Angels in the 'out'-field.

Nearing last weekend, I had the opportunity to experience an utterly surreal and wholly uplifting getaway. My climb up Mount Fuji, my trek through the suicide forest, and my day of fun at Japan's wildest amusement park all made for what was (and I think will continue to be) the most memorable vacation of my life. What followed was this weekend. It was neither surreal nor uplifting (at least in the same ways), and yet I can't seem to think of another regular weekend more memorable than this one. My rule to say 'yes' to every invite made for a weekend with emotional repair and amazing company. Here's how it went.

Friday – The Best Dancing Money Can't Buy

“The way [we danced] was, after all, gorgeous and affecting.”

That feeling that comes when you finish work on a Friday afternoon. My job isn't difficult or stressful, but the relief is all the same. Two whole days of freedom! So what shall I do with these days? My 'rule' so far (that is, what I'm most comfortable with), is to spend one day doing things: hanging out with friends, going to fireworks, you know, just spending time out. The second day then, is spent doing nothing. A whole day for myself to write, practice guitar, study some Japanese, catch up on MasterChef, or, if I feel so inclined, do none of these things. And so, after my shift on Friday night, I was very much looking forward to this day. My Saturday. My day of relaxation. This day never came.

Sleep had been gradually eluding me throughout the week. By Friday afternoon I was wrecked. I had pre-set my bedtime to 10 or 11pm at the latest. And then, as I woke up to no alarm, I was to be greeted by a day of no-plans.

Cut to 9pm Friday night. I had been sharing some food and company with a fellow housemate who gave me some pointers in Japanese. I bounced some questions off of her, some of which went unexplained. I was getting too ahead of myself, apparently. A girl from Korea, Jia, soon joined the conversation. As the tutoring was winding down, we brought up other topics. It soon lead to me wanting to go out. I said this, of course, an hour before I was planning on going to bed. I actually don't know why I said it. What I actually wanted was to sleep. That's it. But of course, with that wonderful taste of weekend freedom, I had a slight itch to go somewhere. Anywhere. With the mention of leaving the house, Jia was on board. Her infectious laugh soon filled the kitchen as she began telling us the plans of her imaginary night out. “Yeah! We go to club, and dance! So fun!” We all laughed along with her. If only my body didn't hate me and shut down at 9 at night. Jia slapped my shoulder. “Cody, let's go!” My temporary tutor smiled, “you should go, Cody.” I argued against it. I'm too tired, it's too late, blah, blah, blah. And then I remembered my rule. Unless there is an extreme, extraordinary reason, if invited out (for anything), I will say yes. This applies. I fought it a bit more, even though I knew I would be going, I guess just to make my “yes” more of a climax. An hour later, Jia was ready, my hair was faux-hawked, and we were out the door.



