Valentines Short Story the Fourth

For Bella,
I apologise for this being so late,
Please forgive me and the length of this short story,
Perhaps you can think of the length as in relation to how much I love you.
Love Ben

“What’s the time?” Jerome asked.

“Near eight o’clock.” Mum replied, calling the words over her shoulder. She was finishing the washing up after dinner.

“What you think guys?” Jerome said again.

“I’m not sure,” Richard looked about the living room, looking to see if any of the furniture would inspire an answer. “Should we go?”

“You can go if you like.” Mum said, happy with us going out. We were, after all, over eighteen. We could do what we liked.

“What is there to do after eight o’clock?” Robyn put her thoughts into the conversation at hand. She and I were youngest, having only turned eighteen in the past two months. We had yet to lose our ‘nightlife’ virginities. We were innocent to friend outings during the night.

“Never been out at night, Robyn?” Richard said, turning to her, “I thought you had. Well, there’s plenty to do. Clubbing, pubs…it’s fantastic! Wait, is today Friday?”

“All day and half the night, man!” Jerome smiled. Richard and Jerome had been friends from way back in primary. The two enjoyed a good few beers at the pub and a good club afterwards. At least, that was the general gist I got of what they did at night. They returned at ridiculous o’clock, sleeping where they could in the house. Usually my brother, Richard, put out a mattress for Jerome, and he slept there next to my brother’s bed. It didn’t bother my parents too much; they seem to lay off when you are over the big one-eight.

Robyn…what was my relation to Robyn? We were friends, nothing more, nothing less. She had been over for a few movies and a bit of Playstation2; we passed a lot of chat in between these to. She was a nice girl. I felt bad for how Jerome described women he wouldn’t have a relationship with…but it was a good description, for me anyway. Robyn was like a three-legged horse. Interesting to look at, but you wouldn’t want to ride her. She had nothing between the ears. Robyn had the potential to be a great girl, and hell, she was. But she was as thick as a brick.

“Friday night shopping! Perfect!” Jerome’s smile grew wider. “We can explore the sights and sounds…of the city!”

“Now that sounds a bit dangerous,” Mum called from the washing up. “You sure Robyn and Simon want to do that? You sure they’ll be okay? People get stabbed in the city at night.”

“Let them go,” Dad called from the bedroom. “They’re all over eighteen, they are entitled to a night of free will and their own choices. Give them that, the only limits I’ll put on them is that they don’t do anything illegal and are back by at least three in the morning.”

“But Lucas!” Mum shrilled, “what if they get stuck out there? What if someone kidnaps them? How will they get home? Robyn isn’t even our responsibility. She’s meant to be home in half an hour.”

“She can ring her parents, can’t she?” This was my contribution to the formulating decision. I thought it would lose out to my parents, but there was a little ray of hope within me, a ray that glimmered a little, telling me that maybe the parents would give in to us and let the troop go out tonight.
Surprisingly, my fears were laid to waste. “Dear, they’ll be fine. Robyn can ring her parents; leave it in their hands as to whether she can go out tonight. I personally think if they give their okay, then it should be okay for her to go. I mean, they are over eighteen, but then again, all parents are different. Best to ring.”

“And Simon?” It was time for my claim to fame. Dad would have to let me go, if he stood for Robyn. Robyn’s isn’t even part of the family. I smiled in victory.

“Simon’s fine. He’s over eighteen, we’ve taught him all we can. Let him go, lay off a little Jesse.”

“All right,” Mum said, now putting the dishes and used eating utensils, and other bits and pieces, into the dishwasher. The dinner had been big tonight; Jerome and Robyn were over, two friends this time. They weren’t even family friends, they were just friends of Richard and I. This had been a weird day…but I thoroughly enjoyed it. Two friends had never been over, even if they were of different connections. I was hoping it could stay like this, and the day would turn to night, and there would still be Jerome and Robyn. So far it had worked out pretty good.

Robyn looked at me and took out her flip-phone. Now for the next hurdle, I thought to myself.

“Hi Mum,” Robyn said once she had connected through. “Um…I’m still at Simon’s house.” A pause. “Could I maybe stay for a bit longer? Well, actually,” Another pause, a bit longer, Robyn’s Mum was obviously saying something. “Could I go out on a bit of an outing with him? Would that be good?” She’s playing her cards right. Not saying my brother was involved, it might get a little suspect. But then again, my brother did have his friend, so it balanced out. In my mind it did at least. “That would be fine? Great! Thanks Mum.” She hung up.

“So it’s all okay?” I asked.

“Yep. Mum says it’s fine.” Robyn broke into a smile and put her phone away.

“So you guys will be gone?” Dad’s voice floated out from the bedroom.

“Completely.” Richard called back. “We’ll be back before three in the morning.”

“Don’t get into anything silly,” Mum told us, coming out from the kitchen. She had finished with the dishes. “Simon and Robyn are only just eighteen.”

“Ahh, we’ll make ‘em wise in the ways of ‘having a good time’, won’t we?” Jerome said, laughing.

Jerome and Richard were about four or five years older than us. So they knew the ropes…or at least, I hoped they did.

“To the car!” Richard walked first, leading us. Jerome came next, followed by Robyn, and then I brought up the rear. We went through to the hall, then out the front door. Richard took out the keys from his pocket. “We’ll take my car. You happy with that, Jerome?”
“As happy as ever, Rich.”

The car was a cool one. It had that homely sense of individuality; that comforting sense of personal ownership, you could tell it was Richard’s car just by the mere act of getting into it and giving the inside of the car a quick scan. Air freshener was tacked into the air-con. The radio had been replaced with a better, more bass-filled model. The CD player (which had the radio in-built) was a six-stacker, and had Mp3 capabilities. The seats were a tad messy, there was a Subway wrapper lurking in the legroom under the dash for the navigator’s seat. A spent coca-cola bottle was the gift under the wheel. The back had a tennis ball that rolled across the seats, gum tacked in strange spots on the seats. Lollipop wrappers were squished into the dashboard ‘bin’ outlet. It truly was, in all due senses of the word, Richard’s ‘car’.

When we were safely in (I took the back seats with Robyn, Richard took driver’s seat and Jerome in the navigator’s seat) Richard started the engine. The car coughed into gear, and we backed out of the street. The night was upon us now, though the sky bore no stars. The city veiled them in its own aura. The lights of each house, the occasional streetlight, and the dark hands of tree branches caused for a strange scene. I felt liberated from my parents, as I’m sure did Robyn. Our ages had pulled us from their grips, leaving only a good time before us. Hell, it was invigorating.

“How about some music?” Richard flicked on the player, pushing a knob from radio to CD player. It was a song I had heard, but I didn’t know the name. I liked it all the same.

I, I wish you could swim,

Richard maneuvered the car out from under the tree, onto the main black road, speeding up a little. The acceleration kicked in, giving a dizzying feeling. We lived on the top of a hill, so when we came down the hill, Richard made sure to race the car down the hill. Bring a little thrill into our lives. It may have been slightly dangerous, and a bit illegal, but it was fun. He slowed when we got to the lights at the end of the road.

Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim,

“Where you want to go, Jerome?” Richard put his blinkers on, checking there were no cars, and then he turned right.
Now nothing, nothing will keep us together,

“The Valley, let’s head off to Club Central!” The Valley was a nickname for the famous or infamous part of inner Brisbane called Fortitude Valley. During the day markets would open upon its cobbled streets, or people walked through the famous Brisbane Chinatown situated within it. Ritzy places were packed within the Valley, fashion stores, furniture stores, and architectural places. It was the artistic hub of Brisbane. But at night, at night the places that were closed…and indeed seemed empty grew full of life. The clubs, the pubs, the lights above the central market running backbone through the centre of the Valley switched on in a zestful manner. Famous bands played at famous clubs such as The Zoo and The Family. The Family was a massive club, spanning four levels of a building, each level pumping out a distinctly different style of music, people raving and clubbing to the music, lasers and lights crossing about the darkness. The Valley, at night at least, was the place to be for youths to celebrate the fact they were youths. To drink your worries away and party down the night until the crack of dawn leered its ugly, unwanted head. It was all a good idea, in theory, the perfect place to have a night out on the town…to my mind. I myself had never actually spent a night in the Valley. I had heard stories. People being stalked, drunken brawls, drugs, booze, and general unrest about the population. But that was mainly taken from the news, and from parents’ word of mouth. There are people like that everywhere. The point is, to avoid those situations, when you see one arising, get the hell out of there. Picking those situations, which is the hardest part of it, is difficult. How drunk is too drunk? Who’s on drugs? Who has the stalker-like look in their eyes? Nobody is a set stereotype. I broke my thoughts when Robyn was staring at me.

