Art After Dark

I entered the Guggenheim museum, tentatively at first, looking around at the trickle of people that gradually filled the room. The club event known as "Art After Dark" was supposed to begin at 10:00, and here at 9:55, I was expecting to see far more people. I frowned, adjusted my short skirt, and walked into the wide, circular room, right as the DJ began playing his music.

Ah, electronica, the best genre to dance to. The bass filled the room, making the walls pulse and my body throb.

More people arrived, but rather than dancing, they all drifted towards the bars, perhaps looking for a little liquid courage before they began moving. I stood there, disappointed at all the people unmoving, awkwardly standing in their social circles. Some of them swayed back and forth, some bobbed their heads, and it was obvious that they wanted to dance, but simply didn't want to be the first person to go out and do it.

I adjusted my skirt, leaned against the wall and sighed. I'd paid twelve euros to get in, and I was hoping this would be worth it. One of the things I loved about raves and clubs was when all the people danced. When the room would fill with heat, pulsating with raw energy as people gyrated and moved to the music, uncaring of rhythm or grace, just swept away by the sounds.

A couple men opted to talk to me. Miguel and his friend, both nice boys who seemed stunned to discover that I wasn't there with a group of friends or a boy hanging off my arm. Miguel kept introducing me to his other friends as that girl from the US with nobody to accompany me. An amusing group, but I wanted to dance more than I wanted to socialize.

Then, there was one woman who finally didn't care about being the first person to start dancing. An older woman, perhaps in her forties, with spiky, platinum blonde hair, tan skin, a colorful skirt and sneakers that in no way matched the rest of her outfit. She stood out, as I imagine I did with my schoolgirl skirt, and she began dancing. Encouraged, I did so, as well, moving my hips to the rhythm, the hypnotic, electronic beat.

The blonde woman kept handing me her drink after we'd been dancing for a while. I smiled and thanked her, sipping the drink, which was alcoholic in nature but at least quenched my thirst. When I was done, I'd hand it back to her and continue dancing.

More people filled the room. Finally, the crowd began to dance, edging a little closer to the DJ table, moving to his music. I wildly swayed my hips, and I probably can't count on one hand the number of people that probably saw my black panties that night, but I couldn't have cared less. With just a little alcohol in me and the music resonating in the room, I had hardly a care in the world.

I must've danced for two and a half hours straight. My shirt became soaked with sweat, and my once neatly-done hair had become a tousled mess. I was a little ball of energy, moving, swaying, jerking to the rhythm.

When the event was over, the blonde woman and her friend approached me, telling me they'd accompany me to the metro. Despite Bilbao being a safe city, they said, it still wasn't a good idea to walk around alone, especially a cute young girl. Thankful for the company, I walked with them into the refreshing evening air, my hot flesh cooled by the crisp night.

I learned that the blonde woman's name was Katrina, and the only way I could describe her is this: unashamedly bizarre.

By the time we finally reached the metro, it was almost two AM. At the metro, Katrina and I parted ways. She hugged me before her train came and gave me a kiss on the lips before leaving.

The night began as a bizarre, energetic adventure and ended rather modestly. When I boarded the metro, an old man goaded me to sit next to him, and so I did. He smiled, looking rather pleased to have the company of a pretty young girl in a skirt. He was far from lecherous, though, and his friend ended up talking to me quite a bit, as he was relatively fluent in English. He told me about the events going on in Spain, and how, if he were in my place, he'd travel the world while he could.

The old men and I got off at the same stop, and I hugged them goodbye, having been pleased by their company. Then I walked home through the stillness of a quiet, sleeping city, reminded of how vibrant Reno would be at this time, with the flashing casino lights and places open for twenty four hours. But not here, in the sleepy town of Getxo, where the most activity was the drunkards and partiers making their way back home after a long, energetic night.

I smiled, breathing in the night air, thankful for the quiet.