Amsterdam Seventy-Five: The Weaker Sex

I slept until 5:00 PM. It felt like trams were screeching over my head every time I moved. I rolled out of bed and fell to the floor, crawling to the living room before forcing myself to my feet. I looked at the coffee table. My pipe was there, but no pot. My day bag was hanging on the back of the dining chair. I zipped it open and stuck my hand inside, swirling it around until I found the bottle. I pulled it out and walked over to the coffee table, popping open the lid and crudely jamming a bud into the bowl. I found the lighter, lit up, and inhaled as hard as I could, holding the smoke in my lungs until I couldn’t any longer. I exhaled then took another hit and as I exhaled the throbbing pain in my head began to dissipate.

I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a liter of apple juice, drinking a third of it before going to the sink and filling a glass of water. I took the glass with me to the living room, put it on the coffee table, and pulled a cigarette out of its pack. I sat on the couch with the cigarette and an ashtray then opened a window. The air outside was cool. The traffic on the street was light. After finishing my cigarette, I grabbed the bowl again and finished off the bud before lying down and dozing off.

When I woke again it was after eight. I felt better. The glass of water looked appealing. So did the pipe. I put another bud in the bowl, more thoughtfully this time, and toked. As the bud turned orange I let up on the lighter and let go of the carb. Smoke wafted from the mouthpiece as I held the hit in my lungs before exhaling. Much better; no more ecstasy hangover.

The window was still open and it was colder than it had been earlier. I didn’t shut it, though. Instead, I lit a cigarette, looked outside, and saw a buzz of activity heading this way and that. Strange for a Sunday evening. There was a parade of fucking scooters; their whiny whirring drove me nuts. Once the scooter convention slowed, I blew smoke rings while watching the cyclists and pedestrians. It was a mindless activity, an old habit that had never died. I wondered what the neighbors thought of me, but not with any real interest. They could think what they wanted of me. In this country, at least, most neighbors were actually neighborly and if you had a few quirks then you had a few quirks.

I got up and went to the dining table to turn on my computer. I checked email, read a few notes, and surfed a few sites related to Amsterdam before going to the kitchen to heat up a frozen dinner. I watched soccer while I ate and when I was finished eating I took another puff of Cheese. I spent the rest of the night smoking pot and cigarettes watching Dutch TV, wondering if it would be possible to learn any of the language that way. Nope. I got a headache from watching so much overacting, though.

***

I indexed all morning and most of the afternoon. When I finished the history textbook I sent a copy to the publisher along with an invoice. I grilled vegetable kebobs late afternoon then sat on the couch doing nothing at all for an hour. Without lights, the gradual darkening into the evening felt eventful. What in the hell was I doing? There was nothing I needed to do, nothing I wanted to do. I didn’t even feel like smoking pot or shrooming. I went back to the computer and downloaded the PDF for my next indexing assignment and went to work.

***

I made myself a pancake breakfast and indexed the rest of the morning. I left the apartment around noon and cycled south on Utrechtsestraat toward De Pijp to find a new café. The weather was beautiful, sunny and warm. I wore a sweater, possibly my first day without a jacket the whole trip. At the end of Utrechtsestraat, just before Frederksplein, I saw a shop called Boekhandel. I remembered Alex’s recommendation so I went around the corner to find a place to lock up my bike then walked back. I browsed through the shop for a while. There was a section of books in English and I found a copy of Murder in Amsterdam. I went to the counter and purchased the book as well as a copy of the International Times. The shopkeeper was jovial and interesting. He seconded Alex’s opinion that Murder in Amsterdam gave a fair account of the events, especially considering it was popularized nonfiction.

I put the book and the paper in my small backpack then left to retrieve my bike. I rode along the busy bike path of Frederiksplein following behind a woman who was riding her young daughter in a basket at the front of her bike. These front-end baskets—more like boxes—were used to haul everything: groceries, children, flowers, dogs, lamps, tables, chairs, stuffed animals, large backpacks, gift-wrapped presents, and inebriated friends who were unable able to walk. Anything that could fit or be made to fit could be transported by bike in those basket-boxes.

Not every bike with a basket was the same, though. The boxes varied in size and shape, including depth, width, and length. Some baskets were true baskets, the wicker types seen in the United States on the fronts of handlebars; most, though, were big rectangular jobs that separated the front tire from the handlebars. I had seen one shaped like a miniature coffin complete with a lid. I wondered if it was used for funeral processions of dead children or pets. I could easily imagine a procession of well-dressed weeping cyclists in black suits and dresses, even some wearing dark veils, all cycling slowly behind the somber bicycle hearse with its front-end casket, pedestrians on the sidewalks whispering to friends, “Oh, look how tiny the casket is. I hope the little doggy didn’t suffer.”

As for myself, if I was to have a funeral procession in Amsterdam, I would prefer to have my dead body propped up on the front of a tandem bike, my feet and legs tied to the pedals and handlebars, a stiff board under a suit coat keeping my torso straight while embalmed in such a way that I had a creepy, exaggerated smile with my tongue dangling and my eyes bugged out. Maybe a clown afro, too. I would make a will to pay an elderly woman to pedal naked on the back end of the tandem bike. Probably hire pedestrians along the funeral procession route to throw small paint balloons at me, too. I may as well be target practice and a source of morbid fun for the living. I mean, I would be dead. It wouldn’t be me, you know, just a body that had been set up to look weird while being ridden around Amsterdam and turned into a dead-man’s performance art in collaboration with paint-balloon tossers. Why not?

