I’ve told this story again and again. First in therapy, then in snippets with a journal. Now I have this, my final attempt to put it all in order. To understand the pieces of me left behind, in that space between dusk and dawn.
I’ve never had a stellar memory. A childhood spread across states and schools leaves very few anchors. Constant change left me numb to milestones. Too deep in an undiagnosed depression, I couldn’t understand why those around me celebrated firsts. First bike? No idea. First ballet class? Might have been in Missouri. Or Oregon. I couldn’t comprehend why people were excited by minor bumps in mundanity.
But, my first kiss—I remember that. I was still a kid and believed that the cure for my loneliness was as simple as a single kiss. It wasn’t.
The other kid, a classmate, was nice to me. We became fast friends over an argument about the coolest shark. Of the things I remember, nothing is clearer than their shoes. I was obsessed. They were chunky sneakers, white rabbit silhouettes stitched into the black canvas of the heel.
I kissed them standing under the swing, and was immediately disappointed. I didn’t feel closer to them or like I belonged. In the weeks that followed, they trailed me like a younger sibling. After days of requests, I finally agreed to another kiss. But only if they gave me their shoes. They agreed. The exchange was made.
I didn’t see them again after that. No one ever came asking after the shoes. They never fit me, but I kept them hidden under my bed. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep I’d creep from the covers, careful not to wake my parents. In the privacy of moonlight, I’d take the sneakers out and just look at them.
Eventually I left the shoes behind. Not gone, just out of reach. Buried in my parents’ attic, finding them would be no short quest. So, as I ran across the country, first for school, then on a failed journey of self-enlightenment, and finally for work — the shoes became a memory. A forgotten participation award.
The sneakers bore no logos. Despite looking, I never found anything similar. There was a quality to the construction and choice of materials that suggested they were custom-made. When I saw them again years later, I thought I’d gotten too high.
In the intervening years I learned many were willing to pay for my friendship. Not directly. Not explicitly. A meal here, some weed there, a lift to the airport, a letter of recommendation, the list goes on. All I needed to do was, on occasion, provide my presence and wear the appropriate social mask.
Most recently, I had become the thrill-seeking friend to a group of women. They had run into me at the bar at the start of their semi-annual night out. In exchange for boosting their party’s legitimacy, I was rewarded with free drinks. I followed them up the stairs to a dance floor tucked into some glorified alcove. Later we went to the third floor where business douchebags and drunk bridesmaids grew loud. Eventually, we ended up in the basement. Packed into a circular booth, I sipped my fourth vodka cranberry and listened to them talk about how dull they were. Or maybe it was about how drunk they were. That’d make more sense.
My attention drifted. I failed to count how many booths, exactly like the one I sat in, lined the walkway. Neon glowing strips marked the boundary between lounge and traffic. Ambient lights rolled through cool colors. Music filled the space between shallow conversations. Smooth, persistent, filling me with the urge to bounce. I hadn’t expected to hear House music at such a trendy club.
A pair of rabbits in silhouette hopped down the hall, sitting on black canvas. That’s not right, I thought. I knew what I saw — those shoes didn’t belong here. I rubbed at my eyes. I was too high. Or too drunk. Probably both. Yet, there they were. And as I came to terms with that fact, they left. Gone. Out of sight. Passed through the crowd to the room beyond the hall.
The women lost their new thrill-seeking friend. I abandoned them and my drink. I started down the hall, but didn’t get very far. Dense, tilting, and bellowing, the beast of many people refused to move. I minimized myself. I muttered apologies. I poked my foot through gaps. I remained stuck in the hall, picking up on snippets of conversation.
“Nah, fuck ‘em,” a man looking at his friends phone.
“We got you,” a woman, holding keys.
“Anything but that,” someone embarrassed.
All of them in my way.
“It’s getting late,” a tall figure. A maximalist. Sunglasses of designer quality, but lacking obvious branding. Their presence dwarfed the crowd. How had I missed them? They were also wrong. I couldn’t help myself.
“No it isn’t,” I blurted out. My reflection slid into the center of the darkened lenses.
“You forget?” Their question put a frown on my face.
“I doubt I knew to forget.”
“Time jumps forward tonight,” they said. A smile spread across their mouth like a coat unzipping.
“Oh.” I shrank. “I did forget.”
“And now you remember.” They grinned.
“I don’t have time to keep fighting this crowd,” I said, more to myself than them.
“Then don’t,” they responded. I hoped the frustration and confusion were clear on my face. The sunglasses made it hard to tell with parts of my face bloated and others shrunk.
They stepped to the side. Their hands, decorated in glamour, held the spot open. Sensibly maintained nails were the last detail I caught stepping into the narrow space left in the crowd.
I moved with the jostle of the crowd. I suppressed my natural inclination to try pushing straight through. It had done me no good yet. So with a reluctant patience, I made my way down the hall. With desperation peaking I emerged onto the dance floor.
Colored spotlights circled the room. Syncopated hats cycled over a snappy snare roll. Keys jumped through chords complimenting the gliding bass. Pure modern House.
The dance floor called to me, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted.
Dismay came first. There were no rabbits in sight. I couldn’t spot them jumping around the dance floor. Elation came second. The rabbits bounced in front of the bar in the corner.
I didn’t have a plan. I leaned on the counter next to the wearer. Their light hair, messy and cool, flitted around the corner of my eye. I ignored the impulse to pull away from the sticky surface of the bar. My presence didn’t prove enough to elicit a reaction. I had to initiate.
“Hey,” I tried casually. Their eyes, light and sparkling, turned to me.
