Being Happy and All That Comes With It

“You know you want to get down!” he belted, dropping words out of his mouth like rocks off a cliff, and oh, was he right. I wanted it, no, I craved it. I needed it. It hurt to hear, but that didn’t make it any less irresistible. The weight of the vibrations blanketed my skin, pushing down with a rhythm semblant of addiction. He moved the crowd like puppets hung with musical strings, synchronizing the masses to his beautiful, twisted artistic tastes. Electric energy flowed through the crowd, magnified by neon bandanas and glowing jewelry. I was grooving. I was letting this perfectly overwhelming combination of human and musical reverberations echo through my inner workings, blasting geometric patterns across my senses, teaching me how to bend. Everyone was grooving. The music had been a beacon, a signal to all those seeking that ever so satisfying sound. We came, and we embraced…

…I wandered in half-circles for a few minutes before sitting down to fill my near-empty lungs. “I can have fun without her,” I said softly to myself…

I had come here without her. She knew, but I had come here without her. Someone told me that she might be coming, but who knows for sure? This or that, either way. But she did come, at least they said she did. I was surprised, pleasantly, of course. But where was she? I had yet to see her face.

“Shes fine,” said someone resembling a friend, whom upon closer inspection I identified as indeed, a friend.

“Are you sure?” I asked, not quite believing him. “Why doesn’t she want to see me?”

“I don’t know man, she’s in there somewhere…”

She was here… in the building with me, hearing the sounds I was so vividly feeling. I stepped clumsily back into the venue, my feet heavy with confusion, but quickly pulled myself together, or rather, I let myself fall to pieces. My essence shattered with the harsh energy of the pumping sounds around me. I closed my eyes to ignore my vision. It was trying to lead me, trying to put structure on my new-found freedom. I bent down, rose up, and bounced through the chaotic coagulation of color and nearly uncomfortable confinement constructed by the chemicals around me. But something held me down, grounding me, trying ever so hard to clip my wings. It was her. No, it was not her, that was the problem. I wanted her so bad, but I knew I couldn’t have her, at least not yet.

The tests continued. I shuddered with the thought of what I knew was coming: the test of faith. A girl, not her of course, edged smoothly up next to me. She rubbed ever so comfortably against me, fuming pheromones like a smokestack of multicolored toxic waste. My muscles warmed and loosened, I could feel her addictive vibrations bumping up against every exposed inch of me. Despite every bit of sense screaming opposition at me, I moved closer, edging towards that beautifully advertised touch.

I wanted so bad to let just a brief moment of weakness slip by, but I knew that could never be the case. I pushed through the viscous material that was the crowd; out of touch, smell, and eventually sight of the sensuous siren behind me. My heart reached equilibrium at a pace characteristic of a man running for his life, and it felt incredible.

My friend bounced his fingers on my shoulder a few times and motioned towards the bar. I followed the invisible path he had set forth to the human watering hole, resting my weight on the counter when I arrived.

“Water please…” we said to the passing straight-faced bartenders serving intoxication at twelve dollars a glass to the masses. We waited expectantly, watching these salesmen of chaos ignore all those opposed. They poured their vile concoctions into miniature crystalline goblets, occasionally eyeing us with an expression halfway between disgust and contempt. My friend, he stared back. He understood the game they played, this sick twisted game of power that had been trying to engulf us since we came here. We weren’t like them, and they didn’t like it. No, as a matter of fact, the man right in front of us, he despised it. Finally, a fast-talking, fast-walking woman stepped in front of him, threw a bottle of water on the counter and held her hand out for money. We gave it to her and became fast-walkers too.

Then, the final test. I saw her, just a glimpse, but it was definitely her. She was walking away, or more precisely, hopping lively away with a man I thought to be my friend, though I also thought he could be someone else. My other friend assured me it wasn’t them, brushing the thought aside almost casually. She was leaving, and I could feel the distance between us broadening, stretching my soul the length of this now humungous room. She looked happy, maybe she wants to be with that kid. Maybe he’s better for her. “That might be her, but that’s not your friend with her,” he said.

What? An emotion similar to confusion mixed with heated distaste cascaded downward through my body like heavy, gelatinous liquid, washing me in powerful energy. I won’t lose her. I ran, my first foot colliding with the ground in front of me with the weight of my willpower, shifting my presence forward as I pushed towards her. I reached the guy first and put my hand on his shoulder to turn him around. He looked at me blankly for a brief second, then smiled.