We can beat them, forever and ever,

“Simon, have you ever been to the Valley?” She asked, looking me right in the eyes.

We can be heroes, just for one day,

“No, I’m sorry to say I’ve never been.” I directed the next question to the front seats. “What’s the Valley like?”

“Well, it’s a place where you just let your hair down and go wild.” Jerome said, looking at me in the side-mirror. I could see myself in the side-mirror. “A place where music, fun, booze and party all get their roots. This is at night of course. During the day it’s seen as a bit of a ritzy fairy-land of creativity and soul.”

“Ah,” I said, “I remember walking to the Valley from the city one day. Walked for over half an hour. Pretty damn far, I must say.”

And I, well I will be king,

“In a car it’s nothing.” Richard said, putting his foot on the accelerator to avoid the lights changing to red. He swore as the car rushed through a yellow light. I wasn’t sure if he sped through to back up what he was saying or just to get through the light. Whichever way, it worked.

And you, you will be queen,

The shops moved past my eyesight, the surreal lights blending into one big canvas. Sometimes it looked like a landscape, at other times I saw set pieces in that convoluted disorganized mess. There were people walking along the pavements, and I could catch only fleeting glances of the facial expressions. Some had smiles. Others were in the middle of explaining something, their arms in orbit. One I saw in a back alley, curled up against rubbish bins, clad in blankets. He was asleep.

Though nothing, nothing will drive them away,

I felt…at peace. In a car at night, a strange dreamlike sense came over you. Like you should be sleeping, but your not, you’re in a car about to go someplace, with a bunch of other like-minded youth. It was rebellious. That’s what it felt like…an insomniac-inspired rebellion. When all the old are winding up for bed, the young are out and about, trying to find the meaning of life, trying to find joy in the night. This dreamlike sense, I was addicted to it. It felt as if we were just a group, a group in a car, out when the rest of the world was asleep, or at least, back in their holes in the ground. Other groups were out too, other cars on the road, going places, but you knew, secretly you knew, they liked this dreamlike state too; they enjoyed the addicting ambience of the night.

We can be heroes, just for one day,

We were now on Coronation Drive, we got a free run. The traffic evened out; it was outside of rush hours. Richard politely waited at every set of lights, and we went at a leisurely pace. I had put the window down, and I felt the night air blowing in my face. Robyn was looking down at herself. I’d speak to her, but it would be seen as a bit awkward, she did have a tendency to say many things that could be construed as a little slow on the uptake.
Once, I remember, she was sitting on our couch, waiting for my mother to finish a hot chocolate. My mother came out with a hot chocolate, and gave it over to Robyn. Robyn took it, and sipped tentatively.

A few moments later, Mum came out with a coffee side table, and set it down in front of her. “Here,” she said, “I brought this for you.”
Robyn then sat on the side table.

I couldn’t stop myself from saying: “What are you doing, you idiot?” She removed her backside from the side table. “You could have broken the table.”
Mum gave me a glare and turned to Robyn. “It’s for your hot chocolate, Robyn.”

In a second Robyn was up, scared that she might have broken the side table with her weight. She placed the hot chocolate on the side table.
I still remember that, I’ve wondered why she did that, what the point of it was. That incident is just one small story detailing Robyn’s incompetence with simple tasks of doing things like placing hot chocolates on side tables. There are many more, but I won’t go into them. Suffice to say, Robyn can be slow.

We can be us, just for one day,

The car was now heading into the centre of the city. The streets were filled with an all manner of nightlife, and most were human. People in all different fashion senses, styles and colours were strewn across the footpaths, laughing, cursing, and looking like they were having a good time. The youth were out in force.

I, I remember,

“Look, we’d take you guys into the city,” Jerome said, turning in his seat. “But you know, lots of scary types inhabit the city at night.”

Standing, by the wall,

“Don’t they inhabit the Valley too?” I asked.

The guns, shot above our heads,

“Yeah…but they pay more attention to the city. Queen Street at night is where stabbings and bashings happen.” Jerome smiled. “The Valley is just a happy-go-lucky place, you know? Like, stuff happens there too, but I mean, it’s where all the good clubs are. Why wouldn’t you go?”

And we kissed, as though nothing could fall,

“Okay.” I said, furrowing my brow at Jerome’s logic…or apparent lack of logic. I guess it was the lesser of two evils. I mean, in a club, what could possibly happen? There were too many moving masses of people for anything bad to happen. Just say no politely if someone offers drugs. As a general rule of thumb however, I planned not to buy any drinks for myself. They could all too easily become spiked. Even if I were thirsty, I planned to stick it out until the end of the night.

And the city, was on the other side,

We were now passing out of the crowd-filled main streets, going out the back of the city, taking the twists and turns of backstreets and the skeletal frame of roads running adjacent to the Brisbane River. Richard would most probably turn on one of the roundabouts down past the nunnery-turned school to the Valley’s main street.

We can be them, forever and ever,

I wish I had some way to communicate with Robyn. Well, we’d just had a whole day of playing Playstation2 and watching films…but I mean, at least with that you can crack jokes about the acting or the storyline. With Playstation2 it’s a lot like playing back in the sixties with matchbox cars…you can have a connection. You have an icebreaker, whether it is a racing game, a fighting game or the worst game in the world. You have something to talk about, something to strive towards. With the modern youth, I believe we’ve lost some of that social interaction…we’ve lost the intricacies of linguistic discourse. Socials always have to be about something. We have to go to each other’s houses to play computer games or watch movies or do our maths assignment. There’s no ‘I just want you to come to my house just so I can talk to you because you’re a friend and I like talking to my friends’. I guess what we lose without those things is an icebreaker, some social kickboard, some way of getting past small talk. Only adults can do those sorts of things, and that’s because there’s no added individuals listening in (ie. Parents) on their conversations with friends. I stared at Robyn, wanting to break this trend, this trend of only talking because it’s attached to doing something to veil the deeper conversation. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t think of anything to talk about. For I would have to filter out whatever I was going to say with the fact that my elder brother and his friend were in the car. I guess that’s the inner anxiety of many people if they did invite friends over for anything but playing computer games or watching movies or maths assignments. The parents would get an insight into modern youth’s lives. Mothers would tell other mothers about Johnny’s failed relationships, or Monica’s spiel while drunk one night. Fathers would simply wonder what we do with our time; we squander it with ridiculous subjects like playground crushes and teen jealousy tirades, or stories from parties and other ‘useless’ youthful activities. We sure as hell didn’t want that.

We can be heroes, just for one day,

This conversational filtering applied within the car. If we talked about relationships, my brother would suddenly become interested…and somehow my parents would find out. If I were to talk about school my brother and his friend would wonder why we’re still talking about something that finished three months ago.

We can be he-e-e-e-roes,

I decided to talk about holiday plans. We hadn’t talked of that yet. I had run the filter, and it was successful as being good small talk that would not provoke interest from the elder ages in the car.

We can be he-e-e-e-roes,

“What have you got planned for the holidays, Robyn?” Frankly I couldn’t care what she did, but I knew I had to go through this, for the sheer fact to keep social face, be seen as being social. Sitting in a car staring out of a window is not the greatest way to spend time with a friend. Well, I did care, on second thoughts; I would like to know what she was doing. I’d like to have Robyn over again, and maybe we can have a more private, deeper conversation. I had never been one for small talk. It’s superfluous and superficial. No, I prefer the deeper conversations, the ones where you come out with a connection, a strong social connection.

We can be he-e-e-e-roes,

Robyn looked startled; as if I had broken some sort of surreal bubble of thought she had surrounded herself with. “I didn’t have anything planned for the holidays actually, Simon.”

We can be he-e-e-e-roes,

Well, there was a wall. She had nothing planned. Nothing I could work off, nothing I could socially explore.

Just for one day…

The song came to a close, as did our conversation. I turned my head back to the lights, the hotels, the closed up shops, the back alleys, and the dark silhouettes, framed with streetlights’ wash of white. The car was arriving at the Valley, we could tell, as the throngs of people were milling about the main street.

Another song started up on the car’s player.

Her name is Noel…I had a dream about her, she rings my bell,

“The Valley.” Richard stated. “Party central. Finding a parking spot’s a real bitch. Hang on,” he turned the wheel taking us away from the main street. There were so many people walking about. “Might find one out the back.”

I got gym class in heaven, and I know how she rocks, with kids and two socks!

“Is it always this crowded?” I asked.

But she doesn’t know who I am, and she doesn’t give a damn about me…

“What a silly question, Simon.” Jerome answered. “The Valley is the place to be after 8pm. Like Richard said, ‘party central’ is a good way of summing the Valley’s nightlife at its core. Party party party. It’s okay, we’ll show you around.”