As I passed by the Mommy Bike through the intersection of Flevoroute onto Westeinde I was nearly overcome by a strong urge to tell the woman I was not going to fuck her. Instead, I simply laughed hysterically as I sped past; that might have disturbed her even more. Poor woman, but Piper was the one who planted the thought in my mind. What the fucks was that? Shit, I had been in a daze. It wasn’t just her, though. It dated back to Sterre’s kvetching about me popping a wheelie on Nes. I had spent most of the past two weeks either with women or with the thoughts they had planted in my mind like viruses. Maybe not entirely—I had that one night of extraordinary shrooming.

I hadn’t developed virtue through the process, though; no, I had been cowed, subtly manipulated, consciously or not, by women’s ideas of ethics and decorum. What the fuck was I doing? Why would I give women so much power? This was definitely my fault. I had allowed myself to be formed in the images women had created for me and I didn’t like it one bit. Who was this little boy who wouldn’t cross the street unless the sign said “walk”? Fuck that. Nothing good had ever developed by living according to someone else’s rules or values. At heart, I was irreverent and it was about time I woke up from the stupor. Being soft and gentle wasn’t a bad thing, but too much of it could stifle the spirit. I was being thoughtful for the wrong reasons.

I cycled faster down the bike path and as I passed a young woman dressed in short sleeves I declared my sovereignty by yelling: “Stop raping my mind with your bullshit!” I didn’t look back so I had no idea what her reaction had been. I passed several others as I sped along, but without a need to declare anything more. The one outburst had done the trick. I came to a stop at Stadhouderskade with a gaggle of cyclists. I turned around and saw one young man with shades smirking at me. He had stopped next to the blonde woman who undoubtedly had been ready to harm me through her verbiage or a nasty look. She scowled at me, proving to me that I had been right about her. My demand had gone unheeded and I admitted to myself that women in Amsterdam were waging a campaign of subterfuge against my overall wellbeing. I could not let this insolence stand.

As the light turned and we all pulled forward onto Van Woustraat I rode slowly to allow the hostile one to pull up alongside me. As she did, she said in a thick Dutch accent, “You are rude to yell at me.” I stood my ground, “Do you want me to feel bad about that?” She looked exasperated as we continued cycling side by side. “I don’t care your feeling. You should give respect.” Should, a moral imperative. What gave her the moral authority to demand such a thing? For all I knew she had been manipulating others her entire life. Hell, she could be a child molester. How would I know? I couldn’t take such strict moral advice from a complete stranger, one who may very well have assaulted me with disgust for no reason whatsoever other than sensing that I was an easy target for scorn or ridicule.

“I should be respectful? What about you? You gave me a wicked look at the stop light. I wouldn’t call that respectful.” Had I not been consciously focused on my autonomy I may have internalized the look she gave me as an inherent defect in the quality of my being. “The only responsible thing for me to do was to dismiss your scorn out of hand.” To my surprise, she listened attentively. We cycled silently for a few seconds before she said, “I not know I give you mean look. Sorry.”

Holy shit. This was a critical moment. Everything important in terms of my wellbeing and hers hinged on the coming thoughts, words, and actions between us. The ball was in my court and of that I was glad as I trusted myself to handle the situation with ingenuity and empathy. I didn’t want to crush her spirit or allow her to believe that apologizing was necessary; however, I needed to preserve my dignity without sacrificing my integrity. If ever I needed to think as fast as possible philosophically, this was the time.

“The danger in proceeding from here lies in the assignation of blame. We’re in danger of delving into justifications when what I want--and I believe you may, too--is to retain our dignity, to preserve our self-respect, and to proceed with sympathy toward one another. Thus, I cannot accept your apology because I do not recognize a valid reason for you to apologize. I believe it is only through an exploration of motivations that we can determine the sequence of events that resulted in your apology. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to believe that you have done wrong when that may not have been the case. However, I cannot merely dismiss all that has occurred between us as if it never happened or was of no consequence. I believe it is imperative that we discuss these issues to benefit one another in our respective quests to live the best lives possible. Therefore, I propose that we stop at Village Bagels at the corner up ahead.”

The woman, again, had been listening attentively. Taken alone, this was an indicator that progress could be made between us and within each of us. When I finished speaking she slowly smiled at me and said, “I understand little, but we stop at corner.” The bike rack outside next to the tree was packed, but the side street off of Van Woustraat was lazy so we locked our bikes together near the rack. There were tables outdoors; it had been quite some time since it was warm enough for outside seating. There were only four and each of them had seats for two. Two tables were filled by let-life-pass-us-by-all-day middle-aged fellows and one had a single occupant.

After we locked the bikes, the woman grabbed her bag from her basket. I told her my name was Michael and she introduced herself as Saskia. I told her if she sat at the empty table and waited outside I would order for her. She declined, saying she had a bottle of water and food packed for lunch in her bag so she sat down as I went inside the shop to order a specialty bagel sandwich and a cappuccino. I walked back outside with my food and drink to join Saskia. The building shaded us from the sun and there was a soft breeze. The weather was ideal for an outdoor lunch. I took a bite of the bagel and as I chewed I looked at Saskia, thinking about how to continue the conversation, particularly how to communicate what she hadn’t understood when I was talking while riding. She was sitting quietly with a look of ease, enjoyment, and perhaps amusement over the situation. I was somewhat amused as well, but I wanted to stay focused. It wasn’t often that I’d had an opportunity to pursue a potentially life-altering philosophical discussion with a complete stranger over a series of quasi-hostile events. In fact, this was my first opportunity, at least with a woman.

