One Becomes A Ledge End

Because Nelz had a crappy week, I thought it was my friendly duty to figure out a way to distract him. So I invited him to go to Bed with me on a Saturday night. Mind you, I was also there the night before, but a promise is a promise. Besides, poor guy was in such a funk. (Yeah right, justify my back-to-back Bed visits with Nelz’s predicament. Haha.)

But even then I wasn’t sure if Nelz was coming because it was raining meow and bow-wow the whole night. A last minute exchange of text messages assured me he was.

To prepare for a second night of midnight-to-dawn revelry, I dropped by Leigh’s. I had promised her earlier I’d check on her Saturday evening; she had been hospitalized due to amoebiasis, but now she’s back home resting. After I saw she was all right, I asked her if I could take a power nap at her place before proceeding to Malate. So I had an hour or so of rest (actually I’m not sure if I dozed off, but the rest helped me conserve my energy.)

30 minutes before midnight, I picked up Nelz at his place in Cubao. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that was shiny shivering splendid—it looked rainproof. When he saw me in a sleeveless shirt he remarked, “My, you’re all dressed up for dancing and sweating. Me I’m wearing this because it’s raining.”

“You’re the one dressed more appropriately then,” I said. He just laughed.

“Let me make one thing clear first,” I told Nelz, smiling. “This night out in Bed will not in any way solve your I’m-pining-for-Norman funk. This will not bring you closer to each another; it will not bridge the distance between Canada and Manila. At best it’ll just be a welcome distraction.”

Nelz was just laughing the whole time. “No, no, no, of course, I know that!” he said.

When we got to Malate we stopped by Komiks Café first. He had tea; I had coffee laced with liquor. That way I can stay awake and have a buzz already.

At 1am we went to Bed. The usual Saturday night crowd, though this time it took a little longer for the place to be filled wall-to-wall with Bed ‘dings because of the rain. I positioned Nelz at the ledge near the DJ’s booth (a strategic place where one can ogle and be ogled at.) Pretty soon we were dancing (or in my case, bobbing my head when the crush of homoanity on the dance floor got too crowded.)

There’s this guy who’s a Bed regular—I’ve seen him there all the time. He flirts a lot but that’s it; mostly he goes to Bed to dance. He and I have flirted before, but we realized we were more interested in dancing than sex (besides, I don’t think he’s interested in me that way.) So every time we see each other we just nod a greeting, an acknowledgement of a brotherhood between us, a brotherhood devoted to the beat. Then we’d dance the night away. Sometimes we’d end up dancing with one another; he’d lean against me and rub his body against mine while swaying to the beat. But it’s harmless, meaningless flirting.

More and more people were pouring into the dance floor. Pretty soon I couldn’t dance properly because of the tight space. I inched closer to the main “ledge,” which is actually several big boxes placed near the stairs. That’s where Bed’s go-go boys danced shirtless, daring the crowd to ogle their muscular bodies, their killer abs. This “ledge” is a privileged spot. Before, I thought only the “official” go-go boys and friends of the owners were allowed to climb up there. Before I thought one had to have a gorgeous body to be allowed to dance up there, because most of them took their shirts off. Or if one had a less-than-perfect upper body, then one must make up for it with great dance moves. But even though I’m not a Mr. Universe nor am I a Denny Terrio, I’ve always wanted to get up on that ledge simply because one can dance there without being pushed by the shoving crowd.

Maybe it was because I was with Nelz. Maybe it was because I saw two gay officemates of mine who were there too; safety in numbers, so to speak. Maybe it was the vodka-laced coffee and two bottles of San Mig Light. But whatever it was, I mustered enough courage that night to jump up on the ledge when there was an opening.

And there I was, on one end of the Bed ledge, dancing like there was no tomorrow. Wheee! My officemates were cheering me on. Nelz was grooving in one corner of the dance floor. Finally I’m dancing on the Bed ledge! I’m dancing on the Bed ledge!

Ang babaw talaga ng kaligayahan ko.

Nope, I didn’t flirt with anybody that night, even with the cute guy dancing in front of me (Nelz also noticed him.) Nope, no one flirted with me either. And nope, I didn’t see Ben-from-Friday-night there.

At a certain point, I remembered what Ms. Pattie Pecache, a former advertising officemate, declared over the microphone in one of our corplan parties. In a giddy tone, she told the crowd: “I am the dancing queen!”

I just danced and danced. You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life….