Class had ended or had it? I ran from Uptown Whittier to the house. Time to get ready on a night like this.
The past few weeks had blended together. I finally got my bearings because I remembered it was “hump day”, or Wednesday to the helpless souls who go to bed at federally regulated hour. Before the night has begun I found myself being an Internet predator looking for some MILF to take care of my burning loin. It is not as easy as it was ten years ago. When you could easily go into a chat room and thirty minutes later a beautiful woman would show up free of charge to bathe you like some dirty rat. Those days have long since passed I found myself debating should I masturbate now or when I get home.
The night was relaxing as I had not been at home during the 20th hour of the day in almost a week. Wretched bar to club, to subtle BBQ’s to the Lebanese brisk I attended early that day.
I sit here and write in the tenth day of August in the year of our Lord, 2006. For the first time in my employer asked me at nine in the morning if the glass on my desk was a Bloody Mary, my response was a quick, “why yes sir it is, would you care for one?” pointing to the refrigerator I keep in my office. Had the night ended? Or did I make it to work somehow clean-shaven and not smelling like some of the woman I danced with the night before.
Are the scars visible? I thought thinking back on the night before where it all went down. The small dive just two blocks from the place I had not seen in days, my house. No pressure and not a single worry as I arrived along side Mom and Dad like always. I gave not attention to the young harlots as we made our way directly to the front of the bar, service man, fucking service. My usual, a Gin and Tonic, hold the Tonic, on the rocks with no ice. Give me the goddamn lime! I thought as she made the drink, the burnt out Betty Page doll who I see week after week.
I stood there sipping my gin, and spilling it as I do every night and every time I am there, intoxicated even before I take a sip. More than likely it was the beautiful dame standing in front of me that took my mind away from the tonic and to her eyes. It happened then, the crowds, the dames, and the rats swarming the place. Jesus, this is the night? I thought, but for what. We made our rounds, hugging and saying hello to the souls drenched in their sorrows. How long could I go until I get caught? Who were the usual suspects? I lit up an Al Capone, cognac dipped smokes, it made the gin sweeter and my eyes water.
I had not even thought about the events that took place earlier that evening, the ringing of the phone. Hello? It was she, the ex. After seven months she rang to say hello, and ask if I had thought about her, my only response was, “Yes I do actually quite often, in fact every time I take a shit you cross my mind.” There was dead silence, and then a ring tone. As much as I thought it happened, it hadn’t or did it? I could not remember anymore.
Mom came over to me with a beautiful dame in her hands, I felt more Italian at that moment as I erectionally cried, AMOR!!! My loin was in flames as I spent the next three hours dancing to the sounds of… I can’t remember, there was a beat and we were so on it. Hips and hands, without hesitation the rest of the night, almost deja-vue, even the poor Portuguese bastard was making his way on the dance floor molesting the poor drunken harlots on the dance floor. She was amazing in looks, in moves, and it style. The fishnet stockings, the tight corset and the mod glasses made me explode with… Moments later returning from the little boys room, cleaning my stained pants I was ready to dance again, some more. Had the effects of the Viagra, Zanax, Gin, Goldenfinch, and the smoke worn off? Had I consumed anything at all? Was what I feeling emotionally driven?
Too many secrets and too many questions, and I realized I had been ignoring the real issue. Asking the questions, drinking, eating, and smoking up to avoid what I was feeling inside. It was time to face it, the truth and nothing but the truth.
I was making my way back to source. I realize we ask questions when we are lost, confused and especially in those moments in our life we are looking outwardly for answers. I headed back home, usually around 4am, the time I stop for a photo opportunity. I grab a pen and paper and write a letter to an estranged lover, I release my hard emotions and then burn the letter. I fall on my bed and I start looking towards my inner self. The weeks of non-stop drinking, smoking, and wastefully spending money I don’t have on the harlots who never were meant to be. I felt free and released for the first time in weeks. Waking up only a few hours later, ironing, bathing and getting ready for work. I look in the mirror and see a different man.
The questions subsided, and I had my answers. Class had ended and I knew I loved Lindy Hop more than ever. I realize I too can make the best fucking Bloody Mary, high quality my friend, just like Vegas. Yes it was the night, and I found myself one of the usual suspects. I found myself thinking of the phone call from my ex, which never happened, and never will, I let go and it just was. The effect of the drugs had worn off, because there were none. I was high of a few sips of gin and life. Dancing with this dame, I felt emotional and spiritual. We kept beat, we dance, and we moved. I was moved. The answers I needed were inside the whole time, connecting with my source, connecting with myself.