Wake Me Up Before You Go-go
Every Thursday night…it was the place to be. I starting go-go dancing there in the summer of 2008. The club was packed every Thursday with the who’s who of New Orleans and from wall to wall you would see nothing but a sea of beautiful, sweaty people who danced, gyrated, and humped their way through the best music that the 80’s had to offer. I didn’t get paid very much but I drank for free and had access to cocaine at the snap of my skinny fingers. I was high above the crowd on my go-go box, caked in glitter and sweat, and adored by the people below who envied the go-go girls just as I had before I started working there. They seem untouchable and ethereal as they stand perched on their glittering platform boots. The tiniest of go-go shorts ride up their asses hinting that there might be something to see. And their tops become ever so see through as they sweat their way through their 4 song sets. At the end of the 4th song, another rotation of dancers takes over the boxes and it starts all over again. For me, I was having the time of my life. It felt like the nights would never end. I would often jump on the bar and dance…tempting the men below as if they could actually see my sex if they positioned themselves in just the right place. If I was really drunk, I would often grab handfuls of napkins and throw them into the air and watch them shower down onto the crowd like confetti. That was my favorite. I was living it up and having the time of my life. I had wished on many a night that—just this once—the sun wouldn’t come up so that the night could keep going, the liquor would keep flowing, the coke baggies would multiply, and that the friendships were real.
I felt safe in that club, like a second home. It became a warm blanket with familiar faces and no rules. I ruled my domain like a queen rules her castle and the combination of drugs and alcohol made me feel like I could also have whatever I wanted. I spotted Ryan a few times at the club. We had chatted. Traded phone numbers. He was a photographer. I was a model of some sort. It seemed like we should know each other. He was living in Vegas but often traveled to New Orleans for work and was in the process of moving here. I would see him around sometimes with a scarlet haired woman that I never met in person but had heard of in passing. One Thursday night, he planted himself right in front of my go-go box and began dancing. His eyes were soft and his skin was white. He was small in stature but that certainly meant nothing because he demanded your attention without even having to say a word. I was drunk. Very drunk. When my set was over, I stumbled off my go-go box and to the side of the stage. He had already watched me get down and crept up the stairs so that he’d be at the side of the stage when I got down. We interlaced our fingers as if we had done this so many times before and danced with the music. I don’t remember what was playing. I don’t remember what I was wearing. His long hair whisped across his forehead and over one eye and I looked at him and said “What am I going to do with you?” He replied “Well, what do you want to do with me?”
In my drunken state (and his mostly sober state) we went to a local bar that served late night food. All I can really remember is that the burger was horrible. And that he had told me that he had been married twice in the past. I’m sure that anything I said made no sense. At some point I mumbled that I was tired and ready to go. We paid for our food and drinks and he invited me back to his place. I laid my glittery head in his lap. I said softly to him that I was so tired and was going to fall asleep. And I did. And he stroked my head. Ryan had insomnia so I have no doubt that he sat there for quite a while before tucking me into the fluffy blanket on his light blue sofa. I awoke the next morning having rubbed one side of my makeup down the my cheek. I was startled to see him standing over me and I think he was startled to see what a mess I looked like. Hungover…wreaking of Firefly vodka, still encrusted in last night’s glitter, and a face full of smeared black eyeliner and mascara…I got up and made my way to the bathroom to collect myself. I think we went out to breakfast that morning. I don’t really recall. But I do know that this was the start of a short lived relationship. One that wasn’t long enough to make history but was short enough to leave an imprint.
As I reach a year into my sobriety, I look back on the relationships that I’ve had and some that I still have and see how my using has affected those relationships. With Ryan, he really got the brunt of the negativity brought on my using. I was mean at times. I was completely selfish. And the times when we were intimate, I was high. He came and found me one night when I had taken some pills and didn’t know where I was. He walked me back to his house numerous times when I couldn’t even walk. He was honest with me all of the time and I was angry at him for it…but only because the things he was saying were true. There were rare sober moments that were sprinkled with a lot of laughs. A lot of snuggling. Showers together. Walks in the quarter in search of food that didn’t involve chicken (because he’s allergic). It’s amazing though how quickly all of those good times can be squashed by the freight train that comes plowing through when cocaine and alcohol get together and have a party in your brain.
It’s been a few years since that short lived relationship and Ryan and I have managed to maintain some semblance of a friendship even though I really have never felt I did anything to deserve that. We have both moved on and are very much in love with our significant others. He and his lovely girlfriend recently moved overseas. The announcement came to me in August as we gave them a somewhat awkward ride home from a nearby country club. I felt that I had ample enough time to get to Ryan and have some alone time to give him the apology that he deserved. The apology that had been lingering in my heart for years but I was too selfish to let it out. The apology that he perhaps wouldn’t accept. The apology that might have been easier to just have been left unsaid. The apology that meant that I was admitting that I was so careless with the feelings of someone that I truly cared about. They were set to move on Halloween day. The weekend before was the annual festival that we are all a part of. I saw Ryan from a distance and went running up to him like I used to. I jumped into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist…just like I used to. I looked him in the eye and said “Hi!” with a big smile and then followed with an even bigger hug…just like I used to. It was as if the time between us had never passed and we were right back where we started just 2 years earlier. I jumped down and asked how he was doing, how the packing was going, and when they were heading out of town. Another old friend came by while we were talking and we quickly snapped a photo of the three of us in remembrance of the good times and because we all knew that this was probably going to be the last chance that we would all be together for a long time. I had to go get ready for my show and I looked Ryan in the eye and told him that I wanted to talk to him later that day. The hustle and bustle of Halloween combined with back to back shows and Ryan also prepping his life to packed away into cardboard boxes ready to be shipped out on Monday morning…there just wasn’t any time for talking.
I was lucky enough to catch him on Skype last week. And I was able to deliver the apology that I felt he was most deserving of. We didn’t get to video chat. It was all done over text. My worst fear would be him rejecting me and my apology and I was prepared for that. The least I could do was offer him this gift and I could only hope that it was one that he wanted or was at least open to seeing what it was. All I had was my words. No fluff. No bows and ribbons. No expensive dinner or wine to soften the blow. Not even the sound of my voice. Just simple text that bled out to him from across the world and explained just how sorry I was for how I treated him and how thankful I was that we were still friends. He accepted. I will never know for a fact the nature of the acceptance because I couldn’t see his face or hear his voice. But he said “thank you…I accept your apology.” And I am glad we are still friends too.” The conversation didn’t linger much longer and he is an expert at diverting the attention to something less awkward. He asked me about my kids and I asked him about his work. We talked of the weather. We talked of their move and how it went. And finally it was time to say goodbye. I wished that I could have hugged him like I did the last time I saw him and looked him in the eye so he knew how thankful I was for his friendship. But I think he knows. I am thankful for having a friendship with someone that easily could have been destroyed by my actions in the past. And when I see him again sometime in the distant future, that hug will be waiting.
