knight in rusted armour

2003-10-19

Youth’s spectacle. The florid pull of red and uttered words that have no meaning. Allure. Eyes have devoured and animals rule.

It happened in a moment of vulnerability. An alchemist’s dark elixir of loneliness most acute ran through my veins, lowering my defences. I was dancing as a third wheel does, awkwardly, hiding my sadness and discomfort beneath the thin veneer of appearances. Melisa, having found the proverbial nibble on the end of her hook that night, was engrossed in her own dance. I was alone with the vagrants, the frotteurs, and the ill-intentioned sharks, feeling vulnerable and ugly and foolish in one convoluted complex of emotion.

The choking haze of cigarette smoke permeated every pore, every breath, engulfing all in its heavy shroud. Music overwhelmed the ears, bodies echoing its reverberations like human tuning forks. Pulsing, hypnotic lights sent the brain running for cover. I followed empty dance steps, manipulated facial muscles in the manner of a fraudulent smile. Pushed and shoved from every angle, I was the only yielding one, giving way under the ceaseless pressure of the scrum. Melisa, tied by an intangible thread to the eyes of a beautiful stranger, somehow remained impervious to the crush. Her nimble steps and graceful swaying slid past the uncouth masses like gossamer silk.

I loathed being there. I wanted to leave. I had no intention of casting a line. I didn’t belong there. I wanted to pull Melisa away and find solace in the quiet, in the rain, in the unquestioning solitude of the night sky, in the comfort of my home. But she was happy, and to pull her from that happiness seemed disproportionately selfish. And so the dance continued, reluctant though my stubborn feet were. I danced without rhythm. The music became discordant to my ears, the lights and the air overwhelming. I felt the hot wetness of tears build in my eyes, threatening to spill over. I was disconnected, ungainly, hoping that if I tapped my shoes together and said: ‘there’s no place like home’, the nightmare would show itself as little more than the unpleasant act of a slumbering mind. I felt my mind build with unexpressed frustration. I wanted to part the crowd with the power of my thoughts, pull the seething, pathetic mass from its mindlessness, from the animal oblivion, and toss them all about like the puppets they were. I wanted to feel strong, loved, transcendent.

And then something happened. There was a touch on my shoulder. There was Declan. And there was no more thinking. My mind fled for a tea break, leaving the autopilot in control. An unthinking, irresponsible autopilot ruled solely by the Id.

I had known there was a chance he would turn up. That particular club was his regular spot. I had known, but I hadn’t been counting on it. In actuality, I was hoping he wouldn’t. That is, until he appeared at the most opportune time imaginable for my otherwise impenetrable barrier of resistance to be breached.

The drunken knight in rusted armour had rocked up with his friends, and even through the tarnished exterior of his inebriation, his charm worked its enthralling magic. I introduced him to Melisa, the guy I had told her about that very night, the guy I had resolutely expressed to her that I didn’t want to get any closer to. I introduced him and for the first time, I felt relieved to have him near, to have some claim over him, however ephemeral and insubstantial. At that very moment, his presence was an affirmation of desire, the embodiment of my saviour. I looked at him and I did not see Declan, I saw solace. I saw escape.

He took my hand and I followed. In spite of myself, I followed. I followed him to the balcony. I followed him back to the dance floor, and I surrendered my inhibitions more than I ever have before. Suddenly, there was nothing else. There was only the music – which had regained its harmony – and the dance – which had found its rhythm. I yielded to that dance in ways I never would have if I had retained even an ounce of sanity, of rationality. But I was unthinking. I was pure emotion. All I cared about was the intimacy, the warmth. I wanted to feel something beyond profound sadness and alienation, beyond vulnerability. I wanted to find strength. I wanted to feel…connected to something, someone. At the wrong place and the wrong time, Declan became that connection.

I cannot claim that I didn’t enjoy that moment. It was, in the context of that dance alone, a singular experience. For the first time, I allowed myself to let go of consequence, of thought. I surrendered my doubt, my indecision, and much of my fear. I gave myself up to whatever the moment would offer, without much care of the repercussions. I had found something that made me belong there, that made the music resonate, and that brought symmetry and meaning to the dance. I had found something that made everything else fade into irrelevance. I had found an opiate to dull the pain, to lull the mind into serenity, and to send false suggestions of happiness to my brain. In that moment, I found release as much as connection.

But like a drug, that moment was pure chemical suggestion. The feelings were not genuine. They were wrought of loneliness, of feeling trapped. I did not yield to Declan as an act of genuine affection. I yielded out of despair and relief. I yielded out of vulnerability, and because of that, I lacked judgement. All I saw was an escape route. In that moment of intimacy, I lost myself and all sense of danger. I do not regret the dance, nor do I wish I could have had more sense. I have no regrets because I should not be ashamed of wanting connection, even if in hindsight, I sought it in the wrong person. I also know that it was not real, that it goes no further than the kernel of that moment, of that single spark struck in the everlasting darkness of that one night. I do not intend for it to mean anything beyond that night. I never did. What I feel for Declan has not changed. I do not want a relationship with him. The ‘case has closed’ on that issue emphatically.

What I have gained from that night is a strange sense of reassurance, for when I am ready to give my heart to someone, there is no doubt in my mind now that it will be beautiful for both of us. I have caught but a small glimpse of how it could feel to want and to love someone, and it has left me with a profound feeling of hope for the day when that feeling becomes the genuine art.

For bringing this hope to bear, I thank Declan, even if that was not his intention.

“So we reach into the raging chaos, and we pluck some small glittering thing, and we cling to it, and tell ourselves it has meaning, and that the world is good, and we are not evil, and we will all go home in the end.”
- Anne Rice, “The Tale of the Body Thief”