"In Which Reality is a Wild Pony Ride"

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"We all have that one song that awakens the strippers in us."

-

Rebel Circus

11:50 PM 

Vie Nuit, Downtown Square

https://youtu.be/pnJM_jC7j_4

My head is pounding. Blood rushes to my ears. The strobe lights are stark, pointing left, right, front and back. 

I look around me, feeling like a stranger outside an invisible wall of sound-proof glass.

Everyone was dancing, gyrating their bodies to every tempo and beat of the fast-paced music. They were lost in their own world, stuck in a sea of frenzied bodies.

The lights dim down, getting vivid now, as they break in multi-colored rays. They float around the open space, glowing like fireflies and alighting ever so briefly on us.

My skin shivers at the thought as they come in contact with mine, while the tiny hairs stiffen and stand straight.

I brush my hand on my neck, feeling it warm up even further. It was oddly slicked with sweat, just like every part of me, despite the cool air blasting from every corner of the club.

I fan myself, the air around me getting thicker and heavier. My head continues to throb, my eyes twitchy as the lights I have admired earlier draw eerily near me.

Watching the way those lights move is like looking through broken glass, slowly dispersing into tiny fragments while the warm and cool hues are suspended in a colloidal state. They envelop me in a swirling motion, isolating my vision from what was actually happening around me.

I clutch at my head, willing the lights to go away.

I rub my eyes with the back of my wrists. My throat is dry, my lips threatening to chap. I couldn't hear anything above the music and the sound of my beating heart. 

Somebody brushes past me. And then, another one. And, another.

I shudder at each contact.

Why did I do this?

What am I doing here?

Why am I so alone? 

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11:00 PM 

Still at Vie Nuit, Downtown Square

https://youtu.be/CSkFgrUnYPE

"It's official, we're living the shit y'all!" Tamieke concludes, barely an hour of entering the club.

Vie Nuit certainly lives up to its name of giving the people exactly what their narrowly-viewed perceptions of the night are— the seductive promises of clandestine sex, alcohol, drugs, or any cheap thrills that fade away into the shadows and never to be seen in the light of day.

The dark interior is subtly lit by strobe lights in chromatic shades of blue, and the walls resemble shipping containers and give the sense of an enclosed space, triggering the body's responses to danger and anticipation.

Unfortunately, all I can smell so far is testosterone, and it's radiating like crazy from where I'm sitting — right next to the judies — in one of the small square booths clustered around a bar. 

Tia, along with her teammates from the dance team, is currently decimating every dance group on the dance floor. Their bodies sway and swerve all over the round platform, performing stunts I never cared to learn the names of. 

Surrounding them are moving bodies who either wish to sweat off the ill effects of alcohol or have the excuse to grind against any available drunk person.

Unfortunately, the booth we're in, though comfy in their upholstered soft black leather, just happens to be strategically placed in front of the dancefloor.

I prop my foot on our booth's roundtable, toeing the smooth luminescent pole at the center with the soles of my knee-high boots.

It was a perfect attraction for idiots who are inebriated enough to think they can be professional pole dancers or strippers.

The only shining beacon worth noticing was the bar.

Constructed in a square shape at the heart of the club, it caters to all customers from all four sides. It was also an upgrade — considering the crappy clubs in the neighboring towns.

Lucky for us, our booth is for VIPs and people with a high credit limit, which places us right next to the bar. This perk wouldn't have happened if not for Emile and Jhett's generosity — particularly, their fathers' plastics.*

Sadly, it's surrounded by the dancefloor that serves as a boundary between the high-rollers and the common folk.

Now, I know what you're thinking, 'It's crazy! Who puts a bar in the middle of a dancefloor? What kind of people would dance their way through a pit of sweaty strangers for a drink and back?'

For those who might think it would be fun, well good luck getting stampeded. Because that... is exactly what's gonna happen in my next possible future. (Insert a helpless sigh.)

I plop my head back to the headrest, half-listening to a TedEd video of Plato's 'Allegory of the Cave', and waiting for Joule and Jhett to come back from the restroom.

Meanwhile, Tamieke and Emile continue drooling over a cute bartender like he's a prime piece of medium-done steak.

Out of nowhere, a pretty waitress walks over and effectively blocks the judies' line of sight.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks in a perky tone with a pen and notepad in hand. She was a little too green for my taste.

Emile, not appreciating the interruption, sends her a tight-lipped smile with a promise of a measly tip in retribution.

"You can tell that hot bartender over there," he motions his head to the man behind her, "I want at least two Screaming Orgasms" — the waitress nods as she writes his order down — "two Between the Sheets, a French Kiss on my Slippery Nipple, and a Slow Screw — extra dirty. And for my drink, I'll have a StrawberryDaiquiri." 