‘Cause I’m just a teenage dirt bag, baby! Yeah, I’m just a teenage dirt bag, baby! Listen to Iron Maiden, baby, with me! (O-oooh!)

Richard went down a street, and I looked out at all the houses. Some were well kept, yet others were malnourished pieces of timber. The fences on one would be up and standing; however on the very next house, fences would be lucky to be hanging out in the soil. Places were lit; people were inside. I liked to imagine what went on in a house, what stories might be taking place. I wondered in cars, as well, what part of someone’s life might be taking place in that car? There were cars lining these backstreets, I guessed of people who were spending the night at the clubs and pubs, or of the actual owners of the houses. I tried to think what they might think, having to live next to partying youth every night. Must be difficult.

Her boyfriend’s a dick; he brings a gun to school, and meets every kick. My ass if he knew the truth, he lives on my block, he drives and I rock!

“Finding a spot’s a real bitch…” Richard murmured the words, focused on all those spaces filled with cars. Looking for one that our car could fit in.

But he doesn’t know who I am, and he doesn’t give a damn about me…

“Next street…got to have one somewhere.” Richard said, with a downcast fervour. He turned the car into another alley.

‘Cause I’m just a teenage dirt bag, baby! Yeah, I’m just a teenage dirt bag, baby! Listen –

“Found one!” Richard yelled, and pulled the car over to the side of the road. We came to a stop outside a dilapidated house, one of the ones who were not looked after. The player flicked off when Richard cut the engine. I wondered who the owners of that house were, what they were doing. I felt bad for them. They’re probably fighters…or drinkers, or on drugs. But they were just trying to live a little. Still, eternal happiness is not in XXXX bitter…or an ecstasy pill, no matter how hard you looked. I myself have never tried drinking or drugs, but I’m sure, afterwards you would still feel the same. Life is fruitful monotony, I remember Bertrand Russell saying. You’ve just got the long periods of boredom. No amount of highness can make 90% of that go away. No amount of drunken washing of the sorrows within your life can make the monotonous boredom that inhabits much of life go away. There is no escaping it; the best thing you can take to these boring situations is a few good stories from your life, to reminisce over, or a fellow person to talk to. It’s a bit like waiting in line. You are always waiting for something to happen in life. Whether it is a career-making call from an employer, or simply a good show on the television. Fruitful monotony. Make something of that, do something to preoccupy you. Read a good book, take a walk, and make yourself something to eat, or get a friend over. You don’t need to go and take a bunch of pills and get yourself off your face and seeing strange hallucinations to have fun. I guess that’s the only mindset I could find for a person who likes to take drugs. It enhances things because things are, for them, boring. Alcohol is a drug, no matter what people say, it’s a social lubricant that affects your brain. It’s addictive. It’s a drug. People want these things to enhance this monotony of life, but you can make it fruitful monotony without tainting yourself, medically speaking, to strive for a good time. Like I said, friends, books, walks, television, and movies. You don’t need drugs like alcohol, marijuana or ecstasy tablets. You don’t need to be seeing things; you don’t need to be slightly louder in voice because everything seems a bit muted when you’re drunk. You don’t need these ‘enhancers’. You yourself can make life fun.

“Coming, Simon?”

I cursed myself for being so blatantly stereotypical about the dilapidated house; the dilapidated house probably just needed a new coat of paint, the owners’ lives were not necessarily reflected on those external housework, or lack thereof.

“I said ‘coming, Simon’?” It was Richard, waiting up the footpath, with Jerome and Robyn. I rushed to keep with the pack.

“Where do we go?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

Richard and Jerome, who had been leading, turned to face Robyn and I. Richard had a glint in his eye. Jerome could not stop smiling. The only words that passed were from Jerome’s mouth. “Hit the clubs, bitches!”

****

The club was The Family. It was anything but a family affair.

When you wait in a line, your rewards become more refined, at least in your mind. You want what’s at the end of the line. But there’s so many people also wanting what is at the end of the line, and you have to wait for them to fulfil their like-minded aspirations. You wait, and you wait, and you wait. There’s certainly a lot of time on your hands. Your want, your need to obtain this goal (in this case, getting into the club), is refined to a narrow-minded dull burning in your chest of desire.

This desire grew as the bouncer stood outside the club, the tip of his bald head a silhouetted outline above the huge throng of people awaiting admission. I thought I had lost the man, I kept telling myself it was a trick of the mind, that eyes were deceiving me and the hundreds of bodies chattering in the line covered the bouncer’s frame.

I waited next to Robyn. I knew the drill. Richard had briefed me many a time on how to enter a nightclub. It was all in the confidence of what you are doing. Confidence comes in many forms. Confidence can come in the form of self-confidence, where you yourself feel ready to tackle a problem, or anything that may arise. Confidence may come in the form of a compliment, designed to boost your morale and make you feel happier about yourself. But I knew those wouldn’t get me past the bouncer with his steely looks and huge knuckles, if you slipped up he’d politely tell you to leave, and not come back. Worse, he’d tell you to leave, not come back, and you come back, and come face to face with a knuckle sandwich.

No, I needed a special kind of confidence. A confidence that came with a girl’s arm linked in yours. This confidence is unique. I don’t quite know why it brings confidence; well I guess it brings confidence because people like women as a general rule. It’s all a question of personal worth. The inherent worth of a woman who is showing affection, no matter how small, is a sign that you are worth something socially. The bouncer knows this. If he lets me in…with a girl’s arm linked to mine, he knows that this girl will most definitely have a good time. This good time leads to more social…or indeed flirtatious encounters. This girl, he is hoping, will go and talk to more guys. She will dance with more guys, and guys will buy alcohol for her at the bar, raising more money for the club. More guys will want to get in, to socialise with these girls and women, thus paying at the door, and paying the ridiculous prices of alcohol at the bar, in a hope to reach a social high for that night.

Nobody really cares about the hangover the day after. You can sleep it off. Your parents may care, but they’re not the ones at the clubs talking to the opposite sex and rocking out to good music, are they? Definitely not.

I heard from Richard that to buy water in this club costs on average eight dollars per glass. Per glass, that is. Not per bottle.

These clubs are out to make money. The customers are out for a good time. It all makes sense in a let’s-rip-off-the-customer-so-they-will-a-whole-lot-for-a-good-time-and-we’ll-be-rich-out-of-our-faces sort of way. I smiled at the genius of the whole escapade as I looped my arm through Robyn’s.
It was then I realised that there wasn’t just one security guard, but four, three mingling in the queue, giving each person a look up and down, sending some off. “You go.” One security guard said to the couple at the front of the line - unlocking the red rope for the boy. The boy nodded enthusiastically, giving the guard a grin, before heading on through, holding a rather pretty looking girl’s hand. As the girl escaped into the darkness, up those ominous steps to the nightclub, I noticed her face glitter under the small spotlight that loomed its light from above the door. I guessed she got all dressed up for this, sprinkling glitter across her cheeks. Just to make it seem like she sparkled. I wished I could be that guy who was leading her up those steps. I wished I could have someone like that. Someone who would get all dressed up for you, out to impress nobody but you. I’d respect that, really I would.
But…I was stuck with Robyn.

The guard put the rope back across the barrier posts.

We walked forward, Robyn and I, not sure what to expect. I didn’t know what to expect, at least. Robyn looked just as anxious.

“On the list?” The bouncer asked.

“No,” I replied, “my brother was - Richard. He and his friend got in ahead of us.”

“You have to be with them to get in.” His eyes flicked to Robyn. “But…I think I’ll make an exception for your girlfriend.”

I found confidence enough to smile at the huge towering man, who, in the crisp white light, looked a little otherworldly. “Thanks!”

He unhooked the red rope from the barrier post. Robyn and I went up, and we unlinked arms not all that inconspicuously on the fourth stair.

****

Up the stairs, the first thing that hit me was the loud pulsating music. It grabbed your ears and wouldn’t let go, screaming the bass rhythm that ran the backbone of the House music. The next thing I felt, no, could smell, was the strange at first stench, then mildly intolerable, before turning strangely alluring to the nose hairs smell of sweat, alcohol and acrid smoke (not real smoke, but fake steam stuff) they shot out from under the DJ box every now and again. Darkness descended as we reached the top of the stairs. The stairs opened out onto a horseshoe of tables, surrounding a large illuminated square of television screens in the floor, showing various visualizations. And the people! God the people! There were hundreds on this floor, all in semi-dark, writhing and jumping against one another, like sardines wanting to get out of the can.

