you lightly, but trembling with something and just when you thought you hit a plateau things creep up a notch and you bite your lip to keep from gasping
the heat makes breathing hard, but you think it's because of something else
and it's not just you, you can sense it in him, he's falling even faster than you are, pulled by something that isn't under his control anymore
and even here, in his dismal dank and too humid place, locked in while people party outside, there's a kind of poetry to even the most backalley of things
each fumbling step is an echo of something else, each moan is a mirror
you don't even know at which point all your clothes are off and you're pressing even harder against him but you can feel it and you just know it
though part of you takes a backseat and just watches
you can now, after all you're just following the steps and motions and lines, there's no volition to this anymore, for either of you
and you remember the first time you saw him and thought he looked all right but you could tell there was something in the way he looked at you
and the first kiss stolen on a couch with a drunken person slumped against you staring with glazed eyes at the all too interesting ceiling
the first stirrings of something happened and each motion brought it closer, even as you tried to fight it
even now
and maybe later you'll regret this and you probably will
but there's nothing you can do, it's all a train wreck heading straight for the bottom of the hill, smoke in its wake
you can feel his hot breath slamming into your ear and you like it
nothing any of you could do
his hands encircle your back while yours do the same, feeling the slight give of muscle flab, the individual ribs, everything covered in a salty coating
even as you stepped into here, pausing a moment for the decision, altered as it was by alcohol and hopes of passion and thoughts of desire and emotions that in the end control you more than you control them
and the last thought of ohwhatthehell
and he's breathing faster now
so are you
pressing against you harder
and then he
oh
oh my
oh my God
shift
the stairs are an endless climb, weaving in and out of your awareness, seeming to leap away just as you get closer to reaching the top
like an insane cartoon
the walls are made of rubber
stopping briefly you pause and lean heavily on the railing, feeling your stomach stirring but you force it down
you can hold it in
sure you can
and you nearly trip as take a step to the next step and find that there isn't a step there to step down on
but you're up top now
the bathroom is right down the hall and that's where you really want to go, not to, you know, but just to take a piss, that's all
and you start to walk toward it, the floor feeling like one of those amusement park attractions where they fill an inflatable room up with foam balls and let you bounce around
another step and you'll fall and suffocate
another step and you won't stop falling
careful careful
don't trip on the foam balls
ha ha ha
you're not just another drunk, you're not drunk at all really, you don't even know why you feel like this, you must have had two drinks that didn't agree and now one of them has to go
that's all
but as you get closer to the bathroom you realize that the door is shut and you can see light trying to peek out from beneath the crack under the door and you hear someone behind the
door
it's in use
goddamn
time stretches out into slow time for you as you lean against the sink outside waiting for the door to open
you close your eyes trying to stifle your too quickly beating heart and the unsettling feelings in your stomach
across from you there's a room, you remember it fairly clearly, having been in there just a while ago, one of your fellow partiers passed out and he was brought up there
loser, you think, staring into the room, drink too fast and you sleep the night away and don't even remember anything and you don't enjoy yourself either, what the hell is the point of all
that
there is no point
but then it's not like you can talk, you're not feeling too well yourself
shutup
when the hell are they getting out of there
you turn and lean against the sink, seeing you fragmented and swollen reflection in the small droplets of water
behind you, there's someone talking in the other room but there's this roaring in your ears and you can only catch
fragments
"funny thing is, I would have done it, too . . . no really, I would have, nobody would ever believe me but I would have, I was so close
"she was right there, sitting and we were talking and I thought to myself, this, this would be the perfect time to at least attempt it because, at least . . . at least I'd know then.
For sure. And not have to guess anymore. That would be great
"but he walked in and she walked out and, you know, I'll always wonder if I would have had the nerve. That bothers me I guess"
you hear a sardonic laugh
"but hell, you can't even hear me, and even if you can, you're so smashed that you'll just attribute this to some sort of dream. That's the only reason I'm talking now, really, the only
time I can be brave. When nobody else is listening."
no that's not true, you think, wanting to turn around and say something
but you can't find the strength to turn around
"and I want to ask you all these questions, like, I just do but I can't because I don't want to know and I do and I don't and some days I just don't give a damn"
a long sigh
"but I was so close dammit, that's what I always remember about this party, more than anything else, how goddamn close I was to actually doing something for once, you know and I wonder if she'll ever know, if she even suspected. Probably not. Probably not."
another laugh
"but then what do you know?"
and you finally get the strength to turn around and you want to look in the room and see who that was because their voice felt too far away to be heard clearly and there was such a tone of lonliness and distance that you want to say that someone must care, someone must be able to help them and
the door opens
and your stomach rebels again and your only thought is the bathroom
and you rush in without even closing the door and something heaves within you
and the last thing you see is your distorted face in the funhouse mirror of the bowl, pale and warped
open wide
shift
the night air greets your face like a lover as you let the door swing open into the cold dawn air
the sounds of the stereo are still booming in your ears and you hold the door open for a second, letting the two conflicting textures, the hot air of the party and the cool calm air of the
night wrestle over you
then you let the door shut and the sound abruptly cuts off
you stand there for a long time, remembering everything you saw, everything you didn't see, the things that happen in the dark when people think people aren't looking, the things that you
finally get the bravery for when you don't feel the eyes anymore
there's a lot that can happen
and you stand there, feeling the solid weight of your keys in your hand, feeling the clearness of your head, the night burning away into the very early morning is a beautiful thing,
the lights of the nearby city glisten like dew, or jewels and every so often a car glides past, mounted lights on a silent foundation
in the distance you can hear a popular song being sung off key
and you stand there, remembering everything, feeling more alive than you have in a long time, like you're tingling, like you don't want to leave, like you don't want to sleep again, ever, because you may miss another moment like thisin the halfdark, in the solitude, with just your thoughts and your memories and it's almost too much to even assimilate, to even contain it's all almost too much
but you just stand there for a long time
until finally you just shake your head and grin
"Hell of a night" you say
before hopping down the steps and heading for your car.