Last night my brother, his girlfriend, and myself (among others) traveled out to Pomona (where the Glasshouse and Fox Theater can be found) to celebrate a friend's 24th birthday. In an ideal situation, we wouldn't travel so far to celebrate, but instead have a BBQ party of sorts closer to home. Since that wasn't possible, Birthday Boy found a bar-club hybrid out in Pomona that was hosting an 80's themed night (hence the title of this post). The club promised free admission (before 10pm), cheap drinks ($3 domestic, $5 not-so-domestic), and a good time. How could we say no?
Upon entering, my ears were bombarded by the sounds of Blondie, Depeche Mode, Animotion, and their friends; my eyes struggled to see in the darkness, for the only sources of light were the dimly lit dance floor and faint lighting emanating from two projectors simultaneously broadcasting various clips from 80's pop culture (Transformers, The Terminator, Voltron, and Star Wars were among the many clips I recognized). Like any other club, as the night grew older, the venue become boisterous with the lives of our young, modern society.
Although the dance club scene isn't really my atmosphere, I did my best to take it all in - the people, the music, the recognizable video clips - sometimes, with a beer in my hand. I did my best to mingle with others, to dance with my friends, and just have, overall, a good time like the flyer promised. Almost immediately, however, that promise went out the window, only to be trampled by passers by and streetcars (it's overdramatic but you know what I mean, right?). My brother had inadvertently almost got into a fight with a drunken fool all to eager to prove himself to the two beautiful women he was with (I would later realize his intentions with the reassurance of my brother and our friend).
He was a white male, approximately 5'6" in height, 265lbs., about 26 years of age, with a goatee for facial hair. He wore a black T-shirt, cream colored khakis, and black Chucks (Converse). I know because I ingrained the image of him in my mind's eye. I wanted to knock off his stupid peddler's hat and punch his drunk face in. Though, this isn't about me; this is about my brother. Even now, we don't know what exactly happened that provoked the guy. All we know was that we (our group) were navigating the dance floor to find space to for us to dance. Then, he happened. He kept shouting at my brother, trying to intimidate him, but my brother knew he was drunk. In fact, my brother's exact words were,"Go away, you're drunk." But instead, he edged closer to my brother. It was then that his two ladies, myself, and my brother's girlfriend got involved to split them up. Though my brother walked away, the other was still looking for a fight. We go our separate ways and we evaporate within the crowd.
That incident tarnished the remainder of my stay at the dance club. I couldn't shake off the incident, and I kept replaying the whole thing in my mind. It had all happened too quickly - how did it all begin? What could I have done, if anything? I couldn't let go, and I began to withdraw from the environment. I couldn't enjoy the music and I didn't want to dance anymore, so all I could was just watch the clips. I soon realized that the clips repeat themselves every 45 minutes, I just didn't notice the pattern sooner. My night was tarnished, shot to hell.
Some time after it had happened, my brother and I managed to have some time to ourselves, while the others were off dancing or socializing. Through my phone's built-in notepad, I expressed my anger, concern, and dissatisfaction of how it all went down, killing my feel-good feelings I had built up until then. I told him how I would have lost my temper on that poor fool had he tried to throw a punch, swearing to make sure that the copious amount of alcohol he consumed wouldn't be the real reason why he will black out. My brother, in turn, reassured me that nothing had, in fact, happened. And if something had occurred, he would finish the fight before it even really begins. My brother had already sized up the guy, and realized that the guy didn't truly have what it takes to fight ("for survival," as he put it). Lastly, he knew that he was drunk, stupidly fighting under the power of "beer balls," or as I call it, "liquid courage." He couldn't win. He wouldn't be able to. At the end of our messages, he simply asked for me to forget about him and enjoy the rest of our stay at the club. Truth is, I couldn't let it go.
Sometime later, we all went home, with exhausted bodies and for some (mainly me), exhausted minds. After driving home by myself, I cautiously open the two doors that lead me to the living room, careful not to make too much noise. I couldn't help but to play some music on the stereo. With that in the background, I collapse upon the living room sofa. My mind revisits the night - the good, the ugly, the aftermath. I reflect on the incident one last time. Then, I let go. My breathing became heavy, eyes marred with tears, and mucus runs down my nose. Now I know what had bothered me - it was the feeling of powerlessness, of physical weakness, and the reality that I can't defend those around me when they need protection. I felt that let my brother down, but it was really me. I let myself down. I ended up crying myself to sleep. It's been a while since that's happened.
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