december 15 / present company

danced myself clean by mistake

On the cusp of a new moon and the annual crowning of Jupiter, I stood in the crowd at an LCD Soundsystem concert with greasy hair and danced with friends to “I Can Change.” But could I change? That seemed to be the great question of fall. A series of torsos swayed back and forth. James Murphy crooned, “Love is an open book to a verse of your,” here, we all screamed along, “BAD POETRY!” I looked at Jessi, her eyes crinkling as she sang the next line. “And this is coming from me.”

There are a select number of things I feel I can only accomplish semi-annually. I was at Jessi’s and Ally’s apartment for book club on Saturday afternoon. As everyone dispersed around nightfall, I picked up from several subtleties (fishnet stockings cut into a shirt and a surplus of metallic makeup) that the two of them had some kind of plans later in the evening. So after the three of us went to Riley’s sketch comedy showcase that night, I let myself be convinced into standing in a concert venue in Bushwick with a few friends, something that happens only twice a year, and always, it seems, with Jessi. The lights streamed from the stage, showing a crowd bisected into separate banks by a river of AV equipment. The music bounced back and forth between us, back and forth and back and forth.

I struggled not to stand still when the strobe lights started, when everything became striped and surreal. I love that feeling: a benign, permissible dissociation. On this Saturday in particular, I had been feeling quite neurotic, almost in a satisfying way. I lose enough sleep and, like clockwork, my brain ticks. I can’t wait to get out of the giant cave of noise, it clicked. But, floating just above that desire, I was vaguely aware that I was having the time of my life. I moved left and right in the flashing light and ascended above the whole braid of thoughts for a moment. It was really remarkable that a dance floor could serve as a conduit for such release. Every time I go out with Jessi and Ally, I seem to discover going out.

Between songs, I edged out of the crowd for a breath of fresh air and found Riley sitting by the wall. She looked sick at first, but when I got closer, she was just sitting there thinking. The music makes you very uncomfortable sometimes, she said. Yes, I replied. But I like it, too. Yes, she repeated. You just have to work for it.

Back on the dance floor, I was trying to do what Miranda July said to do, drop into my pelvis, but I found my root chakra was totally blocked. Here I was, walking around the earth, working for it as this sad, rootless tree. I zoomed out in an effort to stick myself more firmly in the ground: I was at a concert in - what else - an old warehouse in - where else - deep Brooklyn. I was the oldest I’d ever been, even as my arms flew one way and then the other like a child with low muscle tone. I had a complete prefrontal cortex. Jessi was one of my oldest, stickiest friends, velcroed to my side for 7 years now. When I looked at Jupiter, so bright in the sky next to the full moon, it curved slightly to the left from my astigmatism.

Now the band was playing “Dance Yrself Clean,” a song Jessi and I had danced to innumerable times in my kitchen and hers. My breath flowed through the bottoms of my feet successfully. When I looked to the left again, Riley was now stretching her calf muscles at the wall, looking quite peppy compared to before. I had taken a European approach to the evening (forgot to put on deodorant) and my limbs were having an indelible love affair with the cardinal directions. I was everywhere. So were Jessi and Ally, the space between us closing as we all spun around. I thought of how I often felt alone in these evenings, on my own, remote bank, unable to merge with my peers. Though I never felt this way with the two of them. James Murphy crooned, “present company excluded in every way.” We sang along to the next line: “Present company makes me want to stay.”

When his voice broke out into a series of long, beautiful “ah-ah”s, Jessi gathered all of us together, Ally and Kat and me, and even Riley, who had floated away from the wall, until we had our arms around one another and bounced up and down in a clunky, attached circle. We danced wildly like this for the rest of the 9-minute song, eyes closed and then open, until the early morning, and then we said goodbye and I walked and walked and walked until my tired, happy feet made it home.