He smacks his lips in the bartender's direction.

The bartender gives him a courteous smile before taking another order.

"Exactly, how many, sir?"

"Yes," Emile simply answers, sending her a look that isn't open for discussion.

"Right away, sir," the waitress replies hastily, eager to place our order and partially regretting being stationed at our table. She flips her notepad and slightly bumps with Joule in her escape.

"You just gave her a ridiculous order, and she went for it!" Joule gushes in awe, sipping on his third Piña Colada.

"What did I tell you? The shit!" Tamieke trills. 

"You might be onto something," Joule giggles, clearly on the verge of surpassing his limit.

"You guys, guess who I just saw!" Jhett wheezes, his voice harried.

He parks himself beside Emile, bouncing on his seat with excitement.

I tap my bottom lip. "A lonely man in the mirror who turned out to be you?" 

"No!" — he scoffs momentarily at the ridiculous idea — "I think I just peed next to Harry Styles' body-double!"

A shout of cheers suddenly resonates from the crowd as Tia and her dance teammates do what they do best while Kiana captures it all — winning.

"His-what now?" I ask, confused.

Emile, sensing an opportunity for another 'pop-culture' lesson, explains. "You know, hired actors paid to live up to their hard-partying reputation to make them look interesting enough to stir up the paparazzi. What'd you think I posted that ad on Craigslist for? I'm so famous, I swear my IG followers are out to stalk me. Like, I'm more than just a hashtag, people."

I scrunch my nose at the sheer and vast amount of his imagination — or was it delusion?

Jhett, who had slipped out for a drink during Emile's oh-so-enlightening lecture, comes back with Tia and Kiana in tow. So does the waitress with our drinks.

"Bottoms up!" Emile announces after the waitress quietly slips away.

Tamieke picks up his glass of Thousand-Dollar Mint Julep (a drink he says he'll ever get close to having the words 'thousand-dollar' associated with his drink) and shakes it.

"Ooh, this needs more ice. Slut, get us some," he shakes the glass over to Emile.

"Get your own ice," Emile replies distractedly, taking selfies of himself from different angles for his IG.

"I'll take your photo by the bar," Tamieke sing-songfully offers.

If there was anything Emile liked more than taking selfies, it's having someone take pictures of him. Something in the way that it makes him feel like he was being shot by the paparazzi, he once said.

"Ooh, with the hot bartender and my booty snatched? Deal! Hags" — he motions to us — "turn on the jackal switch."

Kiana flicks her finger in the air. "Click?"

Emile takes Tamieke's drinks and seductively prowls in the bartender's direction.

"Get some drinks, too!" I call after him. "Like, really big drinks!" I describe with my hands.

He waves me off dismissively.

"I still can't believe, with all these guys, no one has hit on me yet," Tamieke grumbles, putting his foot on the roundtable.

"Relax, we've barely begun" — Joule sips his drink — "guys aren't even that drunk yet."

 I pop my tongue. "O-o-ooh, shade!"

"Bi-i-itch!" Tamieke rasps.

"Oh-damn, oh-damn, oh-damn," Jhett chants to himself, spying a tall, dark, and handsome guy by the dancefloor.

"Ooh, three oh-damns. That's like one oh-damn away from a holy-damn," I remark, stretching my arms behind my head.

"Please be gay and our age — or older!" Tamieke wishes out loud, he and Jhett twisting their fingers in both hands.

They both always had a thing for older men. Emile even once posted a vlog about them searching for sugar daddies on Grindr — for academic purposes.

Too bad, the guy they were drooling for is neither. I saw him sneaking out of the school halls during freshman orientation last week.

Just then, Emile comes back with our third (or was it the fifth?) round of drinks. Instead of shots, he slides tall glasses of Emerald Sunrise, Midori Margarita, and Green Long Island Iced Tea onto the table. "Order up!"

We all grab a drink, except for Tia who's still nursing a glass of ginger ale with a sour expression. Unfortunately, she won the draw of being the designated driver for tonight.

"Why are they glowing?" Kiana asks in curious fascination. She leans over the table and clicks her nails on her glass. CLINK-CLINK!

Now that she mentioned it, they all kinda resemble green glow sticks.

 Emile clears his throat. "Erm, food coloring?" 

Tamieke clinks his glass with a car key, calling our attention.

"Oh-kay! Listen up, judies" — he then turns to Tia, Kiana, and me — "and hags. Here's to the first of many wild epic nights as seniors! God help this town and our livers, 'coz we about to hit on 'em muddah-fuckin' shit and we won't stop until we're all white girl wasted!"* — he glances at Tia — Well, most of us."

