Thursday, September 24, 1998
The Cube is Sleeping
Friday, 4.24.98, (exactly five months ago) I hosted a dance, called The
Cube, at the Fairfield Best Western.
Three DJs and a wide range of other guests helped me entertain a group
of over one hundred high-school teenagers.
This is a recollection of my feelings after that dance.
When the clock strikes twelve, a crowd of one hundred twenty-five
people melts away unnoticed. There is a
feeling of endured inner peace mingling with exhaustion. I give thanks, let the rest of my Squad
speak its mind, and then sign off. A
soft light fills the room now. The
dimmed florescence seems to emit a residual glow that gives a light, floating
feeling. The stage lighting, strobe
lights, black lights, and police beacons are all being packed into boxes. I am propelled by an energy in the
room. There is a warm echo left behind
by the body of bodies. Every step I
take falls into a rhythm of music that is no longer playing. My vision is slow, and seems to follow me.
Milling about with a few others seems to get the work done by
itself. In a while, I am left alone in
a room that is almost bare. Sitting on
a wooden riser, I begin to coil a long speaker cable around my arm. While I make my way to the other end, the
cable takes over and does the work for me.
There, I find that the amplifier is now almost cool to the touch.
A young lady approaches me. The
soft lingering glow falters in her presence.
She is radiating the dark brightness of a black light. Her movement is the smooth, frequent
appearance of a strobe light, moving toward me a step at a time without a
stride. Her beautiful shape is rotating
with the colors that had filled the room.
Every part of her body synchronizes with the rhythm of her voice. Her melody bubbles forth as she thanks me
for the wonderful time that she had tonight.
She is saying all of the right things, deeply entrancing me with her
brightness.
A few words tumble out of my mouth to reply. They are quick and a little confused, but my point is made. My night is now complete, and she has
completed it.
Now a road is passing me by.
One or two more trips home will make up for not planning on
transportation. The highway is a black
blur of white streetlights and flashing yellows. In one synchronous blink, the entire highway lights up like a
runway into the darkness. Into the
darkness... I realize that the dance is
not over, it is merely asleep. When the
time comes for me to host the next one, the dance will continue.
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