A Place for Us: A Memoir by Brandon J. Wolf

Author:Brandon J. Wolf [Wolf, Brandon J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little A
Published: 2023-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Just before 2:00 a.m., we convened in a dim corner to discuss our exit. Pulse had a young and notoriously rowdy crowd, with college-aged clubgoers capable of guzzling seemingly bottomless cheap liquor and still making it to class the next day. Those skills had long left us, and we knew that if we didn’t get home soon, we would regret it in the morning. After a few hurried words, we agreed that Drew and Juan would finish one last dance while Eric and I used the restroom.

Moments that change our lives are often marked by an indescribable phenomenon: the vivid clarity of some memories juxtaposed against the foggy distance of others. Colors that are bright and unmistakable. Dull hues you grasp for in the back of your mind but can’t quite make out. Smells that trigger a flood of emotions years later. A fuzzy, odorless background that never seems to come into focus. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never been very good at science and don’t have a deep understanding of how the brain works, but to this day, I can’t comprehend why some bits of the next few minutes are so vivid that their sharpness still jolts me out of bed, while others seem trapped behind a thick fog, their silhouettes like the faint remnants of a dream.

The restroom was near the front of the Black Room, a crowded bar inside the club named for the thick, dark paint covering its walls and ceiling. A short hallway snaked around a corner, emptying into a cramped, dimly lit room with a few urinals against the wall. Because it was designed only for men, there were no stalls or partitions, which forced occupants to push closer toward the wall to shield themselves from a wandering gaze. By the end of the night, assorted liquids pooled in the corners amid an array of discarded cups and bottles. I stood in front of a urinal, gazing up at a poster.

Vivid: The painted faces of familiar drag queens peered back at me from the poster, their high cheekbones splashed with fiery reds and opulent purples. There was a party coming up, hosted by a few of my favorites.

Foggy: Was Eric at the urinal next to mine? Or was there a space between us? What did the air smell like? What song was playing? I had already forgotten the date of the party as I stepped back and zipped my pants.

A tired, dingy sink was perched on a wall near the entrance to the hallway, tilted just a bit toward the ground, as if the bolts holding it up might give way with the lightest nudge. It had always seemed out of place to me, like it was willing itself to hold on a little longer.

Vivid: A clear plastic cup rested on the rim of the sink, its contents a jumbled pile of ice chips and two mutilated slices of lime. Beads of sweat dripped lazily down its ridges, sliding off the porcelain edge of the sink and into a growing puddle on the grungy tiles below.

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