That was important because part of the issue for me was women. The question of woman had begun as a brief insight and a reactionary explosion, but through those events a real opportunity had arisen. I did not believe Saskia ever would have agreed to stop if she knew my intentions, however noble I perceived them to be. It dawned on me that it was early afternoon and that she might need to be somewhere, work or school, so I asked, “Do you have much time to sit and talk?” She shrugged her shoulders and I said, “Okay,” not knowing what the hell that meant other than maybe, “Depends on what you have to say.”

“I’m going to go over this again. You can apologize if you choose, but if you do you are doing so because you believe your actions were disrespectful and not up to your standards of conduct. That has nothing to do with me. As for me, I don’t know if I regret yelling ‘Stop raping my mind with your bullshit.’ Not yet, anyway. Why? Because I don’t know if it was harmful to either of us for me to yell that.” I took a sip of cappuccino and continued, “I could say more, but you said you didn’t catch much of what I said on the bike so … what are your thoughts?”

Saskia shook her head and laughed uncomfortably. “You talk fast and my English is not so good. I apologize, but you say you no like apology. What I do? You yell for no reason, but I see you mean nothing bad about me so is okay.” Shit, so much for philosophical exploration with a stranger. I didn't want to get lost in the nonacceptance of the apology because I couldn't think of a way to explain in simple English. We could talk for a half hour about that and get nowhere. Instead, I said, “I will speak slower. I didn’t know I talked too fast.” Saskia seemed a little less tense after hearing that. “Yes, better.” I took another bite of my bagel sandwich and contemplated. I had intended to explore the unresolved but powerfully present issue related to women that had bubbled to the surface, but now I was faced with a woman I didn’t know who agreed to stop to have a conversation with me, a man she didn’t know.

This was fucking me up. Had what had occurred been perceived as me exhibiting sexual or romantic interest? I thought it was only men who had bad radar. I hadn’t even noticed her as a sexual being, but now I felt compelled to consider her this way. Why should I feel compelled, though? This isn’t what I wanted. I noticed I found her physically attractive, but I was more interested in exploring my personal dynamics with women, underlying issues, philosophical quandaries. Perhaps I could learn simply by sitting and talking with her. Give her an open-ended question and sit back to listen.

“Why did you agree to stop with me?” I didn’t smile as I said it; the words came out of my mouth as if they were delivered from a detective interrogating a suspect in a serious crime. Saskia, though, took the question in stride. “I want, um, hear what you say, why you no like apology and why you yell at me. Now I understand so is okay.” A smile. “It is beautiful day, perfect for sit outside and do nothing.” Fair. I wasn’t going to get anywhere with my earlier wondering, though. Fuck it. May as well enjoy hanging out in the shade on a warm day with an attractive woman who speaks broken English. There was no fucking rhyme or reason.

I finished my bagel and cappuccino as we sat. I resisted urges to ask Saskia where she had been going to or coming from, where she lived, what she did, and so on. She said nothing, just lazed in her chair while occasionally closing her eyes to relax and enjoy the breeze, perhaps thinking of nothing other than how wonderful it felt to be outside at a temperature more conducive to the body’s comfort. There was no way of knowing. Asking questions had resulted in throw-away answers that went nowhere which, for her, seemed to be the goal--or lack thereof. My bursting moments of rapacious irreverence had been dashed by a lackadaisical woman without a care. Women trumped me at every turn no matter what I did. By not wanting this woman and by treating her as an abstraction I had inadvertently attracted her interest--or at least her presence. I was starting to want her because of this. Damnit.

Perhaps that was it. Women, consciously or not, chose those who didn’t want them to convert them into wanting them so that they could move on to the next object that lacked desire for them and repeat the process, gradually building unwavering self-confidence and empowerment through what might have been accidental conquests. Was this an evolutionary development? Was I doomed to wind up in a powerless state of wanting women no matter what tactic or strategy I adopted to become free and independent of sexual desire? The cards had been stacked against me; I could no more escape my fate as the weaker sex than a swan could escape being a swan. I was Wile E. Coyote and every woman was the Roadrunner. Perhaps Looney Tunes had always had a gendered commentary about the powerlessness of being men in relation to women. And women, possibly designed to be crafty and elusive, had even devised a narrative that convinced the world that they had been the oppressed by creating a branch of philosophy called feminism.

I was in awe even as I trembled in my seat across from Saskia, either pretending not to have a care in the world or actually not having a care in the world because all of her cares could be satisfied without ever having to put forth effort. Fuck, she had gotten inside my head without seeming to do a thing. Genius, although from her perspective it was likely child’s play. I, chimpanzee, trying to figure out how to stack blocks; she, amused by my pointless attempts to stack blocks. Saskia just sat there, sometimes smiling at me and drinking from her water bottle when she wasn’t leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed looking pretty. The nerve! How much longer was I going to allow her to insult me like this!

I stood up and mumbled that I was going to use the WC inside the bagel shop. She nodded without opening her eyes. I walked inside and asked the woman behind the counter if I could have the key to use the WC. “I’m sorry, but men aren’t allowed to use the WC. Only women and cats.” Damnit! Where the hell was I going to piss? I walked back outside frustrated. How could a March day so wonderfully balmy be absolutely maddening? Women, each one of them conspiring against me without conspiring at all. I sat down, my frustration turning my thoughts to pudding. “Why couldn’t I have been homosexual?” Saskia opened her eyes. “It not your fault. You have better luck next life.” 

Amsterdam Seventy-Four: Arena

I woke early with the sunshine, got dressed, and went to the kitchen to grab an energy drink. I opened the living room window and noticed how warm it was. Everything outside seemed different to me. The way everyone on the street was dressed suggested spring. Finally. I felt somewhat disoriented, though. Something had shifted. I felt reassured that the world existed, but I couldn’t figure out why I felt that way. Maybe I had taken one to many trips outside myself … or inside myself. I made toast with peanut butter and jelly. It felt ordinary. Ordinary was good.