"Here-here," we all reply, raising our glasses for a toast.

"Bottoms up, children! Remember, there are people in the world who can't afford alcohol!" 

My face squirms as the alcohol burn down my throat, its numbing effects seeping through my brain. 

I lick my lips, not wasting any of the sweet ambrosia.

"Drink-drink-drink-drink!" Jhett, Emile, and Tamieke cheer at Joule.

But, when Joule made it clear he was content in taking short measured sips, they changed their chant. "Sip-sip-sip-sip!"

Tia, Keke, and I just stare at them. At least, they were supportive.

In the background, the DJ begins to play another song. The lights turn into purple streaks as the crowd prepares to sway to the beats of a familiar tune.

https://youtu.be/WDZJPJV__bQ

"I'm so reckless when I rock my Givenchy dress (stylin')

I'm so possessive so I rock his Roc necklaces..."

Jhett gasps, fanning his arms. "You guys, that's our jam!"

Tamieke didn't need to be told twice. He was already too busy singing along to the song.

"My daddy Alabama, momma Louisiana... 

You mix that n*gro with that Creole make a Texas bamma!"

Emile elbows Tamieke and motions his head towards the people on the dance floor. "Let's show those amateur hoes what dancing is."

Tamieke grins, his pearly whites glowing blue under the backlights. "Ladies" — he snaps his fingers — "the category is... Let's Get Into Formation!"

"If you're so eager to dance, why didn't you join the dance team?" Tia inquires.

Emile scoffs. "Potts, please. The only way you'll see this" — he gestures all over himself — "dancing is when I'm holding a drink and twerking against a tall glass of water. Now, come on!"

"I'm gonna have to sit this one out," Tia, abandoning her stiff upright posture, sprawls over the seat into a much more comfortable position.

"That's new," I comment. And totally uncharacteristic.

Most times, Tia simply takes a quick drink before her ass is back on the floor.

"Boo!" — he turns to me — "Ave?"

Usually, the judies asking me was a general after-thought.

"Nice try. She doesn't dance, remember?" Tia replies on my behalf.

I never liked dancing. Mainly, because dancing never liked me back. Bu-u-ut, something in my gut and my semi-inebriated mind, held me back from saying my usual 'NO'.

"You know what?" I take another glass of Emerald Sunrise and down the last of it in a matter of seconds. I stand up, earning curious looks from Tia, Keke, and the judies. "I think I wanna dance."

Emile and Jhett squeals, "Let's do this!"

Falling into a queue, we sashay our way into the massive throng of people.

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11:52 PM 

(Still) Vie Nuit, Downtown Square

Ave!

Who's there?

Ave!

Leave me alone!

Ave!

I snap back from my maudlin reverie only to realize somebody had been shaking my shoulder.

Quickly, my sluggish mind functions at a normal speed again. The haze lifts enough to reveal my friends in front of me.

My ears zero into the sound of their voices.

Joule shakes my shoulder again, "Ave! We've been calling you"—

Without thought or warning on my part, my arms fly envelops him in a tight hug.

"I thought you guys left!" I half-wail, tightening my arms around him while he claps my back, signaling me to let go.

"Left?" Tamieke repeats skeptically. "We've been dancing beside you all this time!"

"Really?" I ask, feeling relieved despite looking like a stupid clingy person. They didn't leave me after all!

"No shit!" — Tamieke rolls his eyes — "You've been talking to yourself non-stop, it was getting annoying. Even some guys left thinking we're crazy, too!"

I steady my head. The music and the lights are still messing with my concentration. "I don't think this was a good idea."

"Are you kidding me, right now?!" Emile cries, pushing Joule aside, "We've only just begun! We're not leaving until you twerk that ass for what it's worth!" 

"How?" I ask, stumped on something as simple as shaking my ass. "I can't exactly dance to a single song even if my life depended on it!"

The music had already changed from Beyoncé' to another EDM song. I am so out of my comfort zone. My body refuses to move with my arms, I feel like a robot!

https://youtu.be/Jnw70tACBjs

Even Joule is serving Vogue Femme hand precision, alternating between sharp angles and circular motions with limp wrists. His soft body gracefully moves along to the tempo by just the slight twist of his hips.

Ugh, now I remember why I don't dance. The only time I even attempted to dance my best, I turned out looking like the girl from that 'Lean On'* music video.

"Do ya, do ya, do ya, do ya?

Do you think about

Do ya, do ya, do ya, do ya, do ya?"

"Just let go," they all say at the same time.

And so, I did. Or, I tried to.

"This doesn't feel right," I groan, awkwardly flailing my arms, while the bottom half of my body stays frozen.

