Rendezvous
26 January 04 : 10.23 PM
I danced 'till beads of sweat slid down my temples; 'till my ankles hurt from the awkward tip of my heels; 'till I felt like I could no longer keep the vomit at the back of my throat down; 'till I thought my shirt was saturated through by perspiration, mine or the many others that brushed past me.
Then I'd stop.
There's something therapeutic about dancing to plangent music that seems to impale you from every possible direction. What feels even better is when you're doing so on a platform, stage or something, above a sea of bobbing heads, that sense of superiority takes away any known insecurities. It just grabs you. You're in a mild trance.
Then there's something soothing about the quietude that inevitably follows. Leaving the club and it's silent outside save the occasional drone of engines--It's like you're in another world. It's not a bad thing, but it leaves me feeling scared at times.
Seeing Serene at China Black, she came over, surprised but all excited. She pointed at Ron and mouthed to me, "Your boyfriend?" I shook my head, but it was like she wasn't expecting an answer, or that she didn't care, she just wrapped her arms around my waist and grind against me like she was horny.
Maybe it was the way Ron said to her, "Let me borrow Vicki for a sec., okay" as he pulled me over that made her think we were a couple. Or the way he rested his arms on my shoulders while we danced. Or perhaps it was the way he held my waist as he led me out of the dancefloor. But they were perfectly innocuous actions that I know I shouldn't feel offended by. I kept thinking that's how all Australians are. I'm actually more conservative than I thought.
The night died young. I went home feeling empty, I don't know why.