Red, red, red, red, red, red, red. I had recently been reduced to purchasing a book about the art of flirting. In one chapter in particular, the subject of how to act in a nightclub was explored. In this section the author referred to females that were potentially interested in you as ‘green lights’ and those that weren’t as ’red lights.’ this particular aspect of the book came to mind when I found myself at a nightclub, swimming through what seemed like an endless sea of Vermillion.
It occurred to me that if I actually attempted to interact with the girls there, I might start to experience a greener hue. That seemed to be the theory anyway, but my ability to convert theory into action leaves a lot to be desired.
Being in this social space surely meant that I was somewhat free to interact with the people within it, however, this did not seem to be the case. For within this social space were other, smaller social spaces which consisted of groups of people. Their doors weren’t open to me, I’d have to pull something rather spectacular out of the bag if I wanted to be part of these spaces.
I bought a drink at the bar, my exchange with the barman had brought me into another social space - one that was rather sparse, except for a few dead words that lay there, disintegrating into nothingness. As they crumbled away I felt no remorse, I mean, how could I? I felt nothing for them, I’d uttered these words and as soon as they had left my mouth I cast them down and left them there to wither and decompose.
“can I get a vodka and lemonade please,” “that’ll be £1.50,” “thanks,” “thanks.” these words had pretty much gone now, and what remained of the broken down detritus became part of the space itself, forming the roles of both the barman and myself. The barman has interests and hobbies, as do I, but I will never know about his and he will never know of mine while we remain in this particular social space. We could be best friends, but in this space our interaction consists only of my ordering a drink and him selling it to me.
In order to change this space and cultivate words that would not die as soon as I said them I’d have to transcend my role within it. I wasn’t quite ready for this so I got my drink and walked away from the bar, leaving the social space and re-entering the larger one of the club itself. This shifting between social spaces left me feeling slightly nauseous.
Red, red, red, red. Oh how I hoped for viridian to wash over me, but perhaps I was hoping for too much. I felt that there was no way of me being part of any social space here unless I had some sort of key.
I went to relieve my bladder and as I was doing so I noticed a puddle of urine on the floor at the back of the toilet. It was coming towards me fairly rapidly along with a worrying feeling. This feeling was not brought on by the prospect of getting piss on my shoe, don’t get me wrong, no one wants to get piss on their shoe, but it was not my main concern.
My main concern lay with what this yellow river symbolised. I started to believe that it represented some sort of timeline, and once it had reached my shoe then that would be it, I would have lost any opportunity I had to interact with anyone and prevail socially. This may have been an irrational belief but I quickly finished up and moved my foot away nonetheless, hopefully securing any opportunities that I might encounter.
Before I walked out of the cubicle I noticed something on the ledge behind the toilet. It was a lighter. However, it was no ordinary lighter for I believed it to be the key that I required to unlock the various social spaces that existed within the club.
Someone might need a lighter and they might happen to ask me if I had one, and I would. I’d give it to them and we would ride the waves of conversation, the words would carry me around the new and exciting social space. It was my destiny to take the lighter, so I pocketed it and exited the toilet. I felt exhilarated by the prospect of new interaction, even if it were just for a minute or two - that would be something.
The excitement of possibility took me to a hypothetical and fantastical space where words flowed seamlessly from my mouth, covering me like a blanket. It left me ungrounded enough in reality to fail to notice that the fast approaching piss was now creeping around the toilet door.
Not only was I bathing in vermillion but I was soon to bathe in amber as well. The colour which would be produced by the combination of the two did not seem all that attractive to me, so I made a hasty exit from the club.
I found myself in the social space of the various smokers outside, someone was bound to ask me for a light here. As I hung around I found myself entering a liminal space, between worlds, having just left one social space and waiting to enter another.
I remained in this state for a while, no one was approaching me for a light. I decided to give up and go back to the castle, and as I started to walk back I began to wonder whether I had misconstrued the nature of my relationship with the lighter. Perhaps the lighter was not a bridge between me and someone else, but it was in fact I that was the bridge between two other individuals. Maybe if I left the lighter on a low wall on the way home, then someone would find it and they would then have the key to new interaction.
Once again I had begun to feel like an abstract thought, a spectre, only able to observe new interactions between others without ever being part of it myself. I imagine that if I did happen to leave the lighter somewhere, then I might be causing some sort of interaction and thus leaving some kind of imprint. However, I decided against it and kept the lighter, for I was quite determined to make good use of it one day, even if it transpired that its only purpose was to light my cranberry and cinnamon scented candle.
A week after this event I found myself in my chamber staring at the very same scented candle, enjoying its sickly, yet comforting fragrance. The lighter lay next to it, having fulfilled its only purpose to me. I picked it up and placed it on the mantelpiece, admiring it both as an artefact of lost opportunities, and a symbol of one’s desperate attempt to grasp onto the idea of fate.
