A Room Full Of Life

Looking up from his phone, he realized he was in line for a club. "Wait," he thought, "where am I?"

A large man in black with a shaved head chastised the man in front of him for trying to bring a water bottle.

"No outside liquids, man; you gotta' throw that away."

"The bottle is mine. Can I bring that in?"

"Sure, but you gotta' dump the liquid." The kid then started to move toward the trash can in the entryway. "Nah, dude, you gotta dump the liquid outside, not in the trashcan."

This exchange caused the man to chuckle to himself. As he moved forward. He nodded at the bouncer and said with a slight smile, "I was a bouncer in college,"

The bouncer nodded his head blankly, "ID?"

Walking into the filling club, he looked around the space. It was equal parts generic and familiar. Brick walls, with a standing bar along each wall. The ceiling was exposed, and pipes and ducts were all painted black. Two disco balls and dark spotlights hung in the middle.

He pulled his ID up to his face. The picture was familiar; it was him, but the name seemed scratched off. He looked at his phone. The screen was frozen on the ticket barcode.

Oddly, he was not concerned, but he was confused.

Who was he, and why was he here?

He wandered over to the bar on the far wall. There were still very few people in the club. He was early. The bartender lazily leaned against the back bar. A young black woman wearing a nondescript dark t-shirt with her head wrapped. She saw his approach and leaned in to meet him.

"What can I get you?"

He looked around and saw cans on the back bar, but no prices were listed. Reflexively, he spouted out what he assumed was the cheapest option: "Pabst Blue Ribbon tall boy?"

"$10," she said.

This shook him a little. It was more than he had assumed. He suddenly realized that he was unsure if he had money. She saw his confusion, smiled, and said, "It's okay. Use your card."

He looked down at the wallet that was still in his hands. He pulled out a blue card. Again, there were numbers but no names. He passed it to her. She took the card, swiped it, and returned it saying, "Have you ever read the short story, 'The Egg'?"

"I'm sorry?" he responded. It was getting noisier.

"Have you ever seen the movie 'Groundhog Day?'" she responded.

"Yes?" he wondered if he had misheard her.

"Have a good night!" she responded as she turned a person beside him.

He wandered to the other side of the room and set up against a drink ledge. He figured he could enjoy the parade of people coming through from there. It was a young crowd, and he felt sure he was the oldest person in the room by almost two decades.

He was here; he didn't know why, and that would have to be enough for now. He figured he might as well enjoy it.

He could feel the music vibrating in his chest. It reminded him of several different bands from his high school years. He'd read somewhere that most people's music preferences were established between 12 and 22. He got a kick out of the idea that, for many in this room, this would become the music that defined the rest of their lives. Maybe they'd all wind up enjoying the same things a generation apart.

History may not repeat, but it had a catchy hook.

It was a room full of life. The band was energetic, and the crowd was happy.

He smiled while looking at the beer in his hand. When was the last time he drank a beer out? It had been years. Things were hazy, but he felt he was in the moment, which seemed a good sign. He didn't feel ill or drunk. He was warm but alone, secure in body, if not a bit insecure in spirit.

"Does any of this make sense?" he asked himself aloud in the deafening room, unconcerned that anyone could hear him. He laughed, "What is my name?" he said aloud and indifferently, with no one acknowledging him.

He looked around the room. No one was paying him any attention.

Why did this feel familiar?

He decided to go to the bathroom. A splash on the face would be a start.

******************

Mona watched her friend and laughed at how excited he seemed to be there. He popped up and down "dancing." She couldn't understand a word he said, but it was evident that he was having a great time. She hoped it wasn't only because of the alcohol. She was glad to be out with him and… and…

Her name was Mona. She was there to spend time with her friends. Yet suddenly, she couldn't remember any of her friends' names. Looking around the room, she recognized faces. Of course. There were the friends she came with. She'd just walked into this club with them. Some were from her classes. Maybe she knew them from the neighborhood? 

There had to be at least a hundred faces belonging to other students who lived in the buildings in the area- faces she saw in passing while traveling to work or school. So many people here looked almost familiar, but she didn't think she knew most of them. Or did she?

She looked across the room. An older man was drinking a beer alone. He seemed out of place. Did she know him? He looked so familiar. A teacher at school? Maybe it wasn't even one of her teachers. Perhaps it was one she saw regularly from a distance - in one of the classrooms she walked past every day.

The man looked both content and alone. She looked back at him several times but couldn't make it all click.

Her friend stopped bouncing. He leaned in and asked her, "Have you ever listened to Logic's album Everybody?"

"Um, no, I don't think so?" she replied. "Why?"

"I love this band!" he yelled back. She smiled, watching him have the time of his life.

******************

"Still fuckin' here?" Luke said as he entered the bathroom to find his short story professor braced against a urinal. Really, he was a grad student no more than five years older than him. The professor yorked hard, splattering half in the porcelain and half on the ground.

The professor had asked to "hang out with Luke." The prof knew Luke was a bartender, and it was evident to Luke that the guy was either lonely, horny, or looking to reclaim some sort of lost "youth."

He'd brought his teacher out because he thought it would help him get a good grade. The stories he'd been turning in for their workshop class had been shoddy at best. They needed more direction. Luke felt his work all had moments. He also knew that none of the students were reading the stories critically. There seemed to be an understanding that everyone would just say enough to reach the class participation minimum. At the same time, they all thought they were in a class with people who couldn't write for shit.

One of the girls in class he'd been a bit flirty with had invited the professor to a house party. She had even suggested that Luke do the same for a grade boost. She recommended this show in particular because the music would be loud, and the venue would be full of women. There would be no conversation and plenty of distraction.

He couldn't even remember the professor's name, let alone have a conversation. But he also didn't want to have the guy die.

The professor tried to speak. "All you... zombies," he paused and inhaled, "The man… who?" he vomited once again. He added weekly, "Folded himself?"

"What?" said Luke.

"Dead," said the man, nearly kissing a urinal cake.

He figured the professor would feel guilty about all this, and he'd probably get an excellent grade for keeping quiet, and soon, it would be over.

That's when an older man walked in and splashed water on his face.

Luke thought the older man looked familiar.