I looked about. Robyn had deserted me, disappearing into the mass. I felt glad to be rid of her. Lasers punctured the smoky dimness, running up and down me as I made my way past the dance floor to the bar. Neon blue underran the bar, the barstools placed on a row of glaring white squares. I looked at an illuminated list of prices on the drinks behind the bar, past a bartender girl who seemed to be having an amiable chat with a customer seated upon a barstool. The prices were ridiculous. Beer was over ten dollars; water was as Richard had said, eight dollars. Various cocktails were over fifteen, with some peaking at twenty. This was indeed rip-off central. Placing myself over a barstool, I glanced toward the bartender. She came over. I got a good look of her cleavage; she wore it out for everyone to see in a shiny navy dress that glittered under the light, the lip of which ran over the middle to lower end of her considerable rack. Before realising what I was doing, I looked away in shock and burned with embarrassment, trying to regain my composure.

“Yes?” The girl asked, no more than twenty-five. I guessed that all girls hired here were around the twenty to thirty range. After that, in this place, you’re considered ‘old and saggy’. Her voice sounded lyrical, even though she had to yell over the blaring music. “You wanted to order something? Or did you just look at me for the hell of it?”

I turned back to her. “Yes, to order, to order. I’d like…” Then I looked closely at the list.

What was printed was this:

Cocktails with brandy or cognac:
B&B - $14
Brandy Manhattan - $16
Panama - $18
Incredible Hulk - $19
Orgasm - $20

Cocktails with gin:
20th Century - $17
Hanky-Panky - $15
Long Island Ice Tea (with rum and tequila also) - $15
Mickey Slim - $13
My Fair Lady - $20

Cocktails with rum:
Bicardi - $14
Dragonfly - $16
Hairy Virgin - $18
Fish House Punch - $16
Zombie - $20

Cocktails with tequila:
Bloody Aztec - $18
Tequila Slammer - $14
Tequila Sunrise - $15
Tequila Sunset - $15
Bananarita - $16

Other drinks:
Water (glass) - $8.50
Beer - $12
Coca-cola - $7.50
Sprite - $7.50
Ginger Beer - $7.50

The list contained quite a selection. Feeling in the party-type mood, probably brought on by liberties granted of having turned eighteen, I ordered the cheapest cocktail. A Mickey Slim.

“Coming right up, love.” The bartender said with a smile. I smiled back, not able to keep the grin off my face. She was of the sort who encouraged that reaction. I attributed this mainly to her astonishing good looks.

Another voice reached my ears. A yell, but this time in a put-on ditzy tone, one I knew almost at once was fake, but it rolled off the tongue in such an angry flurry of words that I knew something big was taking place. “Listen, Fuck-Face, it’s over! I don’t want to see you ever again! You’ve shit me to tears one too many times. This is the last straw! You’ve fucked my life over to the point of insignificance. You think I’ll come crawling back, don’t you? You think I’ll get on all fours and just pout until you get me back as your bitch. Well! Not any-fuckin’-more! I’m hanging up this phone, and when I do, I don’t want you to call. Ever. I want you to stay the fuck away from me! You hear? Go get another fuck-buddy to fuck around with, because this relationship is over! End-ay-fuckin’-stor-ay.” The mobile phone was snap shut.

I wondered what had gone on. What could possess a girl to be so crass, so incredibly downright mean? Okay. Mean I could live with; some girls out there are just like that. But I mean, the swearing? Very unlady-like. There were some things I knew of girls, in my limited knowledge of the species. And I know that many feminists would call me stereotyping, but I think that girls work to that. The idea of not swearing usually, and if ever, once perhaps every conversation, not eight times in under a minute. My only convincing conclusion that I could see was that she’d had a few to drink.

“Life’s a bitch and then you die, hey?” It took me a few seconds to realize she was staring at me over her cocktail.

I smiled at her, not sure what to say.

“Yeah, that’s what it’s like, dude. Take you me, life’s like that.”

I continued to smile.

“Here’s your Mickey Slim, darling.” The bartender pushed a cocktail across the bar to me. I took it by the stem and took a drink. Wasn’t too bad, however to me the cocktail falling across my tongue felt like an illustrious snake biting down his poison. I figured with alcohol, I’d probably be able to talk to this girl. She looked pretty down in the dumps.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” I said, still smiling. I looked at my drink.

“Do you? Do you really?” The girl said, and it was at this moment that I noticed she was very good looking too. Was everyone in this place hot? Or is this just because of the dim light that brings out the best in people’s appearances?

“I totally understand – I’m sorry?”

She took a few moments to register. “Oh, my name!” She yelled. “Gloria.” A hand was held out.

I shook it. “My name’s Simon.”

“Like Lord of the Flies Simon?”

I perked up at this. Did she like books too? “You read the book?”

“Nah - saw the movie. Thought it was another crap ‘60’s black and white. Interesting concept though. But yeah. Anyway, you know who I was talking to?”

Perhaps this night wouldn’t be all that bad. “The boyfriend?”

Gloria patted my head. “Sure was! Thank God that’s over!”

“You didn’t like him?” I asked, genuinely interested in this peculiar woman’s life.

“No, silly! Of course I liked him. If I didn’t I wouldn’t of dated him. No, he just did things…that weren’t very kosher. If that makes any sense.”

“I understand.” I said, not understanding. I didn’t understand a lot about women. But, more to the point, this woman struck me as extremely puzzling. For one, I saw in the speckled light of the disco that her arms had quite a few bangles and bracelets hanging off. Gloria also had a tattoo (I’m sure it was one of those wash-off ones, no one under any circumstances, save maybe a crazy or a gypsy with a hangover, would apply a laser-imprinted tat on their face) of a butterfly on her cheek.

“Man, I sent that fucker packing, didn’t I?” She smiled at her own accomplishments with her mobile, and I was moved to sip my Mickey Slim in thought. I held the cocktail up to the light, and saw it was a light milky brown. The drink reminded me a little of drinking perhaps chocolate milk, only more milk less chocolate.

“Do you swear that much?” I asked Gloria nonchalantly.

“Oh, fuck yeah. You know you love it.” She paused. “What’s that you’re drinking?”

“A Mickey Slim. It was the cheapest on a very over-priced list. And I don’t want to be too out of pocket.”

Gloria comprehended this for a few seconds, and then she burst out laughing, as if I had told a rather hilarious joke. I stared at her. “A fuckin’ Mickey Slim? Are you mad?” She snorted, breathing quickly in her ribcage-rattling laughs. “No wonder that cocktail’s cheapest. You know what’s in that piece of shit?”

I scratched my head. “Uh…no?”

“Gin with a pinch of DDT. Big in the ‘40’s and ‘50’s. Man, you crack me up.” That brought on another lot of hysterical laughter.

“What’s wrong with the ‘40’s and ‘50’s? A pretty groovy time for housewives and booms in the baby-making industry, in my opinion.”

“Because.” Gloria had to get a hold of herself, pushing down little giggles. “Because.” She sniffed, trying to cut it short. “Because Mickey Slim has DDT. You know what that is?”

I shook my head to the acronym. It rang no bells. “No.” I had a feeling she was going to tell me.

Gloria inhaled to be able to pronounce the word. “Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane. An insecticide that’s banned in most country. Man, you got the shit of the stick.”

Spitting out what cocktail was still on my tongue, I gagged. “Agh! Ew! Agh! That’s disgusting! Who the hell came up with this?” I slammed the Mickey Slim back on the bar-table.

“Some dude. You should be fine though. Mickey Slims only have a pinch of that stuff. Though I wouldn’t recommend drinking anymore Mickey Slim.”

“You’re telling me!” I said.

“You should soon experience something akin to absinthe. That’s what people say downing a Mickey Slim is like. By the way, I’m not a bunny, just in case you start tripping out.”

My eyes widened. I’d be having a bloody trip! The trip to the nightclub had been bad enough. Let alone another one inside my head. I’d heard about trips, and watched a case study propaganda film where a girl had taken LSD and thought she heard a person speaking to her in her sausage she had bought while under the influence. The sausage told her not to eat him because he had a wife and kids, and told her his name. When she figured it was just LSD playing tricks with her mind, she’d taken a bite of her hot dog, and heard the loudest, most high-pitched blood-curdling ear-splitting screech coming from in that little sausage. And the worst thing was, when she looked down at the thing, in its entire screeching, she saw a face, half-bitten off. Blood dripped from it down the bread onto the ground, in a stream. And it had a neck too, a neck built onto the sausage. One bloodshot eye stared up at her, and the bottom of the face was missing, presumably where she’d taken a bite. Yellow pus came out of the jagged hole in squirts. She’d dropped the sausage and bread onto the footpath, where the deformed face kept staring up at her, tears spilling out of the eye, crying out for help. The girl had promptly fled the scene with her boyfriend, whom was there at the time and witnessed her little ‘trip’.

