Rave On

I see the blood arc over the lemon just before the lights blink out all over.

Pitch black. Sudden silence.

Lola’s yelp is harsh. I jump to where the dishcloth should be, call out, “I’ve got the towel, keep it elevated, hold on, where are you?”

I hear a slosh, a gulp and then another shriek.

“I have lemon in the cut! Hurry! Maybe tequila too. I feel faint.”

I bark at her to slide to the floor as I reach her, find her arm and wind the towel around her hand.

“Stay here, I’m going to light a candle. Why is the stupid power out?”

I stand, whack my head on the cabinet, find the junk drawer. Matches. There were matches here somewhere… barbeque lighter, even better.

I pull the fancy vanilla -scented pillar candle from the back of the counter and light it, watching the light gutter and pool across the blood-splattered counter and massacred lemon.

We’d had loud dance music playing. Now two car alarms duel in the distance.

I slide to the floor with Lola, take out my phone, punch up a disco playlist. Take the tequila bottle she’s still clutching. Tip it back and salute her with it.

“NOW it’s a party!”

Lola and I work together at a downtown sandwich bar. We work until 3 am five nights a week. On Mondays we party. The building we live in is mostly cool people. Lots of shift workers. We do apartment crawls sometimes, or roof parties. Tonight is a roof party night.

We have our phones set to flashlight and the bottle of tequila, the blood-soaked dishtowel and a couple of joints. We head to the roof.

“Justin! Why are the lights out?”

Justin is our upstairs neighbor. He wants to fuck us both–together. Sometimes he is annoying, but tonight our nerves are frayed. He is comforting.

“Saved yez a seat,” he grins, slides forward and opens his legs, intimating we can each sit on one.

“Really, is it horny o’clock already?” Lola rolls her eyes.

“It’s dark everywheres, kind of wild, eh?” Justin rolls with it, gestures across the dark city. He’s right, it’s dark as far as we can see. I open Twitter, scroll for a minute.

“Weird, my phone isn’t loading. I can’t get service.”

“You’re playing music, birdbrain.” Lola kicks me with her outstretched foot.

“It’s from my library, ya ditz.”

We sit looking out for a few minutes. It’s a warm July night, and there is barely a breeze. There is a sliver of a crescent moon giving off enough light to silver everything, like an underexposed old-timey film. We can see flickers of light – people’s phones and flashlights – dancing like random stars in the streets.

The door to the stairway opens and we turn to see if it’s Gordon, who is usually here pretty early. Gordon is an older guy, but he brings booze and plays guitar and is pretty fun.

Gordon and a lady I recognize from the first floor, I think her name is Nadine. Lola and I think she may be trans, but it’s not polite to ask. And anyway, who cares? She once gave us a box of barely used premium lipsticks. Like, expensive stuff.

Nadine says, “The whole radio dial is empty.”

I shrug. “The cell towers are out too.”

Nadine’s eyes are huge. She looks kind of terrified now that I can see her better. “You don’t understand. The radio dial is NEVER empty. Like, there’s always generators, and small-time ham operators. There’s just static.”

I don’t know what ham is in this context, but radio has been dead for years, so I still don’t get the big hoo-ha.

Gordon has three bottles of rum under his arms and two beers in his pants pocket. His guitar is slung on his back.

He sits on one of the empty lawn chairs.

“Sit down, Nadine. If the world is ending, you might as well not be alone.”

“You guys. The POWER is out. Holy cow. Exaggerate much?” Lola laughs.

Nadine is shaking her head. “I have a bad feeling.”

Gordon is strumming the guitar, tuning, and humming a song. Nothing I recognize.

“Have a shot of tequila, Nadine.” I hand her the bottle.  “We have salt, but the lemons fought back.”

I look at Lola who waves her towel-lumped hand.

“Are you still bleeding?” I ask. She shrugs.

The tequila is gone, the rum is down to one bottle and Gordon keeps singing this song, “And you tell ME over and over and over again my friend….” And Nadine keeps cutting him off, “don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it.”

Lola is asleep or maybe passed out, and the towel is dark with blood. We should get her to a hospital in a few hours when the sun comes up. Justin is patting her hair tenderly. So cute.

“Are those Doritos still there?” I ask Nadine, and she passes them to me. I notice her nails are bitten to the quick.

“Look, guys, the moon is coming up,” I say, pointing to the orange round peering over the horizon.

Something weird. A hum? A whine? Machine kinda noise. It’s hard to focus on with the rum and tequila warring in my belly.

I wake up wondering who is screaming. It’s coming from the street. I guess I haven’t slept long. My mouth is pasty but it’s still dark, except for the light from the giant full moon. More screams. Why didn’t we bring up water? My mouth tastes like socks.

“Gordon, who’s screaming? Have you got any water?” I speak quietly. I think everyone else is asleep but I see Gordon sitting up, lightly strumming the guitar, staring at the sky.

Nadine turns her head. She is lying down but awake. I see tears streaming down her face, rivulets of mascara. She is not having a good drunk. I wonder if she took Ambien. She passes me a bottle of water she pulls from her purse.

Gordon doesn’t move. He’s singing quietly, “Flying mother nature’s silver seed to a new home in the sun…”

The moon is way too big. Something weird.

“Maybe we should go inside, guys.”

No one moves.

Lola clutches my hand, and Justin holds both of us. The vibration from the not-moon is earth-shaking, literally. I feel it in every organ. Then it shifts. Sounds like… music.

Nadine is wrapped in Gordon’s arms.

A spotlight frames us all. I see my friends become transparent. Are we dying? Or are we being welcomed aboard?

Hell of a Monday.