We decided on a club called Atom in the famous prefecture of Shibuya. This is, of course, home to the Shibuya Crossing – the busiest corner in Tokyo. I'm sure everyone has seen a picture or video of the lights turning green and hundred of people spilling onto the street like marbles. It's really cool to see.
We stopped at a convenience store on the way. And then we stopped at KFC. And then we stopped to get directions. I guess I've never really went clubbing with just a girl, so I hadn't anticipated all the stops. Is that me buying into a stereotype? It was raining and there was a hole in my shoe that I was unaware of, so one of my socks was absolutely soaked. Daijoubu. Jia thought the guy working at KFC was really cute, so she asked him for directions. I didn't catch what he said, so I asked her for a translation. She said she had no clue, she just wanted an excuse to talk to him. Typical Jia.
We found the club in good time. As luck would have it, 'happy hour' was still in effect, meaning we only had to pay 1000 yen (about 10 bucks) versus 3000 yen (30). Jia got 2 free drinks with her entry , being a lady and all. (Isn't favouring customers a bad business practice?) We got in the club at just after 11, and I wasn't surprised to see that it had yet to become lively. There were three floors in the place. One of them was the main dance floor, where Top 40 American pop music pulsed through the speakers unashamedly. People were still refraining from dancing. The basement (chika) was more of a lounge, hang-out place. Groups of friends gathered around dart boards, drank beer, smoked. Everyone smokes here. My shirt still smells like cigarettes. Jia and I decided to hang out on this floor until the crowds came. In Japan, the last subway trains run at around midnight, so it's common for people to take the last train to wherever they are going, and stay there until the first train in the mornings. Because this is so usual, clubs stay open until 6am (just after the trains reopen) to accommodate all the night (morning?) crawlers.
Midnight came, as did the people. We headed to the first floor where Jia decided to hang out in the “lady's section” (a roped off section with fancy tables and chairs, again available only to women.) I really wanted to dance, so she told me to, and that she would find me later. The first song that got me in the mood was a One Direction song. People go crazy for them here. Everyone knew all the words, which I found odd. The first thing I noticed was the difference in atmospheres between this club and the clubs in Toronto. It seemed to me that the people danced with good intentions. They were, like me, out for a night of dancing, not for hookups or fleeting romances. Groups of friends bounced to the beats, their arms thrown around each other's shoulders, hands raised to the roof. I can't tell you how happy it made me to see that it's not only acceptable but common for two male friends to dance together here. Just as female friends dance together in North America, so did male friends here. Equality at it's finest.
A small group of friends danced in front of me. I had somehow made my way to the front of the dance floor, my body nearly pressed against the speaker that shook violently from the volume of the music. The DJ was like a centrepiece here. He stood on a stage at the front, and the people danced to him. It was like we were at a concert and he was the singer. Anyways, this group of friends noticed I was alone. (Jia was still MIA.) Maybe it was four or five guys. They looked at me and yelled (what else can one do?), and so I yelled back. The bass dropped, and we threw our bodies up together. Such an odd form of human connection, but no less beautiful. Bound by the music, we bobbed and dipped, laughed and shouted together. A blonde guy with a striped shirt smiled my way. I smiled back. Dancing, dancing, dancing. Another look, a smile. This guy's really happy! He wedged his way around his friends (the place was standing room only at this point.) Once he was next to me I greeted him with a few head bangs and arm pumps. He stuck his thumb up. What? His face became timid, almost scared. He kept his thumb up. Is he telling me he's having a good time? I looked at his face again. Oh. Oohhhhhhhhh! I stuck my thumb up, too. Yes, I'm into dudes.
You know, it's funny. I almost didn't raise my thumb. Maybe I can't pull off being straight for a night, but I can pull off being alone. I really just wanted to dance. But perhaps his thumbs-up was a sort of invite. And I can't say no to invites. I've never came across a guy who was interested in me in just a 'regular' club, and I sure didn't know a universal symbol for “are you into dudes?” I don't think he did, either. Anyways, it worked. And so we... kind of danced. The first thing anyone needs to know about Japanese guys is that they are the shyest creatures one will ever meet in the world. The fact that he even gave me that signal is monumental. So when I say we kind of danced, I mean I continued to dance, and he moved slightly closer to me. It was perfect, though. I wasn't looking to get all up on someone, so just the fact that there was a guy next to me whom I shared common grounds with was enough. He had a little bit of a rat face, but he seemed like a sweet person, so all was well. Him and his friends soon wanted a drink, and motioned for me to come, but Rihanna was playing so who were they kidding? I refrained.
Minutes passed. I didn't bother to check the time, as I had no need or desire to. I didn't take breaks. Kesha and Flow Rider kept me alive, the dubstep remixes were, of course, invigorating. The DJ s switched frequently. Some playlists were better than others, but I hardly noticed. The world didn't exist in those moments. Just me, the speaker to my right, and the endless sea of bodies that kept me safe.
