Page 35 of Ancient History

Amos: minus 5 points, J.

Julian: Rude.

Julian: How’s your stage curtain, Ev?

Everett: Traumatized.

* * *

Remix wasthe saving grace of Sourwood. I couldn’t imagine living in a small town without a rowdy gay bar. In high school, I was mystified by, and terrified of, Remix. I didn’t have the courage to try sneaking in with a fake ID. When I finally turned twenty-one, Remix was like Xanadu to me.

It was located at the end of a strip mall on the outskirts of town. Its rainbow flag and pulsing music were a stark contrast to the quiet stores surrounding it. Men hung out smoking outside. My friends and I made a beeline for the door.

I could smell the alcohol, and the sweat of bodies on the dance floor. I was ready to cut loose.

Inside, there were two bars and a dance floor in the middle. Colored lights flickered around the darkness, making this feel like a magical land, at least for me. Everett raced to claim our usual table by the dance floor. It gave us the best view of the joint, and all the guys therein. At my condo, we took a shot of Fireball. One was enough for me. That shit burned. I came to Remix with a slight buzz and room for more debauchery.

“I’ll get the first round,” Everett said.

“Actually, it’s Julian’s turn.” Chase adjusted his glasses as he looked over at Julian.His brain was literally amazing. I wondered if he could’ve been an actual NASA scientist instead of using his brain to teach high school chemistry and remember bar tabs.

Julian whipped out a credit card and handed it over to Everett. Everett was the best at pushing through the crowds and getting the bartender’s attention.

I stared out across the club. It wasn’t even ten. The night was embryonic. The Friday night rush wouldn’t happen for another half hour. Guys were filtering in, groups setting up camp. We were all eyeing each other like animals on the savannah, determining who was predator and who was prey.

Once I had a drink in hand, I did a casual loop through Remix. Having a drink in hand somehow made it not creepy to walk around checking out guys. There was a mix of regulars and local college students, rowdy thirtysomethings and debonair older gentlemen. Some cute, some hot, some I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.

None were as boyishly handsome as a certain substitute gym teacher slash soccer coach, though.

I returned to our homebase and drank with my friends. See, the thing was, I wanted to be a predator, but in my heart, I was prey. Or worse, someone destined to sit on the sidelines. Charlie had helped us with flirting techniques a while back. He said it was all about confidence, which wasn’t my strong suit.

“Any luck?” Chase asked.

“Just surveying the scene. I need more liquid courage.” I took a healthy sip of whatever fruity cocktail Everett ordered us. The sweetness masked its strength, encouraging me to drink more.

“Remember to start with the eyes, then the lips, then go,” Chase said.

“Right, right. Make eye contact. Then look at their lips. And if they respond…”

“Fucktown, USA.” Everett brought round two back to the table with perfect timing.

“You know what, I just want to dance.” I didn’t want to think about trying to hook up with some random paramour. I needed to forget about guys for a night. I was here with my friends. We were healthy, we were young.

I took Julian’s hand, then Chase’s. “As David Bowie commanded, let’s dance!”

And dance we did.

The DJ played bop after bop, the music flowing through me, moving my limbs like a marionette. There we were, four single guys living it up in a strip mall gay bar, having the time of our lives, dancing the world away. I let my head go blank, filling with the sound of pulsating jams flowing through my ears, cleaning out my overthinking mind. We were electric. Friends ready to conquer the dance floor, then the world. Other guys joined us in the fun, and the dance floor was quickly the place to be.

Everett brought another round back to the table. “Ugh, so did you hear that the football team is getting brand-new training equipment for the fall? Meanwhile, the sets for the spring play are a step above crayons on cardboard. Raleigh must be thrilled.”

Everett rolled his eyes as he drank. At South Rock High, sports ruled and the drama department drooled, except they couldn’t afford a towel to wipe their mouths with. It wouldn’t be a Friday night without an anti-sports tirade from Everett, whose wrath always centered on Raleigh.

I took him with a grain of salt. Raleigh was cocky and kind of a buffoon, but in an endearing way.

“We really should ban sports. I don’t see what good it does.” Everett took a swig of his drink, which got him off his regular soapbox. He pulled out his phone and opened the Milkman app. “Let me see if there are any available and interested guys here tonight.”

My phone felt heavy in my pocket with the message chain from Wednesday. Admittedly, I found myself reading through it when I was bored, reliving that night.

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