I turned on my MacBook and indexed most of the day. I wasn’t as disgusted with the history textbook. It was what it was. Performing duties, accomplishing tasks, shriveling into the mundane. Simple. I ate a veggie sandwich for lunch and drank plenty of water throughout the day. I had a frozen dinner around six then showered, dressed in the closest outfit I had to clubwear, and smoked a bowl. I smoked cigarettes and listened to house before switching to an early 80s New Wave station.

I rode my bike to Bloem around eight. Daniel was working with Fleur. I ordered a beer and Fleur poured me the drink while Daniel waited on a table. Fleur was mumbling to herself in Dutch. She looked perturbed. I tentatively asked her how she was doing. She shrugged without looking up. I never knew what to think of her. She scared me a little. Always inaccessible. I drank silently for a time, muddling in my own thoughts.

Daniel came behind the bar to fill an order. He said something in Dutch to Fleur, his voice terse. She scowled when he turned away. Something amiss. More customers came inside as Daniel rang up a few leaving. I settled my eyes on Fleur again. She had her back turned. So long and lithe, taller than me. When she turned back to the bar, doing whatever the hell it was she was doing, I asked her what she was studying at the university. She looked up at me and fixed her eyes on mine. She squinted just a little, entirely unfriendly, then looked away to begin cutting slices of lime.

This was the first time I had encountered hostility at Bloem. I turned to watch Daniel working. He was pleasant with the customers, casual yet quietly animated as he spoke Dutch to a couple. There was amiable laughter between the three of them then Daniel turned back to the bar, sidled next to me, and gave an order to Fleur in Dutch using a much lighter tone. She sighed and continued working then put down the knife—thankfully—and walked from behind the bar back to the kitchen. Daniel went behind the bar to mix drinks and took them to the table. He hadn’t said a word to me nor had he even looked in my direction. This was a first as well.

When Fleur returned she delivered dishes from a tray to a table with three customers then walked back behind the bar to mix drinks. I drank my beer quietly, continuing to observe the happenings. I felt like I was invisible. I was reminded of my visit to Amsterdam in the fall when I existed in so few lives. This was different, though. I knew Daniel and Fleur. Whatever was going on between them combined with the pace of work shut me out. I finished my beer, sheepishly ordered another from Fleur, and went outside for a cigarette. I loaded cannabis into my bat and took a hit before I lit my cigarette. If I was going to be alone in a crowd then I wanted to be high.

When I returned, Daniel was ringing up the bill for another group of customers. There were now just two tables filled in the downstairs café, but Daniel went upstairs immediately after ringing up the group. I looked up through the open center of the ceiling, heard voices, and realized two tables were filled. When Daniel returned Fleur had an order of drinks ready and as Daniel grabbed the tray he spoke respectfully to Fleur, presumably relaying another order. Fleur nodded. She seemed to have calmed somewhat--the anger in her eyes had dissipated. She looked tired more than anything else.

Over the next twenty minutes the two tables upstairs checked out and one from downstairs as well. A man came through the front door and sat at the far end of the bar. He was dressed well, perhaps forty, and spoke Dutch. Fleur delivered a glass of red wine. Daniel came down from upstairs with a rag in his hand and a tray of empty glasses, dishes, and dinnerware. The area next to the sink was piled high and Daniel immediately began washing and rinsing. Fleur rang up the couple, the last of the patrons except for the single customer at the other end of the bar and myself.

I spoke to Daniel, merely saying hello and, gee, you’ve been busy. He looked up and nodded somberly, but didn’t speak before getting back to the dishes. Curious. Perhaps it had been even busier before I arrived. Obviously, Daniel and Fleur were unhappy, either with one another or, well, I didn't know. As Daniel walked toward the kitchen, Tom arrived. Daniel glared at Tom as he walked past Daniel. Tom walked behind the bar and said hello. I didn’t know how to respond—it had been an hour of tension and silence. I ordered a beer from him as Fleur went to wipe up the tables. She gave him a menacing look as she passed.

I asked Tom what that was about and he grimaced. “I’m three hours late. I was in Utrecht visiting friends and time got away from me. Was it busy?” I smiled and nodded. “I’ve only been here an hour, but I think it was even busier earlier.” He shook his head as he I drank my beer. “I’d better talk to Daniel. I called, but …” Tom walked from behind the bar toward the kitchen as Fleur returned. She seemed slightly more relaxed, though it may have just been exhaustion. She was just to the left of me and she looked over at me as she worked. She stopped moving and tilted her head back and side to side, apparently trying loosen up. I summoned the courage to ask her if she was okay. She said, “Better now. Tom.” She shook her head in disgust.

I tried to change the subject to something more pleasant, even if pedestrian. Once again I asked about her classes. She brightened just a bit. “They’re good. I study in event planning.” I was surprised. She seemed so shy, reserved, and, well, standoffish. I asked her if she had organized any events in the past. “No big projects, but many smaller. Parties, DJs, dancing. This summer I, hmmm, how do you say? Shit. I work for entertainment company before school next year.” I said, “Oh, an internship.” She smiled. “Yes, that.” I had a hard time imagining her organizing big events. On the other hand, I didn’t know her well at all and I only ever saw her working at Bloem. So young, but also beautiful. Perhaps she had it in her in a different environment. Her English wasn’t as polished as many of her peers and that may have been the reason she was as awkward around me as she was. My discomfort with her probably didn’t help matters.