“Hey,” they replied with a feint smile. My brain started failing. What do people say next? Usually I just have to stand there and listen. I needed to say something. Anything.
“If I kissed you, could I have your shoes?” Anything but that. That was definitely the liquor. They laughed. I could feel my cheeks burn.
“I’m interested, but I just got these.” They leaned back and hovered one foot out to show off the shoe. Other than its size, the shoe was exactly how I remembered it. They didn’t look new. Thin creases and discoloring around the midsole were signs of age.
“Where’d you get them?” That seemed like the type of thing people asked.
“I found them secondhand.”
“Oh, mine too.” I imitated their posture and showed off a Chelsea boot.
“Those look sick.”
“Thank you.”
As our feet fell back to the ground, I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. Bright eyes were sincere. The predatory gleam I saw so often was absent. They were a hare among wolves. Maybe I was just stuck on the shoes, but they reminded me very much of a rabbit. Rabbit seemed like a good name for them. It still does.
“Are you trying to get a drink?” Rabbit asked, taking on a share of the effort to keep our interaction going.
“Just water.” I didn’t need any more alcohol. Rabbit grabbed a bar tender’s attention, stealing it from dozens of different people all waving and yelling. The water was sweet. I hadn’t realized how dehydrated I was.
The beat taking over through the crossfade struck my ears as easier to recognize than my own name. Syncopated rhythm married melody to bass. It stole elements of punk and early 00’s rock to mix with post-House techno.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Rabbit said. I was brought back to the bar.
“You know Sleep Noise?” I asked. No one knew Sleep Noise.
“Of course.” Rabbit’s smile was infectious.
“I got to see them last summer,” I added excitedly.
“No shit!” Rabbit leaned closer. “Did I just miss them? Where were they playing? Sound Stage, Lion’s Paw?”
“I saw them on the west coast,” I replied shaking my head. “I’m from out of town.”
“Oh?” Their encouragement was all I needed.
“I’m out here for a few months for work.”
“So you must do something interesting for work,” Rabbit concluded.
“I’ve done worse for less.” I shrugged. My hips were teetering to the beat on their own accord.
“Come on.” Rabbit put their empty plastic cup back on the bar. They stepped away but extended a hand. “Let’s go dance.”
“Hell yeah,” I regurgitated, adopting their idiom of excitement. I accepted the hand. Rabbit took me to the dance floor. Standing opposite each other, we bounced between steps and swayed with the music. I was hesitating, my urge to move with the rhythm overwhelmed by my self-consciousness.
Space was left around me, a rarity. Rabbit was the only one who stood close, and I welcomed them. I became more comfortable as Rabbit’s movements became less rigid.
A harmonic punctuated a drop. I couldn’t resist anymore. My right foot slid under my left before it snapped back out. The slide made effortless by a hundred falls. I rolled weight from my heel to the tip of my toe. I held the posture, thought it was more difficult in sneakers than in ballet shoes.
Rabbit cheered. I tried to act casual and found myself pushing hair behind my ear. The admiration of the crowd around us was like rain, easily tuned out as an unimportant but comforting noise. I slipped right back into the more casual movements with Rabbit. “You actually know how to dance.” Rabbit had to lean in and below to be heard over the music.
“Of course,” I laughed.
What little remained of the night escaped me. The DJ announced the changing of the hour. On the heels of the announcement came last call and then, finally, lights. We were two of maybe seven people left in the basement. I blinked as my eyes protested the sudden burst of fluorescent yellow.
Despite dragging my feet, I ended up on the sidewalk with Rabbit. “I had a lot of fun,” I confessed. We stood facing each other, delaying our departure. At least that’s what I was doing.
“Me too,” Rabbit said. I stood there awkwardly, trying not to stare. The connection felt tenuous, already thinned by my status as temporary resident. Asking to keep hanging out might seem too easy. Asking to see them again might seem desperate. Usually not considerations I troubled myself with, but I was making them here — to my own confusion.
“Hey,” Rabbit started. “You seem pretty cool.” The throbbing in my ears accentuated the sensation of blood putting color in my cheeks. “There’s an actual rave Saturday if you’re interested.”
“Very,” I answered, probably a bit too quickly.
“It’s not exactly,” Rabbit trailed off to leave me in suspense. It had been so long since I hadn’t been to a rave that hadn’t been commodified and co-opted. “Legal,” they concluded.
“Oh?” It was my turn to encourage more information.
“It’s by a local group I know pretty well. I won’t know where for sure till tomorrow. They never send out details till the day before.”
“I’d love to go. But, how do I get this info?”
“I could send it to you.”
“That’d be perfect. Want me to put my number into your phone?” I offered.
“I don’t carry my phone with me when I go out.” Rabbit glanced at their shoes.
“Neither do I.” I laughed first this time.
“One moment.” Rabbit went back up to one of the bouncers still hanging around the front of the club. I’m not sure how, but Rabbit procured a marker from him.
They transcribed their number on my wrist. To make sure the message set and wouldn’t smudge, they cradled wrist and elbow in their palms. They leaned down. Their lips hovered over my forearm. Their warm breath rolled over my skin and the faintly wet digits. I felt electric, but refused to let it show.
“There,” they declared as they gave my arm back. I inspected the handiwork. The handwriting was lilting with each stroke leaning toward the next.
“Awesome, I’ll shoot you a text once I have my phone.”
“I look forward to it. I’ll see ya later.” The cool night air cut space between us. Rabbit walked away along the overly lit city-street.
“Later,” I returned, lifting my hand toward their wave. I then started the short trek back to my temporary home.
Chloe Williams 