I hoped that wouldn’t happen to me. “Will I actually go psychotic and see things?”

Gloria looked up. She had been staring at the bar table. “Hmm?” Then Gloria slapped me on the back. “No, I’m only kidding. You didn’t take enough DDT to go all out. Finish that whole cocktail and you might have a little one – tops. But all in all, you should be fine. You might just feel a little light-headed. But then again, that happens with a lot of alcohol-loaded beverages when you do a few. How long have you been drinking?”

“Not long. I recently turned eighteen.” I said, waiting for her to give me a stick for recently turning the legal age.

“Cool.” Was all she said, to my surprise.

“How do you know so much about drinks?”

“Oh, I used to work in a bar. A lot like this one. I’m twenty-two by the way. But with my bar we had a twist.”

“Which was?”

Gloria smiled. “We had to serve people topless. Pretty typical in a few places that advertise that. I swear more people were interested in my breast size than their drinks. When they had to pay it got super annoying. I had to keep saying ‘Look up here and pay, man. Please.’”

“Ah.” That was all I could say. Ah. Why is everything here so sexual? Does everyone here have a history in some topless bar or something? What sick place is this? Every man’s wet dream? Well, it wasn’t mine. Okay, actually, I lie. It was. But I didn’t want to go public about it. I wasn’t expecting The Family to be this venereal. A cesspool of sex and desire, a place of drugs and sweat, dance and lights. The music was beginning to muddle my mind. Or perhaps it was the DDT.

Gloria was looking at me. “Want to dance? Have you danced yet?”

I had to do something else quick, get my mind off of depreciating myself into a downward spiral of epic proportions. I wanted to move, to know I still could. I wasn’t going to faint. I couldn’t faint. Not here.

I glanced at my watch. 10:14pm. I still had the whole night. “Sure.”

Gloria took me by the hand. “Great! I’ll show you somewhere cool.”

And we got up, and I found my legs were a bit like jelly. They wobbled a bit. My mind felt like a clear crystalline white…I wasn’t sure how to explain it. Not clear as in you could think clearly, far from it. But clear as in…I’m not sure. I had the feeling of falling…of falling onto a clear crystalline white…inside my head? This was getting weird. I think it was safe to say I was tipsy. That cocktail must have been loaded with gin, and I wasn’t used to drink.

Gloria led me through the crowds of people, some loitering around the tables surrounding the dance-floor, but most were on the dance-floor itself. The place was bustling. At a few points on the floor, in all the dimness, the lasers piercing through the acrid smoke, I almost lost Gloria’s hand. We were pushed and pulled this way and that, fighting our way through. I almost certainly lost sight of Gloria. But after a minute or two we were safely on the other side, going up past the other tables to the ascending stairs. The place was dark, and there were people lining the stairs, sitting down with beers or other beverages, some talking, others pashing. Gloria walked up the steps with confidence and determination. I walked up in fear. Any confidence I had died when I saw an Asian-looking man with hair dyed blonde. That shouldn’t happen. He wore sunglasses (in this darkness?) and tipped them to the tip of his nose and winked at me. I smiled at him with faint lips.

“You coming?” Gloria asked, she was at the top of the stairs. We had broken holding hands at the bottom of the stairs. “Or are you going to keep flirting with Blondie down there? He is gay you know. He’s a common guy around here. Waiting on the stairs to hit on guys walking past. You’re lucky he didn’t try to grab your arse.”

“Really?” I asked Blondie. “You do that?”

“Want a fuck?” Blondie replied.

I ran up the stairs to Gloria in a flash.

“Great.” Gloria said. “Scared you might have been gay for a sec there. Dancing with me might have been a mighty turn-off or something.”

“No, not me.” I said defiantly. “I’m straight as an arrow.”

She smiled. “That’s good to know.”

The music reached my ears. It was different from downstairs. It was a remix of some sort. With a deep electronic riff running throughout. I quite liked the song actually. At random points of the song you could hear a whistle, perhaps at the end of each phrase when the singer stopped singing. And the singer had been remixed to sound a lot like some sort of electric guitar…echoing down through the music from somewhere high above.

People…they don’t mean a thing to you,

“Let’s dance!” Gloria said, pulling me onto a huge dance-floor, far larger than the last. The floor was constructed of Flatron television screens facing upward, all synchronized and showing the same visualization. But the people on the floor didn’t leave much room. Gloria took me deep in, near the middle. Instantly I was being bumped and pushed by the waves of people jumping up and down and raving. Gloria was next to me. She began to rave. I paused, then shrugged, and began to rave to the higher music. The DJ box overlooked the dance-floor, and I could see him up there, his face a shadow, framed by white light. He wore huge earphones, only holding one side to his left ear and fiddling with knobs and dials on his expansive DJ set.

They move right through you…

People were whooping and screaming. I didn’t join in that though. I wanted to retain my voice. I just smiled and jumped up and down in rhythm with everyone else.

Just like your breath…

Now when I say ‘rave’, I don’t mean we all went spastic and had fits of rage or anything. When I say ‘rave’ I mean we held up a hand, usually the right, high up in the air, and jumped up and down, pointing the two outer fingers out straight into sort of ram-horns, with our two inner fingers curled inwards, and the thumb out to the side, and we bounced this gesture high in the air. A real rocker’s gesture. A true RockNRolla.

But sometimes…I still think of you…

There was Gloria, in her own world, the bangles and bracelets glinting in the light. She looked at peace, in this seeming chaos. I began to think whether I’d see her after this night.

And I just wanted to…just wanted you to know…

The butterfly on her cheek shone in the white light that flicked on and off in milliseconds. Strobe lighting was the effect. Our faces were probed by the green and red lasers crisscrossing the floor, speckled by the specks of light shining from the disco globe. Everyone loved it, the yelling and screaming swelled.

My old friend…

Then I came to my senses. Shit! Where’s Robyn? She had disappeared, and we had been parted for over an hour. I’m not sure this was her scene. Her and her awkward quiet, she would find this place too loud, too obnoxious. I could just imagine her standing in the middle of the floor, the crowds parted in a circle around her, tears running down her face. Robyn would be so out of place here. I instantly felt pangs of guilt punch me in the gut.

I swear I never meant for this…

Come to that, where was Richard and Jerome? They would be somewhere in here, doing relatively the same thing as I was. They were meant to look after Robyn and I. I couldn’t be stuffed to go looking for them however. Let them have their uninterrupted, older fun.

I never meant…

But I had to somehow find Robyn. I couldn’t rave like this and leave Robyn in the dark, scared out of her wits. Mum and Dad would kill me.

The voice echoed through the air again, reaching through the song, down to us:

Don’t look at me that waaaa-aaaay…

Smoke blew in my face from the DJ box as I jumped up, obscuring my vision.

It was an honest mistaaaaaake…

I stopped jumping up and down. I had my phone, and my phone had Robyn’s number. But would I be able to hear her in this music? Would she be able to hear me?

Don’t look at me that waaaaa-aaaaaay…

Another thought ran on top of my already unravelling mind, a mind full of guilt and longing for some sort of solace that Robyn was okay: could I leave Gloria hanging?

It was an honest mistake…

Sure, she was hot. And interesting. Though I thought it would be a bit of a faux pas to leave her on the dance-floor. Then I felt something, something that kept me on the dance-floor.

An honest mistake…

Something wet on my neck. A kiss! I tried to look down but I found my chin stopped in a hunk of hair. Girl’s hair. A bracelet-clad arm went around my neck, followed by a second, enclosing me in warmth. Gloria was necking right into me. I felt the wet splodges around my neck down to my shoulder. They made little quiet smacking sounds as her lips explored my skin, that only I could hear in all this commotion. That clinched things. I wouldn’t leave her. She pulled away, still with her arms around my neck, and then we kissed full on the mouth.

Sometimes…I forget I’m still awake…

I put both my arms around her waist and felt around her back as we pashed. Soft and stroking was what my arms aimed for on her back. I felt the back of her bra through her shirt, and that posed a few problems in my stroking up and down. Her skin was smooth (or perhaps it was just her shirt) and them bam! Bra ahead boys! And I had to jump my fingers over and feel up the back of her neck.

I fuck up…and say these things out loud…

Her lips were supple, big but not too big. I felt her hot breath enter mine, and I could almost lick the alcohol off of her lips. I could hear her little moans of pleasure whenever we broke off only to reconnect, me on top lip, she on bottom. And vice versa. It was when she started sticking her tongue into my mouth that I began to freak out.