Daniel came back and told Fleur she could leave. He thanked her for staying then said something in Dutch that made her smile. I asked Daniel if Sophia and Piper were still coming. He said yes, Sophia had sent him an SMS a couple hours ago. “Are you going to be able to go?” He shook his head no. “I’ll be here late. There’ll be a lot of work to do after closing, especially since Tom showed up late.” He had no animosity in his voice. I was continuously surprised by how easily he managed his emotions. I finished my beer and asked him if he had a moment for a smoke. He said yes then went to the kitchen to let Tom know we were going outside for a moment. The man at the end of the bar was drinking his wine, alone in his thoughts.

As we smoked outside, I asked Daniel about the drama. He rolled his eyes. “Tom was late, it was a mess. I asked Fleur if she could stay late. She did, fortunately, because we were busy. It wasn’t how I planned the evening.” What more was there to say? We sucked down the cigs and went back inside. I ordered another beer from Daniel then Tom came around the bar as Daniel walked down the bar to talk with the wine-drinking chap. Tom seemed like himself: relaxed, easygoing, in control. The curly mop on his head made him seem boyish. The loose-fitting t-shirt over his long, lean frame contributed as well. He quietly cleaned glasses at the sink.

Sophia and Piper showed up around 9:30. Piper was clad mostly in black with a blue top and a blue streak in her hair while Sophia was dressed more colorfully overall. They both wore miniskirts--that registered. They sat down next to me at the bar and ordered drinks from Tom. The three of them spoke in Dutch. I looked past Sophia and saw that Piper was wearing mascara, making her eyes pop. I turned back to my beer and sat silently while Dutch was spoken. Sophia's gregariousness took over the room. She was teasing Daniel. He smiled, but he remained focused on the other customer.

“So, you’re going out with us tonight, Michael?” I turned my head and nodded. “Try to contain your excitement.” I shook my head and laughed a little. “I’m just biding my time. You look incredible, by the way.” I leaned forward to look at Piper. She was immersed in Dutch with Tom so I leaned back to continue talking with Sophia. She said, “I’m trying to get Daniel to go with us.” I interjected, “I don’t think tonight’s a good night for him.” I spoke softly, “There were a lot of work-related issues this evening.” Sophia looked inquisitively and I continued, “Nothing that bad. Just stressful. Not the best of moods.”

We left just after ten, Sophia lingering in a goodbye with Daniel. We rode our bicycles to the south and somewhat to the east. I followed slightly behind since I didn’t know where we were going. Great to be going out with two women, though. Just felt right. It wasn’t a long bike ride and I mostly recognized where were along the way. I could tell we were nearing Oosterpark. I hadn’t been there since I first met Sterre. Strange to have memories of other times with other people in Amsterdam. 

We talked along the way, but the conversation switched back and forth between English and Dutch. Each of us had a common connection through Daniel, but not knowing Dutch left me out of several short interactions. I was glad we were going to a club; music and dancing were languages I understood. I wasn’t in the party mood Piper and Sophia were, but I figured once the music started I would get there. I felt less entranced by Piper than I had when I first met her, but I was still intrigued.

We arrived at Club Arena, a huge building that looked like it had once been a grand church, and we locked our bikes down the block where there was more space, a place easy to find, too. There was a large crowd outside the front of the club and I started walking toward the entrance, but Sophia called me back. She had lit up a joint so the three of us toked before going to the entrance to pay and walk inside. We went to an area to the right of the stairs and put our coats, packs, purses, and other belongings in lockers. I left with only my wallet and locker key in a front pocket before meeting Sophia and Piper at the bottom of the stairs. We walked up the stairs then turned to the right to climb to the top. The main dance floor spread out in front of us, a high curved ceiling approximately three stories above and a domed ceiling even higher above the DJ booth on the stage maybe one hundred and fifty feet away. Hard to tell with all the bodies.

We walked a little bit then turned left toward an adjacent dance floor with a different DJ up front, a much smaller room, but still sizable. The ceiling was probably only two stories high and there was a long bar to the left of the room. Multicolored flood lights swiveled and house/minimalist music pumped. The music was better than the main floor, but then again we didn’t move past the first wave of speakers. Sophia operated as organizer, pulling us aside into an empty space in the back left corner next to floor-to-ceiling curtains. She suggested the area as a rendezvous spot if we got separated. The music thumped then became bubbly with a heavy bass bouncing the bubbles higher. I looked out at the dance floor. Bodies were gyrating, hopping, and hands were waving, jutting, failing. Fluorescent hoops twirled around arms, wrists, and necks; glow-in-the-dark plastic headbands and clothing shimmied and shook.

Sophia snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. “Hey, do you want any?” She was turned partially away from me and I looked down around her waist. There was about a third of a sandwich baggie filled with whitish, opaque crystals. Ecstasy. I had never done crystals previously; just pills. As far as I knew the crystals were much purer MDMA. I nodded yes. “Have you ever done molly before?” I nodded yes, but added, “Not very often.” She reached in the baggie and gave me a small amount which I discreetly put in my mouth. She gave about twice as much to Piper and then took a similar amount for herself. I turned to see if anyone was looking and to block the view of anyone who might have been.

Once Sophia was settled we went to the bar. The line stretched the length of the bar and curved around either side was. It was at least three people thick. The guys, typically, were furthest back. There was one woman bartender, but the other three were guys. I was happy as hell to be with two women otherwise I would probably never be served. Sophia deftly snaked her way to the front and Piper was right behind her. I, of course, was not allowed passage so there were two guys between Piper and I. As Sophia was ordering, she looked back and said something to Piper who turned around looking for me. She yelled, “What are you doing back there?” I shrugged. How do you explain to women that guys only let women pass through lines? Could women really be that clueless about their privilege in clubs and bars? I yelled to Piper, “I’ll have a gin and tonic and a water!” Piper turned and presumably told Sophia what I had ordered.