Another group of friends. It was comforting to see that everyone was so inviting. Of course clubs are meant for moments of shared existence, but I had never seen them happen so frequently. The guys got me inside of their group, and soon I was once again thrashing my body around with a group of strangers. One of them looked at me shyly. Another one? I looked back. This was getting interesting. How many guys can I dance with in a straight club? I promised myself that I wouldn't initiate anything. I wasn't here for that, but if he wanted to dance, he would have to come dance. For a while nothing happened. But the eyes still lingered. And lingered. And lingered. Usually if eye contact is made in a dancing environment, someone does something within the first couple minutes. But this is Japan, of course, where no one does anything that involves feelings. So I thought I'd catch him a break. Maybe it doesn't sound great if I say I was doing him a favour, but I was at least doing myself a favour. I wedged my way towards him. We danced side by side. He pointed at me. This time it was an index finger that gave the single. Maybe I'll invent something with my pinky. I pointed back. Houston, we have contact.
This guy was probably 5'4 or 5'5. His hair was super curly which I usually don't like, but he wore it really well. He was, of course, Japanese. A pair of sophisticated glasses sat on his nose, which was small but defined. His face was smooth, his complexion perfect like most guys here, but his was more so. It's like his skin glowed. He had thin lips, that for some reason he was trying to force the smile out of. Dimples formed. His skin was dark, his shirt was black, his shoes were blue. I'm the guy that doesn't remember anything about anyone, but I was just so drawn to him.
And so we danced. And we smiled. And in those moments we, two people, were together in a place. And that's what mattered. That's all that mattered. This guy, who didn't look a day over 17 (the legal age is 20 in Japan, so he had to be at least this old), showed me something that I had never realized. I have never felt respected by any man in my life. And I don't mean the men that have always been in my life. Jesse, Harry, Michael, yes, of course I feel respected by these people, because I know they respect me (perhaps more than they should.) But I mean guys. The guys at the club who help themselves to a handful whenever they feel like it. Or the guys who tell me they love me but treat me like Wednesday's trash. You know, those guys. I have, in all seriousness, never felt respected by one of them. Not one. Except for this one. Not a word was said between us the entire night, but we treated each other like (now that I realize it) people should be treated. We never touched each other. He didn't try to lick my face after 'knowing' me for twenty minutes. We just... danced. Enjoying each other and the music was enough. Why have I never realized that this was a thing before!? The guys in North America could really learn a thing or two from the guys here.
Finally he let his mouth give way to his smile. Maybe it was all these thoughts and the mini revelation I was having, but I know that in those moments we loved each other. And yes, of course I mean the music-high, pop beat, clubby kind of love. He was so mesmerizing. And I think he was mesmerized. I enjoyed that his hands weren't on my hips, I enjoyed that I couldn't smell his breath, I enjoyed that he looked at me like a human rather than a thing. I enjoyed him a lot. We danced, and danced and danced.
His friend got a phone call. He tapped him on the shoulder and, I assume, told him they had to go. There was a pause. I swear time stopped. Or at least we did. The waves of jumping bodies slowed almost to a stop. We just looked at each other. Of course the thought came to ask for his number, for his facebook, for whatever. And that's what we were both waiting for. But it never came. The way our eyes sat on each other just told us to let it go. 'Thanks. But maybe let's just leave it at that.' We agreed on so much by saying absolutely nothing. I got one more of his smiles, and a light wave. I waved back, I think. And then he was gone, swallowed up by the bodies behind him.

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

The rest of the night was a lost cause. By no means was it ruined, but it was definitely affected. The mystery-angel-boy left anywhere between 2 and 3am, so I still had a ways to go before sleep was even an idea. And so, the remainder of the night was spent half how I wanted it to be spent. I danced alone. This is the part I wanted. But I really wasn't that alone. Because now, I had my thoughts. What before was a night being spent empty-headed was now an early morning somehow so affected by this interaction.

But soon my thoughts changed. After rounds and rounds of Lady Gaga, Skrillex, and David Guetta, I slowly transformed my mind. I stopped allowing myself to look at the loss of the situation (like I so often do.) I reminded myself of what I gained. That feeling of joy. That feeling of giddy puppy-love that I hadn't felt since my first crush in grade 6. That feeling of maybe in this world there are people who understand that others are human beings just like them, with feelings of enjoyment and puppy-love. As I changed my thoughts from resentment to appreciation, the rest of the night wasn't looking so bad. I smiled to the bad lyrics, I shouted to the world, I laughed at the hyped-up guys who would throw their arms around my shoulders. The night, by definition is never mine. But I sure as hell did everything in my power to make it mine.

And I'm glad I did.