My old friend…

I had never had someone put his or her tongue into my mouth. It was a weird and in some ways profound experience. Weird in the way that someone else’s taste buds tasted my taste buds. Profound in the way that I realised that Gloria was off her face…and I didn’t care. Not in the slightest. I kissed her back, holding the hatch open while Gloria’s tongue slipped in and out, feeling around.

I swear I never meant for this…

Notice how I never said the kissing was all that fantastic? Sure, it was interesting and different. Okay, it was actually pretty gross, I mean we’d both had alcohol and that affected us, making our breath smell and vomit-like. But in all the things Gloria could have done, she chose to make out with me. And I must say, thinking back on it those kisses were not all that good. Not the way she kissed, but why she kissed. More she had a craving for someone’s lips; she didn’t care whose. I just happened to be the closest person she knew in the general area. This pashing contained no romance about it whatsoever. I felt like a fool. I feel my dignity dented to this day by those events.

I never meant…

But her lips were nice, and she kissed so nicely for a drunken person. I was expecting a drunk to go all ravenous and try to suck my lips dry. But no, Gloria was modest about the kissing, giving little pecks and occasionally hanging onto my lip for extra pleasure. But…oh God, I didn’t know what to do. The breath was foul. The kissing itself was nice. And I needed to find Robyn. Wait…why the hell am I analysing kissing?

Don’t look at me that waaaaa-aaaaaay…

“Simon? That you?” I broke off from pashing Gloria, and Gloria still hung on with her arms around me. I had to remove one from around my neck to see who had yelled. My worst fears were realized.

It was an honest mistaaaaaaaake…

There was Robyn, standing right in front of me. She had a look of shock etched across her features, although she was working to try and keep the look with some form of calmness. People kept getting in the way of her, and as a result she was obscured somewhat, but that girl being Robyn was unmistakable.

Don’t look at me that waaaaa-aaaaaay…

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Robyn shouted over the music. I still stood, gaping, planted to the floor.

It was an honest mistake…

“Uh, get off me.” I muttered to Gloria’s hair.

An honeeeeeessssst…

Gloria moaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

Don’t look at me that waaaaa-aaaaay…

“Get off me please!” I yelled to Gloria, and she obeyed, moving away slowly, her arm slithering out from behind my neck.

It was an honest mistaaaaake…

“You fucker,” Gloria said, “I like you. I really do. Then you go all bitchy on my arse. I’ve had enough with my ex-boyfriend, let alone strangers fucking me over.”

Don’t look at me that waaaa-aaaay…

I confronted an inebriated Gloria. “Look,” I told her, “I like you too. But, this is my friend Robyn.” I turned her around to face Robyn. Robyn came forward, avoiding jumping people, and held out a hand. Gloria went past the hand and enveloped Robyn in the biggest hug I have ever seen.

It was an honest mistaaaa-aaaake…

“She’s a little drunk.” I said to Robyn. Robyn had a look of confusion as Gloria squeezed her tight. Then Gloria pulled away and went to hug me. I rolled my eyes and hugged back. “Sorry about this, Robyn. I only met her tonight.”

Don’t look at me that waaaaa-aaaay…

“I can see that.” Robyn shouted. “Where are Richard and Jerome?”

It was an honest mistake…

“I don’t know.” I turned to Gloria, who was still in my arms. It looked as if she had been born there. She just would not let go. “Look, Gloria, I have to go now…”

“No.” Gloria crooned into my chest. “No, no, no, nooo…you’re not going anywhere, hug-bucket.”

“What the hell is a hug-bucket?” I replied.

“You, silly!” She yelled, and reached up and kissed me on the cheek.

“No, no I really have to go now. Robyn wants me to go. See?” I turned her around once again to face Robyn. Robyn was looking at her watch, trying to feign indifference to this girl who was trying to hit on her friend.

“Ah, so that’s how it is, is it?” Gloria said, finally letting go of me. “Well…” She took out of her pocket a piece of paper and a pen. Motioning to me, Gloria yelled: “Turn around, douche bag!”

I did as I was told, if only to let her do her thing and be done with it. I couldn’t bear to think what Robyn thought of me now. I felt the paper being pressed into my back and the piercing feeling of the pen scribbling upon it.

When I turned back around to face her, Gloria was holding out the piece of paper to me. “This is what I think of you!” She said, and when I took the paper and put it in my pocket, thinking almost nothing of the piece of paper, she put the pen back in her pocket and disappeared into the crowds of raving people.

The song finished, and the DJ put on some vocal-less House music. The music was even louder than before.

“Who was that?” Robyn shouted.

“Gloria!” I shouted back. “Let’s go, c’mon. Take my hand.”

Robyn took my hand and I lead her out of the crowds to the next flight of stairs. “We got to find Richard and Jerome.”

“Can’t we just ring them?” Robyn suggested.

“Too loud in here. I wouldn’t be able to hear them. And they wouldn’t be able to hear me.”

“What about text?”

I stopped at the first stair. I hadn’t thought of that. But would they receive it? Under all the loud music most probably they wouldn’t hear the ringtone…although perhaps they’d get the vibrate? It was sure as hell worth a try.

I took out my phone, sank into the wall, slid down onto the steps, and began to text.

This is what I punched into the phone:

Its simon. Where r u?

I navigated through the ‘send’ options and selected Richard’s number. The text showed up as being sent, now all we had to do was wait for the ‘successful delivery’ message. It came up within ten seconds. I stood up.

“Want to see what’s on the next level?” I asked Robyn.

Robyn took my arm and held the thing with a cold vice-like grip. “No. I want to talk to you about why you were face-sucking with some bitch you met half an hour ago.” Robyn with attitude? I was surprised she could even muster up the courage to confront me on such angry terms. Usually she was such a polite little bundle of tranquillity. Must be what happens when you are trying to find a friend in a club full of loud music that makes your ears bleed.

“Oh yeah,” I muttered. “That.”

“Do you even know her?”

“No.”

“Then why did you go putting your tongue down her throat? Are you on drugs?” She put her eyes up close to mine to check they weren’t bloodshot, as if trying to peer in. I tried to shrug off her grip and turn away, but she wouldn’t give in.

“I’m not on any drugs, Robyn!” I looked her clear in the face and indicated my eyes. “See? No drugs!”

“I reckon you’ve taken some E or something. You look out of it.” Robyn was shaking her head in regret and sadness for having befriended me.

“Alright fine, I drank one cocktail laced with DDT.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I said, waving Robyn off. “I’m just a little tired.”

“I hope that’s all it is. You’re scaring me, Simon.” Robyn put out the last few words accompanied with as much terror as she could find.

“Well then you’re a wuss.”

“What did you say?”

I pulled her in close to my face and let her see my anger. “I said you are a fucking wuss!” Then I shook her. As hard as I could, to try and make her snap out of it and grow some fucking self-confidence. She’d been full of it a few moments ago, confronting me about Gloria.

“Simon, I…I…” And with that Robyn burst into tears and fell against the wall.

I instantly softened, realizing what I had done. All anger left me. “Robyn! I’m so sorry.”

I tried to put my arms around her but she pushed them away. Wiping the sweat off my face, I turned off and set upon walking up the steps. I turned back only to say: “Don’t move. I’m going to find Richard and Jerome.”

Robyn whimpered in response. Thinking back I probably shouldn’t have left her there. She could have been violated, drugged, anything. But…I left Robyn, in her emotionally collapsed state.

Different music again floated out from the entrance to the third level. It sounded like reggae, electric guitars fighting for the limelight over this hard African-inspired drumbeat, the drumbeat sometimes letting off, sometimes not, providing the backbone for the instantly recognizable riffs. It was the one, the only: Franz Ferdinand. A smile passed over my lips as my favourite band as a young teenager blared out onto the dance floor.

My soul starts spinning again;

I walked out into the crowds of moshing people, searching for the faces of either Richard or Jerome. The lasers were getting annoying, on the first floor they had been a novelty, the second cool…but the third level they were just getting in my eye and temporarily blinding me every now and again. Green, red. Red, green. The blue shimmer came through the clouds of smoke down, scanning everyone in that little eye up the front.

I can’t stop feeling,

No Jerome or Richard. Just a lot of faces obscured by dark, sweat-soaked faces bleary-eyed, screaming, jumping high for the sky in groups, each reaching up and coming down again. I could smell the sweat, intoxicating my system, driving my mind nuts.

No, I won’t stop feeling,

I looked at my watch. 11:05pm. For some reason, although I slept usually at around the times of midnight and one in the morning, I felt drained and exhausted. Telling Robyn I was tired I had originally intended to be a way of excusing myself for potentially being high on DDT, but now I was feeling the effects of a hardcore sleepiness. Perhaps it was all the dancing, and the cocktail thrown in. All that jumping around has sweated and tired me out.

