I lay hung over on Ryan’s porch watching the sun sink beneath the roofs of the houses. I liked the evenings in Portland when dealing with a hangover. The neighborhood trees are beautiful in deep autumn, a whirl of reds, oranges, yellows and greens blurring together in the fading sunlight. Lying on a porch was far too common for me these days however as I haven’t been working. My mind wanders to what is more important- Ryan still hasn’t made his way home and hasn’t been responding to texts.
I’m unsure if I was being a good friend or a bad friend for not worrying too much about it. I know not messaging the poet girl whose bed I sleep in was probably bad form, but I had a headache all day and she never says anything that can’t wait. One of these days I’m gonna go to crash in bed with her and she’s gonna have another gentleman lined up for the spot. That night though, I think I was gonna head back to the basement club.
I borrowed a shirt and a pair of pale jeans and looked through Ryan’s house for a roommate. I hate to say it but I still hate to go to clubs by myself- even though I ditch the people I came with the moment I get there. I heard the mumbling of someone talking on a phone upstairs (I never go upstairs). I decided not to go upstairs and bug them. It felt weird not talking to anyone all day. I get a small amount of ‘cid and molly and I head out into the world.
Stumbling downtown, the weather stayed warm on my journey. My mind kept drifting back to the girl who was lifted above the rest. Persephone, I had nicknamed her. I’m unsure if it was the drugs that rippled through me but she struck me as someone who would be impossible to forget. When I saw her, I didn’t have time to blink before I knew she was someone I could spend the rest of my life with, having eyes fixed on her. Though probably just drugs and a male sex drive I guess, if I think too hard about it. I should hope to stumble into Ryan while there, be nice to have some conversation.
Down the stairs into the club I am met with the green and orange strobe set that often is the backdrop of the drum and bass scene. The place is almost empty, but I am lucky to find a girl I send hearts to on Instagram. She is wearing a strapless tight white dress- island girl- cleavage for days. I feel like a jerk even describing her that way, but if you met her you’d know what to say. She worked on music too- guitar and electronic solo stuff that was just mastered terribly. I sat unnaturally close to her.
“You seen Michael O’Connor? He’s been a ghost since yesterday.” I yell-speak in that way you do when the club is too loud. (Michael is Ryan’s real name, I nickname, remember).
“Nah, damn,” she looks away and then back at me.
“What are you doing here?” she leans into my ear, I start to feel her breath on my neck.
“Have you seen the renovations they’ve done downstairs yet?”
“Nah,” I yell, with a level of excitement that is hard to explain about being alone with her for a minute. Maybe she wanted molly. Maybe she wanted to dance too close. Maybe I could end up feeling those sweet tits in my hand. The thought alone is enough to act as a siren call for me any minute of any day of any year.
She leads me by the hand through a beaded door I don’t remember seeing before- maybe I did but I guess I thought it was a kitchen. I slow my pace down a little because I like to watch her walk- she turns to look at me as we head down poorly lit stairs, and lets go of my hand as she moves swiftly downstairs.
“You are so nimble for wearing heels,” I eye her as she turns a corner.
The second level vibrates from the music upstairs, piercing into the area below. It reminded me of other clubs I would go to where there would be a quiet room for talking (or meeting your Tinder date). It was poorly lit, with a few high tables and high chairs scattered about and an unmanned bar along the far wall. The walls were painted black which made the room feel abnormally small. If it weren’t for the golden objects they kept hanging from the wall I’d have trouble keeping a sense of space. Two people were already sitting down here talking- ruining my hopes for a molly moment. There were a few doors along the walls but none looked like bathrooms.
“How long has this been open?” I ask, as she finds a seat on a high chair.
“I think it’s not really open yet, but they are doing construction. They need to dig as far down as they do up, so there may be tons of basements below.”
After she responded I had trouble remembering her name… Christie? I check my phone to get it from Instagram real quick.
“Yeah I hear the Lloyd Center goes down 18 floors even though it’s only three floors tall,” I rattle off, covering myself thumbing through Instagram. My connection down there sucked. I give up quickly to not seem rude.
“The staff aren’t too engaged so it’s easy to slip down here. I’ve been kicking it down here the last few nights,” she says starting to move slowly and playfully
I started eyeballing the other two people who were down there- they were wearing the long black hoodies that the people were wearing the other night. They might have known where Ryan was at- I thought- and more importantly they might know the girl with the greasy black hair.
“Did you get to meet those two over there before? I think they were here last night,” I say raising my hand to my face to gesture that I was thinking.
“Nah,” she responded.
I remember they were probably wearing masks. My eyes focus on the walls and notice that some of the gold items hanging from the walls were those masks. I assumed they were staff, which all made sense to me. So maybe the greasy haired girl works here?
I stumbled over to the gentlemen, leaned towards them and asked, “Do you guys know the super slim girl? Short greasy black hair?” I pinch and rub my fingers together.
