By Calypso Morgan

The music was so loud, it made my heart beat fast, resonating in my rib cage. I danced like there was no tomorrow. I didn’t care if I seemed stupid or crazy; I was having so much fun. The black-and-white lights flashed so rapidly that they could have triggered a seizure, but who cared? I just closed my eyes and experienced the sound going through my body.

At some point during my absurd performance, I accidentally nudged the body of a young woman next to me. Panicking, I tried to apologize for my clumsiness, but the sounds swallowed my words. She laughed at my awkward attempts to communicate, showing she didn’t care about the small accident. She made a sign of drinking and another of smoking. Then she took my hand and pulled me toward the club’s bar. So many people were jammed into that underground space. I saw countless faces and bodies, but my eyes were only focused on her back. She glowed like an angel, gracing me with her presence. I felt like the lucky soul chosen to entertain her for the night. Finally, after squeezing between sweaty and euphoric people, we reached the bar. She turned around and, with a big smile, asked if I liked vodka. I just nodded yes, and then she ordered shots: lavender, lemon, cherry, strawberry, and more I couldn’t remember. We were like children in a candy shop, eager to try every flavor, each stronger and more sugary than the last.

Between shots, we talked, and it felt like we had known each other for years. She was the funniest and most intelligent woman I had ever met. She made me laugh with her jokes and how she gesticulated to help me understand what she was trying to say. We switched between subjects: talking about the stupid things we did, our lives, and our shared passion for art and literature. She knew so much about different stories and artists that I was genuinely impressed. During those few minutes of getting to know each other, and with too many glasses of alcohol in our systems, we carried on drinking in the smoking area. 

I was captivated as she smoked. She took long drags from her cigarette and exhaled lengthy tendrils of smoke. Sometimes, she blew it in my face just to mess with me. Normally, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the smell invading my senses, but it was her, and it felt like this was the only way for us to kiss: by blowing smoke into each other’s lungs. Her red cheeks, eyes glossy from the alcohol, and the beads of sweat on her forehead…she was so sexy. The small black dress showing all her curves drove me crazy. My hands twitched to touch her, wishing I could wrap them around her waist and caress her pretty face. I fantasized about taking that dress off and kissing every part of her delicious body.

That night, we danced and drank even more, screaming like little girls when the DJ played a 2000s remix soundtrack. At some point, we switched to gulping down only water, knowing we wouldn’t last the evening otherwise. Finishing the night by throwing up wasn’t exactly what we wanted. Even then, we were in another universe. I adored listening to her talk; her voice was a soft melody. She was a serene river in the wild jungle of electronic music and crazy moving bodies. My eyes were mesmerized by the way she moved—she was a fairy, floating with graceful steps.

I fell in love. She was the woman of my dreams. I wanted to grab her hand and leave the club. I wished to be with just her, where we could have a moment alone without people around. I yearned for the night to never finish.

But the party had to end. When 6 A.M. hit, everything stopped. We got separated by the crowd. While I was collecting my jacket from the club’s locker room, I searched for her, but I couldn’t find her. She had disappeared, as if she were an illusion invented by my drunken mind.

That’s when I realized something: I didn’t know her name.

Calypso is a writer from Paris, France. Between her part-time job, she writes poems, essays and other things going through her head. You can find some of her work in G.url magazine and Moonbow magazine.