Discover more from Vic Koopmans
My earplugs are still laying on the nightstand, a rookie mistake. Now the beat is banging my eardrums and the music is having hardcore inner-ear intercourse with my brain. I’m out here again, toasting with Lucifer, for the second night in a row.
A woman standing next to me smiles at me.
“Another weekend of bad ideas and great anecdotes,” I respond to the question she didn’t ask. “Nothing you haven’t heard of or read before. Hoping to find a glimpse of heaven between your thighs later this night.”
She adjusts her cocktail dress and raises her eyebrows. “¿Cómo?”
“I’m standing here, letting short term desires interfere with a marvelous future. Interrupting laying a grand foundation, messing up my health, because I seem to not be able to steer the rush of blood into the right direction at all times.”
She turns around, swings her hairs in my face and twerks down to the floor. I glance at our surroundings.
“Why am I in a club? Because I just can’t wait for darkness and stroboscopes to fuck up my sight? For the love of being squished together in between numerous others, buying shitty mixed drinks, while not hearing a word anyone’s saying?”
I sigh. “I need to restrain myself. I need to get out of here for a while and focus on what I want to do: make a difference, helping people.”
She throws her hands in the air. “¡Me encanta esta canción!”
“Exactly,” I answer. “My objective is to help those that could use a hand. I want to make people reconsider using their forearms as cutting boards, put a smile on a sad face. I want to make people postpone their irreversible plans for one day and then one more.”
She sips from her drink, ignoring all I say. She’s a great listener.
“I’m trying to be the person that I could’ve used during the days that eyeliner darkened my vision. Or at least write down the words that I would’ve liked to have read.”
“Shots?” she inquires. I place my arm around her waist, stabilizing her and insinuating the idea of us.
“You’re right. I am so far from perfect that it looks as if a fingerless blind kid drew me. That shouldn’t stop me nor anyone else from becoming the person they want to become, though.”
The realization: I have to go. Get my act together. Prioritise dreams over social matters even more often. Or at least find a healthy balance. Everyone knows that my return here is inevitable, I’m a born sinner. But purgatory and I both need our space for a moment.
I press a kiss on her cherry flavoured lips and put on my cape and helmet.
“Goodbye, you beautiful creature. I’m going out into society in hopes of calming troubled minds, I’m going to cheer up those that wear their smile upside down. I need to go and save the world.”
Her look is the definition of confusion.
“Why a cape and a helmet?” she asks.
“Wait. You speak English?”
“Yes, I’m fluent in English. I have a PhD in English literature.”
The blankest of stares.
“But why the cape and the helmet?” she repeats her question.
I point at both. “Depends on the time of day that you run into me.”
She looks me in the eyes. “You’re strange.”
I look around me and see girls adding another layer of facial paint, guys chugging liquor, women grinding their barely covered butt against unknown weiners and men holding angry staring contests with each other.
“Ah, yes. I’m the weird one,” I answer and head out.
“Oye, Holandés. Espérate!” she yells. “We’re not going home together?”
I walk back, take off my helmet and take her in my arms. We lift off. A heroic melody in the background. We fly back to my place.
She strokes my cape. “Nice fabric.”
I’m saving someone from tomorrow on. The villain in this tight dress does not want to be saved. All I can do is save the night.
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