Things Just Happened

Process.ion 21, Urte Laukaityte

“A silence like eternity
Prevailed, there was no sound to hear;
These marvels all were for the eye
And there was nothing for the ear”

— “Parisian Dream,” Charles Baudelaire 

He was one of the last people I expected to hear from. He gave me a call around 5:30 and asked me if I wanted to go to the strip club.

He said he could be over in 20 minutes. He hadn’t seen where I lived, but he knew where it was. He called me and told me he was parked outside, but I didn’t see him. Then I realized he was across the street. He walked over and reached for a hug. He had a full smile across his face. His facial muscles tensed up so forcefully.

“Hey, man, long time. What up?”

“I’m doing really great, you know, just getting by, trying to stay out of trouble. How about you? How are you and… ?” I had forgotten his girlfriend’s name.

“Moving into her place soon. Down south.”

“Nice! So, I have to be honest, I was kind of shocked to hear from you.”

He laughed somewhat nervously.

“Yeah, me and Nicky went last week, and it wasn’t what I expected, or I didn’t feel the same way that I thought I would. Like, it was clean. And everyone is getting paid, you know? It’s kind of like a bar except there are naked women all around. What more could we want?”

Sounded about right. I went with it.

“Should I not tell her you’re going?”

“Well, if she knows I keep going, it becomes a thing. Whereas if I go with her, it’s another thing entirely. She likes it, but she doesn’t have to know how much I like it, you know?”

We walked inside and stood in the hallway.

“Right, I get it. You want a beer or something before we leave? Or better, want a shot?”

“Oh, I don’t know —”

“Less money there?”

We took our shots with lime. My strung-out roommate was yawning and standing next to the fridge. We all shared a joint. I remember that it was wet and falling apart.

My friend was the kind of person who was always looking for the most accessible parking spot. I have a feeling he knew where every exit in my house was. Some way out. I would have thought he would have liked to have control to leave the club when he wanted to, but he suggested we get a ride rather than take his car.

The Lyft smelled like Febreze and weed. We passed a group of bikers who were yelling back and forth to each other about which way to go. This giant homeless man — he must have been 300 pounds — towered over everything around him as he pushed his shopping cart across the street.

The strip club was maybe 10 minutes driving from my house, and we didn’t talk much on the way over. He asked the driver if he could vape tobacco out the window, and the driver didn’t respond, though I think he heard him.

I looked out the side window as we arrived. This was one of the nicer clubs, something out of a ’70s Hollywood film with pink lights, shiny exotic dancers, bars on the windows, and a heavily pierced guy dressed in all black standing by the side door, smoking a black and mild, staring at us as we arrived.

I looked out the side window as we arrived. This was one of the nicer clubs, something out of a ’70s Hollywood film with pink lights, shiny exotic dancers, bars on the windows, and a heavily pierced guy dressed in all black standing by the side door, smoking a black and mild, staring at us as we arrived.

I had never been a fan of those kinds of places. I actually think I am kind of scared of them. There is something about all of it, all of it adding up. When I find myself in those kinds of settings, I just sort of stare at everyone. Plus, I was high. I don’t even know why I smoked. It just happened. Kind of like this. Things just kind of happened.

We walked up and showed our IDs. The bouncer didn’t say anything about rules or code of conduct.

¤

“I feel that I should change this part of the story. Can you do that in these kinds of things? Like revise the story as you… ?”

“It’s the part that is maybe the biggest step into blind spots. Something blurry. It’s not in any way precise. But I’ll try to keep this short and logical. It’s unfortunate that my sad attempt at pathologizing comes with this pack of… what are these, Lucky Strikes?”

He took the cigarette that was standing above the rest and brought out his own lighter to light it. It took no time at all.

“I was going to keep going. I’ll say more if you let me gather myself. I just — it’s a lot to gather. Maybe I haven’t processed it. I just didn’t know he was capable. Or maybe I did, and that’s what I need to think about.”

He ashed the cigarette on the desk and pushed his finger into the ashes, making a line.

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll keep going.”

He started tearing up and pushed his hair back. He pinched the front of his shirt away from his body. He was sweating through his clothes.

“He came over maybe 20 minutes after this. I showered, thought about shaving, and he called me as I opened the fridge.”

“Said he was outside. I looked outside and didn’t see him. Eventually, I walked down the street until I found him on another street staring at this phone.”

“He hugged me, and I forgot that he was a hugger.”

“Oh, a hugger? I don’t know, someone who just instinctively hugs. Not sure why I even said that really.”

“Told me not to tell his girlfriend. Told me then it becomes a thing. That she’s okay with it, but maybe not really okay with it. I kind of understood that. At least I thought I did.”

“We drank a beer and had a shot of tequila on the way out.”

“Because it would save money. He was always kind of thrifty. Figured I’d make him feel comfortable.”

“Smoked as well, maybe just a little bit and listened to something on the television.”

“Nobody else was home. It was raining. It’s always raining in Portland.”

“We got in a car and it smelled like an excess of smells in general. I remember this. We got there a bit slower than we should have. Or later, like later in the night.”

“Oh, it was because of some bike thing that was happening.”

“What I’ve always noticed is that those places never seem entirely from our time. There’s something old, like 1970s Los Angeles about it. Like Skid Row, you know? Or maybe some John Huston film. Well, at least this one felt like it. All the pink lights. And the gigantic coked-out goth guy hanging out by the door.”

“Yeah, sorry, so we showed our IDs and walked back to the bar. We didn’t sit where they were dancing. I remember being okay with that.”

“We talked about relationships and politics and about jobs and if he would find one and about money. I think we might have both said that we don’t and do need it. It was one of those conversations.”

“We talked about relationships and politics and about jobs and if he would find one and about money. I think we might have both said that we don’t and do need it. It was one of those conversations.”

“So, anyway, I went to the bathroom, which I couldn’t immediately find, and I actually went into a closet. The bouncer from outside grabbed me and pulled me out.”

“No, there wasn’t any other confrontation, I just walked the other way into the restroom.”

“Oh, no more than five minutes.”

“Yeah, I guess that is a while.”

“When I got back, he was sitting by the dancer with the piercings. You know, the one with brown hair.”

“There was something about it. No, not really creepy. No, not really, you know, perverted. Just kind of controlling. I don’t know who. I don’t really, but I could tell there was something going on.”

“He did talk about touching, yeah, but I don’t think that he had it in him. And anyway, his gaze might have been enough anyway.”

“No, like in the Freudian… never mind.”

“As if they might have already known he was thinking about it. But there’s nothing wrong with thinking about it? That’s kind of the point of those places?”

“So then we left and went to another bar, copped some pills, and played ping pong. I invited a girl I knew who lived nearby, but she didn’t come. We hung out in the bar until maybe one. Or maybe we were there until the last call.”

“Yeah, that was the last place I saw him. Really the last time. If I knew any differently, I would try to… I mean, I would tell you.”

“I think he was okay, but I mean that was the circumstance, you know?”

“Really?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, he was already coming from a hurt place.”

“I honestly don’t even know how he ended up there again.”

“I am not actually sure why I was even there. It just kinda happened, you know?”

“How much can you really blame him?”

“Oh no I get it, and that it’s not okay but —”

“No, I mean we didn’t really even like each other before.”

“I guess, but by the time I even considered any of that, I was alone ordering coffee and pancakes at the diner down the street.”

“Or I guess I never really thought about it.”

“No, I mean something didn’t feel right. What was I supposed to do?”