Red Lights; Good Times

It was one of those nights when I just couldn't sleep. The hour got later and later until I just couldn't take it anymore. I got dressed and went out.

After wandering a bit in the deserted Van Nuys night, I stopped in to a Denny's. I ordered a soy burger - don't ask me why - I think the waitress recommended it (it was awful!). I then ordered a short stack of pancakes cause that's what I really wanted from the git-go, but once I had it in front of me, I only took a few bites. It was good, I just had no appetite.
In my boredom, I looked up and was taken by their red, hanging lights that looked like swirling, hot gases. Did I mention it was very late.

I thought of the after-hours, chance rendezvous after clubbin' back east. Winding up walking and laughing down city streets, making it to a late night diner where we'd have coffee or French fries or something; or if it was late enough breakfast was in order.

I kinda miss partying until the sun came up. I don't think I've ever done that out here. Yet.
One of the only things better than watching the sun set, all reddish-orange was watching it rise just about the same color. It kind of made the world make sense, gave it some meaning. Although I'm not exactly sure what. Carpe Noctem? Then what? Carpe Diem? Again...? How about Carpe sleep in? Seize the bed!

There were a few patrons in the Denny's. Some older men sat down slowly - I thought I heard their bones popping. This was not a crowd that had just left a club or something - or maybe it was (older rockers, you know). I was kind of hoping a group would come in and liven the place up.
It was not to be. I thought I was in some sort of macabre dream.

I found myself looking at those red lights again and their now frozen-liquid swirls.
The colors reminded me of partying in New York and stopping at a late night diner with friends, and groups of other revelers, unwinding after a night of dancing or wall flowering. The atmosphere was usually light and filled with laughter, and connections, exchanged phone numbers, exchanged kisses, hands held, once sweet perfumes mixed with briny sweat, once crisp shirts and blouses now steamy, wrinkled and salt stained. Those were the parties where no one was afraid to perspire. In some places, we partied so hard, the walls literally began to sweat.

Out on the streets, after the clubs closed at about 4 a.m., there was a positive energy around the city especially on the train rides home. Sometimes I wished those train rides could last forever. Sometimes, I never wanted to go home - which wasn't so bad. I knew the projects and the projects knew me. When you walk through hell, it's good to know the guardian angels and the demons. When I got home everyone was asleep. No worries.

The bigger clubs in the city were cool and sure, but there was nothing like an Uptown Manhattan, The Bronx, Brooklyn or Queens house party.

I rose to leave the diner and as I walked I passed one of those red lights again. I stopped and stood looking at it when it reminded me of my friends' house parties. Those parties were social events for the entire family.

Mom, dad and the adults stayed upstairs, drank, played cards or dominoes and played grown folks music while us teens went into the basement and danced to the latest grooves. It worked out for everyone, but it also served to let parents see their son's or daughter's friends and chose who could come in and who was not welcome. Everyone knew who the trouble makers were and it was the rare party that they did get into that they didn't ruin. If they did act up, you could rest assured they'd make mom or dad pull out the baseball bat. And trust me, they prayed it was mom and they prayed they didn't piss her off too much. If dad had to put someone out, a bat was the least of their worries. There was usually no argument; they just left.

But if all was going well when the grown folks checked in on us down there, they'd leave the basement. Then, from nowhere, someone - usually the host - would put in a red light bulb changing the party's flavor. Sure we danced, but no matter the speed of the music there was more and more hip gyrating and bodies grinding against each other. The room temperature rose several degrees too.

It was usually a good time until we all got too quiet or it got too late and mom made a check in. That usually meant the white lights were turned on and suddenly there was space between the couples when there was none just moments before. None of us guys could ever stand completely upright. At least not right away.
Good times.

Red lights...

In my memory, red meant go-go...