They made their way back to me within minutes. Sophia handed me a drink. As I sipped from it, I realized I was drinking a gin fizz. I asked Sophia, yelling so she could hear me over the music, “Why did you order a gin fizz?” She shook her head like I was crazy, “Because Piper said that was what you wanted.” I looked over at Piper. She was looking up toward the DJ, her torso swaying. I smiled back at Sophia, “Never mind. It’s fine.” She was laughing, “What did you order?” I shouted, “Gin and tonic!” She nodded and rolled her eyes. “I thought it was weird that you ordered a fizz.” We laughed and I hammered about half of my drink in a couple swallows. Fucking sugar water. The bartender gave it a kick at least.

I pulled out my wallet to give Sophia money, but she stopped me. “You get the next one.” I shook my head, “I’ll pay for the next one, but if I go to order the drinks it’ll take an hour.” I could see she understood. I asked about the water. “They don’t sell water at the bar. Over in that other corner.” Huh. Okay. I looked over and there was even a line to buy water. Fuck. The place was packed tight. I looked over at Piper. She was still swaying somewhat, although the music had slowed. She looked bored and I didn’t know what to say. I finally broke the silence and said, stupidly, “I like the blue in your hair.” She twirled it a bit and said, “Thank you.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, but I blurted out, “You look ravishing.” Fortunately, she didn’t hear me. She held a hand to her ear and pointed up as if the music existed above her—which it did. Above, beside, below, everywhere. Because she couldn’t hear anything, I smiled and softly said, “I would love to dance naked with you right now.” She smiled, shrugged, and took a drink of whatever the hell her multicolored drink was.

A new DJ took over and he fucking cracked from the start. Sophia yelled, “I love this DJ!” Piper agreed and they were quickly wiggling through the crowd to dance, drinks in hand. I pounded my drink and forced my way to the bar to set down the glass. I was bitched at the whole way, but I just said “Fuck you, too,” as I escaped. I tried to make my way to where I thought Sophia and Piper might be, but I gave up and started jamming with the crowd around me as the DJ matched beats seamlessly. I wasn’t high, not from X, but I felt the float of the music in my head and the bass in my hips and legs. Each part of my body moved according to different sounds and frequencies.

I wondered how the ecstasy would feel with the music, the volume pulsing through my chest, completely owning me—and everyone else around me. The sea of bodies moved like a wave even as heads went in different directions, legs moved at different rhythms, arms pumped above or below, and hips swiveled. There was sweat everywhere, but there was also a light mist in the air, blown by fans from the sides. Men and women alike were grinding into me while I was grinding into them. There was no way to move except in relation to those immediately around me. 

I had no idea how many transitions took place before I started to feel the first effects of the E. The effects were light, but they were there. I saw Piper out of the corner of my eye and she looked euphoric. There was no way I could make it to her through the crowd. I couldn’t see Sophia at all. The DJ made a hard cut and I forgot all about them. I got lost in the music and my body moved according to it. When there was finally a lull everyone’s movement slowed and I made my way back toward the bar. The line wasn’t as thick—the DJ had taken over the room. I wondered if he had slowed just to give people a chance at water and drinks. There was one guy ahead of me and as I was about to order two women slipped up next to me. The bartender, male, shifted his eyes from me to them and filled their order instead of mine.

I hated this particular social norm; it was international in scope. Nothing to do but wait and hope no more women came near me. I could have acted like a total ass to scare them away so I could order, but plans like that always went out the window when a woman appeared. I could hit on them and that would scare them away or maybe just glare at them like a pervert, but that would probably just get me decked by someone or kicked out of the club. I could offer to pay a woman to order a drink for me, but that would undoubtedly be misinterpreted as a creepy, desperate act. No, there was nothing to do but wait and hope the club didn’t close before a bartender served me.

Then the best—and only—option presented itself: Piper and Sophia sidled up to me, I asked Sophia to order since she was the most aggressive of the three of us. I gave her my credit card and, sure enough, a male bartender walked over to ask her for her order. We received our drinks in a blink then Piper suggested we get water. We made our way to the water bar—or whatever it was called—and purchased three bottles. Even though there was a woman working there she still served women first. It didn’t matter the gender of the server; women were always served first. So much for equality; I wished like hell that feminism existed in the real world. No such luck.

I downed my water in gulps. The sweat on my body and face had dried, but I had been parched. The DJ had changed and, frankly, the new guy sucked. Sophia and Piper agreed so we moved to the main dance floor. The music was better, but not in the same realm as the magic DJ who had been playing in the side room. Still, not bad. I turned to say something to Piper, but she was gone. She had drifted into the crowd. I saw her, her head turned upward at the multicolored lights and fog above. Her eyes were filled with bliss. I wished I could see what she was seeing. The X Sophia had given me was clearly a small dose. I turned to Sophia to ask if it would be okay to have another go-round. She sighed and told me to follow her back to the corner where we had first gathered.

As she opened the baggie she said, “Whatever you do, don’t tell Daniel that I gave you ecstasy. In fact, don’t say anything about it at all.” She gave me more crystals and I popped them into my mouth. “Jesus, Michael! Why don’t you advertise to everyone?” Shit, I didn’t even think about it. It seemed so stupid that it was illegal, that any drugs were illegal. She softened a bit—just a bit—and said, “I suppose I’m going to have to mother you and Piper now. You’re both going to be flying. Keep drinking water!” I raised my gin and tonic as a sign of understanding then took a drink. Sophia shook her head and muttered, “Children.”

