Day 101 - Rave Story

Rave Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The music was loud and the beat was electronic and pumping. Lights flashing, but the room was smoky and dark. There was a stage but only women were allowed on it. Out on the floor, the bodies were pressed close, but the movements were wild and reckless and free and flowed as if each individual was the only one there. Minds were shut off and hearts were opened. Emotions were augmented and heightened.

She came to dance, but there was so much more to it than that. The world was dull, but she was bright. The crowds were zombies, but she was alive. If there were such things as spirit and the soul, she would inspire the skeptic to believe. Freckles with dark red hair dyed bright Kool-Aid red. Bangs cut short but long flowing hair down her back. Sweat running down her face, her grey tank top stained, and hair beginning to stick. But she didn’t care. She came to dance and so she danced.

She called herself McGuinness and said she was Irish, but it seemed highly unlikely that someone from Ireland would actually be named after the beer. But stranger things have happened.

Miller rested in the corner of the room, standing against the brick wall, head leaning back with his eyes shut and mouth open. If you just glance past him you might think he was asleep or dead. Someone actually falling asleep with the pounding bass seemed impossible. Miller did not come to dance, he came to be taken away by the scene and get lost in himself and in his mind. His spirit flew free as he forgot himself and became one with a universal truth of motion and mayhem.

Miller opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. It was open and exposed and he could see all the pipes and air ducts even if they were painted black and partially obscured in the darkness. He was sure that exposed fixtures must have been hip at one point, but he couldn’t believe that was still a thing. But what did he know. He wasn’t sure if any of this night was real or just exactly where he was.

The music stopped and everything slowed down like it would in a movie. The room was in black and white, but she was in color. Or at least that’s the way Miller saw McGuinness when he looked at her. She was a beacon. His beacon. She was an anchor keeping him from getting swept away and lost at sea. All he had to do was focus on her and hang out.

He didn’t dance. She danced and was out on the floor, but he didn’t dance and wasn’t going to go out there. He wasn’t sure he could make his body move anyway. His eyes just wanted to close and his head wanted to fall back and rest its weight on his shoulders. He almost tipped over but caught himself.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a slow and painfully beautiful version of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah was being sung by Lou Reed. He could just lose his mind thinking about it. It was tragic and painful and full of life and hope and loss and love all at the same time. A tear rolled down his cheek, but if you didn’t know better, it would have just looked like more sweat on his face.

McGuinness danced the dance of freedom and forgot who she was and Miller watched her do it and was pulled along in the slipstream. The night would never last long enough, but if they tried hard enough, they might forget it for just one moment.