I try to sway my hips, but it only made me look like I had a broken hip.

"I have an idea!" Tamieke shouts over the loud music. "I'll be back. You guys take care of... whatever 'that' is," he makes a face and gestures at my cringy stilted dance moves, before striding purposely towards the DJ's platform.

"Just call it 'White Girl Dancing'!* Seriously, whose feelings are you trying to spare here?!" I call after him — not that he can hear me anyway.

Emile shakes his head at me "Bitch, I wish you were 'White Girl Dancing', but even Farrah Moan* dances better than you."

"Loosen up, Ave! Nothing's gonna go wrong if you do. Just feel the music!" Jhett encourages, showing me some simple arm-and-torso choreography to follow.

I try — and fail again.

But, just when all hopes were lost, something happened.

A few lazy notes echo in, followed by slow seductive beats, and triggering something inside me — mostly in my downstairs area.

I feel my hips sharply thrust sideways as if they were possessed. I suppress the urge to giggle as some inexplicable feeling bubbles inside me.

https://youtu.be/kgFcbuUeOzo

"I'm just a bachelor

I'm looking for a partner

Someone who knows how to ride..."

Have you ever had that one song that unleashes the inner stripper within you?

Well, it just so happens that one song is playing right now.

That's why, with my hips swaying, I begin to let go.

After all, what could go wrong?

  ‧ ‧ ‧

12:30 AM 

Somewhere in Downtown

I was wrong.

Everything could go wrong.

No.

It did go wrong — that, I realize now as I walk down the cobbled streets alone.

After a small fight that quickly escalated involving me and my friends, someone had to interfere. It just so happened that 'someone' was the bouncers — whose one of their own I might've accidentally broken his nose. 

Long story short, someone called the cops, and now I'm probably wanted for assault and disturbing the peace.

Ooh, and the cherry on top of this fucking shit-cake?

I also got separated from Tia and the others.

It was like watching a slow-motion shot of our hands reaching for each other against the maddening sea of people. Only, unlike the Titanic, I got thrown away on my ass all the way to the service entrance.

"So much for embracing my youth, Pops," I mumble while stumbling on my feet as I narrowly avoid a motorcycle.

"Hey, I'm walking here!" I shout after the rider, flipping him off.

Of course, that was pointless since he had already shot past me.

I feel the rage surging through me recede into helpless fits of giggles.

I'm still drunk.

As if this situation didn't get worse enough, by some divine ineffable plan, the rain decided to fall on me like heavy corpses on my head.

Fick! I panic. 

I begin to run down into a familiar lane until my eyes find what they're searching for.

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Piping hot tea ahead!

"What's that one song that awakens the inner stripper within you?"

I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours ;)

Follow-up question: What did you think about this chapter?

P. S. Scroll further down below for a short sneak-peek of my next chapter: "In Which Reality Resounds a Siren Call".

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PLAYLIST

(in order)

White Rabbit — Jefferson Airplane

Stay (Don't Go Away) — David Guetta feat. Raye

Formation — Beyoncé 

Do You Think About Me — NVDES

Pony — Ginuwine

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*[F/N]*

Plastics —  another word for credit and debit cards.

White Girl Wasted — the phenomenon which occurs when a person consumes too much alcohol and proceeds to embarrass themselves and their friends for however long they remain conscious. It is usually characterized by off-beat dancing, the stripping of clothes, groping strangers, the overwhelming smell of fruity alcohol, and general sloppiness that can only be associated with drinking.

Girl from the Lean On Music Video — 

White Girl Dancing — when a female dances with her arms moving up down and around her own body adding hip/body sways.

Farrah Moan —  a drag queen and former participant of RPDR S9. Here is Farrah Moan white girl dancing:

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SNEAK PEEK

"For this next song, I'm gonna be toning it down a bi'. It may sound familiar. I heard this one on the radio on my way here. Hope you like it."

Before I can make out his accent, he already takes a deep breath, the sound amplified by the mic.

He begins to play, strumming his guitar again to another familiar tune.

I turn around, his dazzling pair of eyes widen as they settle on mine.

And then, he just stops.

His hand hovers on his guitar for a moment before he plays again. This time, he starts with a different tune and sings.

"It's not your eyes," he starts softly, his voice low and strangely soothing, like a lover's caress, without being breathy.

I close my eyes to its tender charm, letting it pull me deeper and deeper.

"It's not what you say

It's not your laughter that gives you away

You're just lonely

You've been too lonely, too long..."

I open my eyes, unable to resist the urge to peek at him.

He apparently doesn't have any conflicting thoughts of shame as he holds my stare with his own.

Almost like he's telling me he sees me — that I'm not alone.

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André