Sophia and I walked to the water woman and I purchased two more bottles, one for Sophia and one for me, before going back to the main room. I saw Piper. She was still in a state of awe. The people right around her seemed to be annoyed, perhaps because she was moving without any notice of them. Then she saw a guy and it was clear she was into him as she danced up next to him, looking at him with eyes wide as saucers, pure love beams shooting at him. He was clearly with someone else, though, and while he didn’t seem to mind, the woman with him did. She muscled between Piper and the guy then two of her friends did the same. The women all looked disgusted, but Piper, bless her heart, had no clue. She was so happy and she looked back up toward the ceiling, continuing to dance but now on her own without anyone around her. I started in her direction and Sophia said, “About time, Michael. Jeez.” 

I moved next to Piper, but there were already two other guys swooping in as well. It didn't help that I wasn’t feeling the music or the E like she was. Nevertheless, I started dancing. The guys did their thing then there were several other women and men around us. Piper's head was still in the clouds. After a few minutes she finally noticed that I was there. When she saw me her face lit up. “You’re here! It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” With that she looked back up, twirling in a circle, her arms outstretched. There was no way I’d be able to reach her in that state. I hoped the new dose would jumpstart me soon.

Instead, there was a change of DJs and Sophia came over to ask us if we wanted to go outside for a smoke. We made our way down the stairs, went to the lockers for cigs, and walked out front. We walked halfway down the block away from the stragglers around the entrance. The cold air felt good. It had been so fucking hot inside, but I wondered if that was because of the X as much as the dancing. Piper's eyes, meanwhile, were wild. She really didn't seem to know what the hell was happening other than that everything seemed silly. She had a grin plastered on her face that forced me to smile, too. I couldn't help myself, it was so damn infectious. Fuck, those dimples again!

After our cigs we went back inside, put our belongings away again, and went upstairs. More water then out onto the dance floor, this time the three of us together. We grooved for a while, but then the DJ changed again. We tried to dance with it for a few minutes, but he didn’t have it. We checked the side room and it was sparsely populated. Piped-in music, no DJ. Sophia suggested we go. Piper agreed so we went downstairs to the locker room and got our stuff. We went outside, had a smoke, and got on our bikes to ride. I rode with them, not sure where we were going exactly. I figured maybe another club, bar, or party. It was barely after two in the morning and I was really feeling the molly. The night air on my skin, in my lungs, so wonderful. As we rode, I saw the moon above. It was huge! I pointed it out and Piper was awed by it as well. Sophia yelled, “Will you two watch where you're going?! Jesus.”

Piper asked where I lived. I said, “Kerkstraat, near the Skinny Bridge.” Her eyes got big and she looked at Sophia. They both laughed. Piper said, “That’s back the other way.” Sophia emphatically said, “No, no, Michael, keep following.” Piper looked at Sophia with disgust and said something in Dutch. Sophia laughed and sang back something in a Dutch sing-song which made Piper shake her head and grumble. I briefly felt awkward because I wasn’t what was going on or how this was going to wind up. A car raced past and its red tail lights created little left behind little streaks in the air. I stopped thinking about the Dutch conversation and just wondered at all the sights and sounds all around me. It felt incredible to be moving through space on a bicycle made of stardust. 

As we cycled along a large canal, we passed several canals that connected to it under bridges we passed over. The side canals were bordered by long, tall buildings. They were attractive, not like they are in the center, but still attractive. I liked the feel of the area. We came to a corner just over a flat bridge and Sophia stopped. Piper and I stopped behind her as she said, “I’m going to head home.” She gave me a hug from her bike then said, “Michael, go with Piper.” Piper looked petrified. Sophia said, “Go, go, you two have fun!” Piper looked pissed off. Sophia rode off laughing. 

I didn't know what to do so I turned to look at Piper. My whole body felt fluffy and soft, but Piper looked annoyed. She mumbled for me to follow her down a canal street along a long building of apartments on our left. After passing maybe twenty apartments Piper came to a stop and parked her bike. I stopped and got off my bike, slid it into the rack, locked it, and looked at her. I saw Piper standing in the street so I walked up to her, not sure what to do or say. I still felt incredibly soft and happy, but she looked at me with disdain and adamantly said, “We’re not having sex.” I felt like she kicked me in the stomach. Why was she being so mean to me? It wouldn't have felt good to be told that in that way in any state, but the X had made me as harmless as a puppy. I held up my hands and said, “Okay, no sex. I …” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. What else was there to say? I hadn't made even the slightest move toward sex. The truth was I wanted to get the fuck back on my bike and ride away. It had nothing to do with not having sex, but the way she said it. I felt like something stuck on the bottom of her shoe.

Piper unlocked the building door and as we started walking upstairs she whispered, “We have to be really quiet. My roommate will be sleeping and she can be a real bitch when she’s pissed off. I don’t want to wake her. That would be bad.” We walked up several flights of stairs then she unlocked the apartment door. She turned to me with her forefinger over her puckered lips. I tiptoed behind her. We walked down a hallway to a door that led up another flight of stairs then out onto a terrace. A canal slowly flowed down below. I had always wondered what it was like on the balconies and terraces overlooking the canals and now I knew. There were trees lining either side, but even the tops of them were below us. There was a tremendous view of the moonlit canal. I saw a few boats, possibly houseboats, lined on either side.