And the fun’s not fun anymore,

I came to find that mainly people moshed at the front, near the DJ box, the people back from about the middle just danced. I noticed a girl with her arm crook around her head, clicking her fingers with her eyes shut, shaking her waist slowly, rhythmically. A few guys moved around her, attempting to put their hands around her waist or feel her ass. But she continued to dance unperturbed.

I can’t stop feeling;

She looked to me like she was plunged into the music. Like she almost was a part of the music, as much as the drums or the guitars or Alex Kapranos’ lyrics and voice. The girl was…surreal. Perhaps the smoke enhanced this feeling, but it was almost…angelic. A faint expression was on her lips, an expression of limitless pleasure.

No, I won’t stop feeling;

I simply stared at this goddess in the flesh. Okay, maybe that was overdoing it, but she was entrancing. Perhaps this was because she was in a trance herself.

And you leave me here on my own,

Her features were beautiful, but not in that superficial way you refer to people as attractive. The dancing made her beautiful - enhanced her already exquisite beauty. I felt a European look about her, she definitely wasn’t Australian.

Yeah you leave me here on the floor,

I felt myself drawn to her. But I knew I’d never talk to her. What would I say anyway? Hi, I’m Simon, if you don’t mind me saying, I found you absolutely entrancing. Mind if I buy you a drink and we can talk about philosophy and what it means to be infatuated with somebody? I felt the image of a drink with her fading away. Would not work at all.

You can’t feel it,

I moved quite close to this girl, pretending to dance, but being more interested in her than my moves. I moved my legs and hips in strict response to the drumbeat, and I felt it put out an exotic feel to the whole affair. I got up close to her, and I was only just taller than she was. I could feel her radiating heat. My palms began to sweat on top of all the other sweat I had accumulated. I could almost squeeze myself dry and fill a milk carton of this odious liquid.

And you can’t feel it,

The hair was black, flowing rivers of black down her skull and onto her shoulders, perhaps even further, I couldn’t tell. Everything dissipated into darkness when you looked down, the floor lighted only by the visualizations on the televisions.

You can’t feel it,

Then I remembered my actual mission. To find Richard and Jerome! Not to dance next to this floozy. Dad would have called her a ‘floozy’. The darkness was closing in, I felt myself swaying out of the beat. I had to get out fast; otherwise this place would take me down.

And you can’t feel anymore…

Why didn’t I think? I could of checked my phone for a reply text. That siren-song girl had retained my attention, and I hadn’t thought to reach in and take a look at my phone. My hopes were increased when I found my phone still in my pocket, untouched by any foreign hands, as I was scared it may have been pick-pocketed in the dancing masses.

Feel anymore, feel anymore, FEEL ANYMORE!

I flicked the phone open and my hopes were heightened when a new message tone beeped. The little unopened envelope flashed on the menu screen, and I had no choice but to open.

Soul boy, down and alone,

The text was as fellows:

Yo simon! We’re dncing near the DJ thrd floor. U shld fnd us prtty easy

And his soul is broken again,

So they were on this floor. Near the DJ box by the looks of it. Not that I could see them. I began to move, leaving the dancing European nymph and back into the rush of adrenaline-filled, screaming faces. There was a feeling of intensity that swallowed me whole. I began to feel a closing in. Like the faces of terror were upon these faceless voids. Each one, screaming like an animal, arms outstretched to the sky, a twisted update of druidic ritual. I banished the thought. They’re just…people.

But you can’t stop moving,

I ducked and reeled past youths in the element, looking as if fits had come over them. Clouds of smoke wafted and hung in the air above us, fogging everything. The heat was intolerable…I had to find Richard and Jerome before I completely lost and gave in to fainting.

No, you won’t stop moving,

I gripped my face and rubbed my eyelids and the sweat off of my forehead, for the umpteenth time. Shaking the head, something came out of the darkness in the corner of my eye. Looking up, I saw nothing. That was when two hands grabbed my respective shoulders and pulled me back. I twisted to see who it was.

Aaaah…

Richard, a grin from ear to ear, had me so close his nose was almost touching my forehead.

“Simon! How are you, buddy?” He asked. Jerome was at his side, grinning also.

“Almost scared me senseless there.” I muttered.

“Sorry about that, buddy. How are you anyway?”

“Good.”

“Only good?” Richard replied. “It’s bloody fantastic here, don’t you think? Oh, I could dance like this for hours…”

“Robyn wants to go home. And I’m pretty tired.”

“Tiredness is a state of mind. Get over it.” Put in Jerome with a laugh.

Richard waved him off. “No, I think Simon and Robyn have a point there. Since they have only just come of age, I’m not sure they could go as long as us here. We should take them home.”

And before I knew what was happening, I was being wheeled to the descending stairs at the other side of the dance-floor, Richard’s sweaty hands working as guiding fins on the shoulders. I stopped for a moment, halting the train behind me. Turning to Richard and Jerome, I asked with a degree of curiosity: “What’s on the fourth floor?”

“Oh,” Jerome laughed, snorting laughs. “That.”

I looked at him questioningly.

“You like remixed music with girls orgasming mixed in?”

“Uh…no?”

Jerome winked. “Well, that’s the kind of stuff they play up there. I wouldn’t recommend going up there - only if you need a good belly laugh. That music cracks me up.”

I shook my head at the thought. “Let’s keep going.”

“Good idea.” Richard confirmed and set me off down the stairs. It wasn’t long before we found Robyn at the bottom of the stairs, sitting against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked up at me with quiet, reproachful eyes.

“We’re going.” I said. The eyes flicked back down, and the legs extended out, to support her. I held out a hand and regretfully she took it, easing herself up.

“C’mon,” Richard muttered. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

Robyn fell into my arms, sniffing and snorting away tears. “Not now,” I told her. “We’re going.” Frankly I felt a little repulsed to have her in my arms. She’d been yelling at me not too long ago…and also the fact that I wasn’t attracted to her at all. “I’m sorry, Robyn, but please, my brother’s here.”

Robyn let go quickly at the thought. We walked - Jerome bringing up the rear this time, Richard second from last, then Robyn and I at about the same distance at the front - down across the next dance-floor, weaving in and out of dancers, down the next flight of steps. Robyn stumbled halfway down, and I had to catch her.

“Someone felt up my dress!” She yelped. I grunted and put an arm around her shoulders, to keep her moving.

“These stairs are goldmines for perverts.” Richard stated flatly. “Waiting off to the sides. Unassuming girls get their skirts yanked as they come down. Happens all the time. Luckily no one has been dacked that I know of.”

“I don’t think we need to know that right now, Rich. Let’s get out of here.” I called back. I called Richard ‘Rich’ when I wanted him to shut up. He hated that name. It was in complete disagreement with his actual monetary finances, which were considerably poor. Pretty much he saved up, spent going to places like this, then was poor again.

We reached the ground floor, and the music had changed dramatically. There was slow music coming out of the DJ box…quiet music. People had lapsed into pairs of swaying bodies, one arm on the shoulder, the other on the waist, or thereabouts. Looking into each other’s eyes. Some were necking, some were making out, and some were not. I tried not to pay too much attention. One guy had his hand up a girl’s blouse.

“This ain’t usual.” Jerome murmured. “I thought there was just club music. Not this…quiet shit.”

“And we’re out of here!” Richard exclaimed when we burst out into the clean, unfiltered, sweat-free night air. The Valley outside still had all the thronging crowds waiting at the doors of pubs and clubs. Other people were being rowdy on the streets. Moonlight shone down, pristine clear white, lighting puddles of vomit, alcohol and water in the gutter with a glimmer. Occasionally there was a person belching and moaning groggily next to a patch.

“Now where had I parked the car…?” Richard mused aloud, leading us around the line of people for The Family into a deserted side-street.

“Oh no.” I groaned. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten where the car is.”

“I remember now!” Richard proclaimed with confidence. He marched down the street, leading us, and turned the corner to reveal…the car, parked next to those pieces of timber that contained people. I was reminded of how dilapidated the homes were around here. The darkness this late at night seemed to bring out and highlight the problems with each house. They looked like giant monsters, half-painted and chipped picket-fences for teeth, a gaping Queenslander veranda mouth, window and a door for eyes, sank deep into the mushy grass…it was a bizarre and scary countenance.

“Into the car!” Jerome yelled and we all piled in, Robyn and I in the back again, Richard in the driver’s seat (he was in the car at least twenty seconds before we all were, and had the engine running at this point) and Jerome in the navigator’s seat. The engine kicked into life after being on momentary neutral.

Then we sped off. Richard didn’t pay much attention to speed limits as we screeched around corners, it was nearing midnight and even the city was light on traffic.

