Tossing and turning in bed one evening, I decided not to sleep away another Saturday night safely tucked away at home. Instead, I decided to go to a dance club. As a woman approaching forty years old, it could be a frightening thought. However, the excitement behind the spontaneity thrilled me.
The preparation of the evening is a loud experience in solitude, complete with house music blaring from my bedroom. While completing my feminine ritual of getting dressed and dramatically painting my face, I wonder if I was somehow “too old” for such an evening, if I was trying to relive some part of me that no longer exists. However, I have always been extremely independent and brave and tonight I am a testament to these traits.
Putting on lipstick and looking into the mirror, I tell myself I would go in alone and leave as I went in. This is not a mission to couple up with someone; or be measured against any standards or judged because of whatever category exists in this environment. Tonight is a mission to enjoy one night of secretly reliving it. Reliving a period in my life that spiritually set my sights on a higher level of being up to this day. It was the most enjoyable period of making one mistake after another but always landing on my feet. I defined who I am and rebelled against any attempt to be defined by society’s normal blahs.
Heading to the venue by quickly walking the streets, heels clicking the pavement, and bundled in a light black leather jacket, I see the moon in the night sky above me, peeking from the corners of buildings and I feel a gentle roar emanate from the moment.
My spirit heightens when I stumble onto the edge of the dance floor, the crowd a pulsating mess. I mean this with the most sincere adoration. All the juicy goodness floods back into view, as well as I could see in this perfectly dungeon-like space. I am looking at a collective of beautiful faces all with common ideology. Tonight, the club crowd is young and hip, old as well as new. We are diversity in thought and action, faces, shapes and skin tones. I noted that this party brought out a few individuals closer to my age, and I feel grateful.
We are an underground movement and as a DJ friend would say, the love bond is in the music. I know this as I have lived this scene and have spent many, many hours in the club in my younger years. I remember being granted full access, skipping ahead of lines that wrapped around the corner to walk past the security into a club for free with my friends. We were true friends who shed sweat together on the dance floor, peeling off clothes in the heat, dancing effortlessly for eight hours straight every freaking Saturday night.
As with age, I feel my knees buckle a bit while walking among the crowd. I realize I am now unable to last the night with the same energy level of a tall, thin twenty-something who enjoyed dancing on speakers.
Regardless, tonight is different. I tell myself I am older and more profound. I smile inside at an attempt to make myself feel more at ease. This night I’m strictly here for the music, for an evening of pure escape into one of life’s great experiences, in my opinion. I also wonder what draws us here among crowded footsteps, and electronic noise, smoke machines and expensive drinks? I like the way it sounds and the way it feels I tell myself, keeping it simple. Enjoy the energy, I tell myself again, while eagerly remembering I have followed this DJ I came to hear tonight for years. I have blasted my eardrums many times on a speeding subway train, listening to him from my Walkman and now iPod. I have felt the power behind the sounds. I have felt my misery escape me.
Music has always been my sanctuary, even as a child. There were photos taken by my father who thought his little girl wearing a huge pair of seventies head phones would one day become a brilliant musician of sorts. Not so. But the passion for music remains and tonight is a treat for me, I recall. For all the steps ahead tonight, I’m wearing a halter-top for the heat and drinking water for the buzz. One thing I will have is a dance.
I dance casually alone, the “kids” surrounding me like a security blanket. My eyes closed, I enjoy every single layer of sound. The DJ is spinning as we bounce. The music is infinite. The lights flash. My heart is racing and now I am empowered.
It’s rather intense this random collection of sounds. Layers upon layers of sound adorned with loud, soulful voice, screaming positive words of love and life in this mix of deep house. I feel the unified vision directed right at me. I enjoy the maximum volume and I feel it beating and resonating hard alongside my heart in my chest. It is fast and I enjoy it immensely. Lost in the moment of this orchestra of sorts I am moving, actually moving! God, it has been so long…my skin feels moist from work up of a sweat. No longer tired, I feel my blood circulating and flowing through my body. My hips, joints and limbs have come alive on their own and I feel at right back at home.
A descent time has passed on the dance floor. Then, as if under moonlight, I open my eyes to see a shadow dancing in front of me. Dark African skin, the sweat adding luminance to his silhouette. The hard drums emanate in the moment and the whites of his eyes contrast the darkness of his pupils.
I sense he is a king, at least here, on the floor, if not anywhere else. In the stare he gives, I realize I am recognized–meaning, he realizes we have this fantastic moment in common. Absolutely beautiful, I look back at him, thinking he is perfect. Next I find I am lost in a whirlwind of dropped beats. I feel as if I have become as lava dripping sluggishly down the rocks.
The crowd becomes a unanimous movement of slow motion…shapes and figures, mostly silhouettes and speckled body parts caught in the light. The music tonight is almost at its peak…right now…this moment we count down.
My king and his kingdom are breaking into digital pieces while the energy flows, through blank words and spoken insides. I feel as if I am summoned to heaven, complete with fire within.
I cannot resist the urge to stare at this dark figure moving and dancing prominently before me. I realize I will never know his name. Yet rhythmically we are in sync. And then, as the moment climaxes to beat, and complete with eye contact, as if announced on cue, his arms become a mile long and outstretch towards the ceiling. And as I watch, in time to the beat, he proudly flutters his wings in a sensual rejoice. He is the phoenix rising from the flames! I am in awe. Yes. It is love to the beat of the drum, my friend. Love to the beat of the drum.
I need a rest for a second from the experience. I need to sit and to cover myself in the sidelines for a minute. Collect my thoughts. I move through the crowd, away from the dance floor slowly through a wave of pulse, the glances caught in spotlight. I love the flash.
The stranger that graced me with his presence tonight has taught me that each moment we have we must live as if in flight. We must soar, even in darkest circumstances, the worst of environments. He also taught me that we are only as old as we feel, the most typical cliché ringing true here. He taught me that this music springs roots, turns mere humans into special beings. It is the love in the music.
What happened only moments ago, what was shared on that floor, can only happen here, in the club, my club, and our club. Here in New York City in a bouncing black-walled basement of a building, in the simultaneous light from the darkness of the early morning.