I looked down for a bit. I must have had a look of wonder on my face because when I turned to Piper she was smiling at me. I silently mouthed, “It’s beautiful.” Piper nodded and she motioned me to follow her inside. We walked back down the stairs and she unlocked another door. We entered her room. It was large with odd but exciting angles from the ceiling. There was an offshoot to the left in the room where a couch sat against a wall with a window behind it. She quietly said, “Have a seat,” as she sat down near the edge of the couch. I sat down on the other side, enough space for one very large person to sit between us--I didn't want to be yelled at again. Fortunately, the ecstasy was still working its magic as I looked out the window at the canal. We were on the other side of the building from were we had looked down from the terrace, on the side where we had parked our bikes and entered. When I looked back inside at Piper it seemed like there was an ocean between us even though the couch wasn't that big.

We sat there silently for what seemed like days. I was still incredibly happy. I watched Piper now and then; her movements were liquid. She flowed so easily. The only time I had seen her uncomfortable with her body was outside when she said “We’re not having sex.” Otherwise, she moved fluidly, without effort. I was amazed by her. I couldn’t tell if it was the molly, but it didn’t matter. I broke the silence and said, “I had fun with you and Sophia. Thank you for including me.” Piper looked at me, her eyes significantly softened, and she replied. “I’m glad. I had fun, too.” She paused then continued, “I’m sorry if I was rude outside. I just don’t know you very well.” That made sense. I certainly appreciated the apology. We talked a little about my visit to Amsterdam and I explained more about my depression in the fall, that I was attempting to rebuild my life again, coming out of the funk and now climbing to new heights through new experiences.

Getting that out allowed me to breathe easier and relax. We were silent again for a while, but it didn’t feel awkward. I felt warm all over, still buzzing within. I extended my arm and opened my left hand on the couch. After some time passed, Piper put her hand in mine. She looked happy, but I might have been projecting that onto her because I was so damn blissful. I looked around her room. There was a lamplight on, but I couldn’t really focus on many of the details in the room. There was a nice-sized bed, a dresser, a desk. The light gave off a pinkish-red hue. I couldn’t tell if the walls were painted pink or white. The light distorted everything, especially mixed with the bright moonlight.

Piper looked about, too. She looked like she was in a different world. I wondered what the hell those eyes saw. It reminded me of the first time I saw her, the half-pixie Icelandic Bjork. She had that look at Arena, but that seemed more like it was the result of the E. This was different. As she was looking straight ahead, her eyes wide, peering intently, she blurted out, “I’m bipolar.” I had no idea what that meant. I said, “Oh.” She said, “I’m only telling you that because of what you said about your depression and how you came out of it by shrooming. I go through cycles, too.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, but it seemed like she was identifying me as someone with bipolar as well. If she was implying I was like her then I took it as a compliment because she was exceptionally unusual. I thought unique was the right word, but how could I be like someone unique? I could say I was weird, but that would imply she was, too. Then again she was weird, but in the most intriguing and intoxicating way.

I wanted to ask Piper about being bipolar but before I could she pulled her hand away and looked up at the ceiling as if she was seeing starlight for the first time in her life. I thought, “I wonder if that’s what bipolar is? Is it seeing things no one else but she can see?” If it was then I thought I understood why she might think I was like her. I could only imagine how I seemed to someone else, especially when I was shrooming or on ecstasy. Then again, at any time. She was probably still flying on the molly, but I also thought “This is who she is.” Either way, I liked her. I was also happy I no longer felt the uncomfortable longing for her that I had felt when I first met her. It was enjoyable simply sitting on the couch in her presence, but what I liked most was being alone with her in silence. There was a different rhythm, soft, a gentle gravity that kept things light without any danger of becoming untethered.

Whenever we talked, though, there was some uneasiness. When the silence returned the tension disappeared. She felt powerfully even when she was quiet. She seemed to be that way all the time. Maybe I was, too, in my own way. I knew I wasn’t really, though. Not consistently. I was also surprised by how much it had hurt when Piper snapped at me. I didn’t expect it, but I also didn’t expect it to affect me so much. I needed to be more careful with my feelings. I barely knew her.

I looked over at Piper again and she was looking at me. She looked away quickly, but before she did I saw that she had curiosity in her eyes. I wondered what I must have looked like, lost in my own thoughts, wondering about wondering. Her hand was out and I put my hand in hers. She turned and I smiled at her. She smiled, too, then turned away. I felt giddy, not like I was fifteen years old on a first date, but existing as ether in a nebula, a gaseous life form, permeable, shapeless. She seemed the same way. It had to be the ecstasy. She couldn’t really be that way, could she? No, no more than me. I thought about this, though. I knew quite a few individuals in Amsterdam who were simultaneously innocent while also being mature and worldly. I wasn’t sure if it was a paradox or if I had just been limited in meeting people who had those seemingly contradictory qualities. I was so much more used to hardcore manipulative and cynical people. Not exclusively, but most of the people I had met in life were like that. Maybe I had just been unlucky.

Piper looked at the window behind us. The sun was coming up. Shit, I hadn’t realized we had been sitting together for so long. She turned to me, her eyes softer still and a little droopy. “I don’t want to be rude, but I need to sleep.” I nodded and said, respectfully, “Of course. I should get going. I need to sleep, too. I aughed a little and said, “Now I just have got to figure out how to get back home.” She said it wasn’t that far and she explained the best way for me to go. As I got up and walked to her door she followed behind me. I opened the door and turned to say goodbye. Piper gave me a kiss on the cheek then stepped back, closing the door.

I biked home watching the sun rise. The air was brisk. I didn’t think about the events of the night at all; I took in the new sights of a neighborhood I hadn’t visited. In the afterglow of the X, I though, “What a lovely city, even beyond the center.”