I sat in the back, across from Robyn, wondering what this night had really been all about. What had happened? Why did I feel this higher sense of purpose after a night of booze, partying and insomnia?

Jerome flicked on the radio, and a considerably more hushed, meditative song echoed out of the static.

On the hottest night of…the year…

I settled back into my seat, thinking with a smile that perhaps it had been all for the best. Perhaps we had learned something tonight. Something about friendship, about love in its different forms, about what it means to be human.

Lying…in a patch of rho-a-rhododendrons,

Or perhaps that had all been bullshit? All a figment, to distract us from our real purposes? The Valley had been an artificial way to reach out to us…grab us from our slumber and shake us a couple of times to keep us awake?

A bottle of whisky under my arm,

Tonight had been surreal, fantasy-like. I remembered all those faceless voids, those screaming animals, and those great plumes of smoke.

Trying to count a sky full of stars,

The lasers, piercing into our very beings. Trying to reach our hearts, call out to us. Calling out from the darkness, beckoning us in. Then there was the disc jockey, high in his palace, surveying his plains. People like grass in the wind, blowing this way and that, reaching high up…falling back down. In waves…rushing through the grass, scattering leaves and dislodging dirt.

I dream of order, I dream of fleets,

I looked back at that neon metropolis. The sky itself couldn’t remain dark; it had to light up for this heart of human civilization. I could see clouds coming over.

Of Napoleon in aquamarine,

There was certainly some force in The Valley, in the city. Something otherworldly. A force…perhaps it was created by human hand. This omniscient spirit was something that united us, and yet kept us individual…a force that craved the soul. Music, darkness, dance. All a veneer. This spirit was underlining it all. This spirit of…fun, of belonging. It touched all in that club, sinking its hands into the wood and cement of the place, replenishing itself in every smile, every kiss.

He said: “Linus put that blanket down,

You could jumpstart the world with that sort of spirit. You could solve world-hunger. You could save the globe from the plight of humanity. Can you harness this? No. Do you know how to harness this? No. A resounding no. We are all doomed in a way, all sentenced to death in our own fashion. We are just hurtling hunks of flesh flung towards our own demise. Do we care? No. I guess that’s what The Valley is all about.

You’ve slammed your door too many times!”

Celebrating what we do have. Friendship, belonging, a sense of self among fellow beings. But then…why all the stabbings? Why all the raping?

He said: “Linus put that blanket down,

The Valley had been guilty of intense hurt. People had died there…others wounded, some mentally, some physically. There were drugs throughout The Family, and I guess with such a spirit afoot you can’t blame them. But some of these drugs aren’t aimed to reach a higher plane of intellectuality or pleasure, these were pills aimed to knock someone into unconscious, designed to put someone into a deep sleep, leaving their body to be ravaged.

The world won’t wait.”

Screams of anguish, screams of pain. The place that had brought so many smiles could also bring tears and blood. Why did so many creeps hang out in this hub of joy?

Boy, what you gonna do with your life?

I guess there’s an evil side to everything. A two-face. Nothing is ever sugar coated. There’s a shit side to every stick. The Valley is just a blown up version of all that. You can see the highs so clearly, and the lows. People in ecstasy, others in excruciating pain, The Valley readily have them on display. Other things too, things beyond our comprehension. An enigmatic riddle placed inside of burnt-out buildings. There are stories in the wood, ghosts in the darkness. Voices of some party past.

When I was your age, I was comman-commanding fleets,

I wonder what was there before The Valley. Aborigines? Have their Dreamtime stories been sifting on the arid dirt, rising up into the clubs? Do the spirit-totems and symbols of old still appear occasionally, in the faces of those screaming animals, or the halo-framed DJ? Does the ghostly feeling of nostalgia that covers the place somehow enhance the lights of the main street? Would we ever understand it?

When I was your age, I was soaked in victory,

The Valley, I realised, was a living, breathing organism. A soul of its own, and this spirit belonged to that soul.

And now you can’t keep a job and you can’t keep a wife,

“Robyn, where you live again?” Richard asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I noticed we were just coming off of Coronation Drive, turning the corner past the Wesley Hospital. Nobody was walking on the footpaths.

What a horrible mess you’re gonna to make of your life,

“Graceville. Just past Indooroopilly Shopping Centre. I’m near the train line.” Robyn replied. I looked over to her. She looked plastered, and she hadn’t drunk a drop.

Watched way too many American movies,

Pale haloes of street lamps hung over the sleep in our eyes, like a haze. We passed Gailey Five Ways, all shut up shop – apart from the 24-hour Night Owl. That blazed in this quiet night of contemplation. Richard was hard on the corners, jolting us all back to reality every now and again. I was too far-gone however. I felt twisted and utterly weary of this world. All I wanted to do now was sleep.

To be John Wayne, Brando or James Dean,

We were coming up to her home now. Something broke that silence, broke that calm. A man. A man wearing nothing but shorts and a hooligan smile. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, coming closer, out of the bushes off to the side.

Waiting so long for your wrists to get thick,

At first I thought he had nothing to do with our speeding vehicle. He just looked like another of tonight’s festivities. As he tiptoed out to the gutter, pausing, looking at us with that deluded expression.

Waiting so long for the next great party,

Something splattered on the car. Richard swerved, before gaining control again. “Shit! What was that?” Everything broke then. The calm, the stillness. Everything was thrown once again into anarchy. Robyn screamed.

So many questions, so little to say,

Egg yolk ran up and down the left side of the windscreen. Luckily, Richard’s side was not obscured. I looked in horror. There seemed to be…something grotesque about it. I don’t mean the egg; I mean the general aesthetics of the thing. Like someone had meant to paint a picture, fucked it all up, and then just thrown a wash of all the paints he was using over the canvas. I twisted back in my seat, scanning out the back for this delinquent. The lunatic was gone, escaped, vanished.

You don’t need these weights,

Quiet again. Night had stepped in and the sleepiness fell over the car like a silky cloud. We were coming up to Robyn’s house. I found it interesting that all the lights in every house were out. Everyone was sleeping. Like we should be. The car pulled up as Robyn cried with a point at her beloved home. Richard navigated the car over to the side.

Boy, what you gonna do with your life?

As we climbed out of the car, Richard was out first, surveying the front windscreen and the streaks of egg. “How am I going to deal with this?” He asked nobody in particular.

“With water and a sponge, dipstick.” Jerome replied, nudging him roughly.

Robyn wandered up her front steps.

When I got into the backseat once again, strapped in my seatbelt, I felt a strange loss steal over me. The only way to describe it was the cough and splutter of the car’s engine kicking into life left a certain…regret. A feeling that losing Robyn had been like losing one of the gang…a ‘sister’ of us almost. As my stomach churned at the painful feelings, Jerome resumed conversation:

“Drinks at your place, Richard?”

The song was still going, nearing the end.

So you want to be an artist, want to be a singer,

“I think drinking is in order.” Richard said, staring with strained eyes at the dark road ahead.

Want to be remembered for what you could create,

We were again speeding along over the bridge, back to Indooroopilly. There was a sense that this night was finally winding to a close. Possibly one of the most illuminating nights of my life. A bat flew, a shape in a seeming jet-black.

So you want to be a cowboy, riding to the distance,

Something came to me in the pondering. I blinked. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Perhaps because Robyn was in the car next to me and she may have gotten annoyed. But now that she wasn’t here, I could take a look.

So you want to be a boxer, surviving on your instincts,

I reached into my pocket, feeling the vibrations of the car’s tires on the road as my hand bumped into that abyss.

Relying on your fists and the quickness of your wit,

I fished out the paper, now crumpled and creased. I proceeded to unfold, suspense building in me like an ember.

Are you bigger than these buildings and the grey around you?

Gloria’s drunken scrawl was decipherable, which I thought was a plus.

Is your pain worthier than everybody else?

What was written was this:

Hey Simon! I liked you tonight. Go clubbing again sometime?
Gloriiiaaa

Call 0404 138 783

I felt a sense of completion to the night, or perhaps the feeling of a cycle starting up. Gloria wanted me again. But I knew there was a deeper meaning in that scrunched piece of paper.

Drunk again in the rhododendrons…

I saw our familiar house looming over the trees like a mother with her arms outstretched, waiting for us to clamour into them like wayward and world-weary children.

As I got out of the car a few moments later, sleep like a drug soothing and dulling my brain, turning off the logic systems in my cranium with soft hands, a strange and random thought came into my head.

The Valley was calling again. How would I best respond?

And with that in mind, I waited absently while Richard banged open the fly-screen and put the key in the front door, ending our nocturnal adventure.