Writing Exercise # 5

I could drink no more. Outside, the crowds had grown so think that I could no longer distinguish individual people but saw only one homogenous, interconnected organism that moved to and fro in front of the entrance to the bar like an insectile colony. Before long exhaustion overcame me and my eyes shut out that world. I was lying at the top of a jungle gym in the Little Woods subdivision near my home. The sun’s warmth and the perception of open-air seclusion formed an intangible aura over me in which the disturbances in the recesses of my mind became more manageable. I was trying to make my way through an immense crowd of casually dressed people who were all animated over some commotion well ahead. I pushed my way through and called for my brother, Horace, whom I expected to be nearby. The sun was searing my head, I could almost smell smoke drifting around my head. The back of my neck, and my exposed shoulders were also being punished, and the noise of the crowd made it difficult for Horace to hear me. Agitated by the noise of the crowd I tried to squeeze through but could not. I looked down to see my new tennis covered in mud and knew that they would never glow white in the sun again as they once had. The Fair Grounds were before me and I heard music – a searing form of jazz with an unusual rhythm. The closer I got to the source of everyone’s attention the thicker the crowd became. Their obstinacy was making my progress almost impossible so I climbed up on the rigging above them all. I had some perception that the crowd was awed by this ability and I took it as confirmation of my rightful stature in life. When I finally reached the object of interest I saw that it was a stage with a very, very high back wall. It was built of some sort of smooth stone, like polished granite, and there were flowing curtains hanging behind a lone microphone stand and a vacant pedestal. The inconstant wind occasionally gusted and made the curtains cut strong enough that I feared being to close to them. Why so many people were so up in arms over an empty stage perplexed me. When I climbed down ahead of the crowd on the first step in front of the stage, I noticed that the music was grounded in the deepest, most pulsating rumble that I could comprehend. Perhaps it’s the music that is distressing them, I thought. The sound was like the aural translation of a massive army on the brink of confusion. The sound of unbridled and misdirected power concentrated so solidly that it was practically tangible. This was music that one felt with one’s body more than one heard with one’s ears. The stage lay before me in all of its stately, innocuous glory. To ascend it must connote some fateful purpose, so my steps became laborious as I trudged up the stairs. I recognized that what awaited me there would place me at the pinnacle of some despotic, vaunted illusion, but this recognition made the achievement all the more desirable. “Speak, sing, lie, whatever you like”, I heard a voice utter. I thought myself born to stand on the edge of precipices, so when my ascent gradually quelled the fervor of the crowd, I thought nothing of it. “The ceiling is a shelter of the day but emptiness devours the night,” the voice proclaimed. The stage was arced, with the dais downstage center. I was afraid to walk across so much space with so many people watching me. What if I should stumble? What if I appeared too diminutive for the occasion? I was paralyzed. I wished that I had not dared such a thing. My heart raced violently and the rising heat in my chest began to manifest itself through the pores of my skin. Now I would never be able to address the audience nor would he ever be able to return to the crowd. I was damned to live between prominence and inconsequence. The wind gusted. The curtains shot gloomy shadows across the faces of the crowds, mangling and distorting their faces. The sweat blanketing my skin was now chilled as a flurry of shivers shook my body and cooled my self-assurance. The stage was not ready to receive me, but I assumed that I was not prepared for the stage. After the park began to fill with after school kids with 7 hours of pent-up noise and energy, I awoke and quickly made my way back home. Someone sat next to me; close enough that our thighs were touching. It was the pretty server smiling like a guardian angel. ''Are you okay?'' she asked as she placed her hand gently on my upper back. ''I'm wasted,'' I said and regretted admitting this because despite her face I knew that a girl like her could easily take advantage of my vulnerable position. ''Your friends get you high and leave? Shame on them,'' she said as she began to count her money. She said it was 500; an okay night. She counted her money and talked confidentially about her patron’s inane behavior. She put it away and asked me what was to become of me after I left the club. I did not know. I was supposed to find my brother's house but that could not happen at that hour. I contemplated keeping my seat on the plush, cum stained sofa until they vacated me then make my way to the Moonwalk. I realized that I not only cared but hoped that something would happen. There was no longer any reason for me to be reticent about my actions – everything was not only possible but permissible.