NIGHTS

Walking around in clubs made us dizzy, even though we were probably the most used to it from all the people in the entire building. The lights were flashing so bright, I could even recognize their colour behind my closed eyelids. Red-orange-yellow-green-blue-purple. Blacklight. White flashes for seizures. When we did our first shows, we were still naked for all to see. I can’t even remember how we could ever have functioned without our masks. It seems so scary now, and I’m sure it was scary back then, too.

The light was leaking, dripping down his face, like waves and waves of liquid colour all over him, following every slight curve, throwing shade on the concealed side. One night, I forgot the reason I was standing on a stage in a club for a few seconds because I couldn’t stop looking at the blend of red, green and yellow shining on him. I missed something, I nearly panicked, but I waited 8 beats and continued with what I had been doing. I’m sure nobody on the floor noticed my mistake, but I knew he did. He looked at me immediately, confused, but I made a gesture, took another sip of my drink and ignored him. We went on and I hoped he’d forget it. And after so many cocktails, I guessed things had been taken care of.

We hid ourselves at the back of the clubs after our set was over, where bartenders would mostly bring us whatever we wanted. We made sure people came over, and that’s a guarantee for free drinks. Then, after we had discussed and evaluated our set, we’d go to the lounge and hang on a sofa with some friends for the rest of the night, enjoying attention. He was enjoying it, at least. I’m not too sure about myself. I don’t remember.

We were sleeping at home most of the time. We were still in Paris and public transportation and taxis could bring you everywhere, regardless of the hour. At this phase of the night, Thomas was drunk, and I wasn’t. I did everything I could to stop him from drinking too much, going as far as taking his glass away from him and giving it to strangers, and I succeeded almost every time. So when we were sitting in the cab that would drive us home, he was tipsy, but my thoughts were still as clear as the moon, even though I had had a few shots as well. After a typical night, I had been staring at the everchanging lights sliding down his neck for hours, and as I looked at him, sitting beside me in the cab, lights from the streets were still gently touching his skin, coming and going like waves on a beach. And I still couldn’t take my eyes off them. What if I closed my eyes and missed a second that was never coming back?

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