Amsterdam at Midnight

This one time, in Amsterdam...

At the start of every hour the bartenders stand on the thick, black, sticky wood of the bar and blow fire. The patrons get covered in lighter fluid and for thirty seconds their cheers drown out the beat of the music that is so loud it feels as if my ears are trying to grow another layer of protection from the sound. The music is in time with my heart beat and I wonder if that’s an accident or if my heart has changed its rhythm to keep in time. The pulsating relaxes my body as if it no longer needs to pump the blood itself - the rhythm is in charge and I feel serenely alive.

The bar looks like an alley you’d walk through to get to somewhere else. It is narrow, dark, and feels dirty, like a street that no one pays attention to. The walls are cobblestones that match those on the footpath outside, guiding travelers through the cold Amsterdam air in search of some place warm. Breaking through the darkness of the stones are bursts of fluorescent light �" lights embedded in the walls that make you feel as if it is glowing. Dark clothes blend in here but the whites look as if they are biblical �" they make me squint like when I try and stare directly into the sun.

As I walk, my shoes sink then peel off the floor, the result of hundreds of drinks spilled in excitement, in anger, in the bump of a body. I imagine what this place has seen, what this place has heard. There are lips stuck together, hands matted in hair and bodies so close they are one. Though there is space, people dance together as if they are one body, clusters of cells multiplying then breaking off.

The line to the bathroom stretches around the perimeter of the wall. Bathroom is a generous word as the tiny cubicle contains a bowl without a seat, a floor made of wet toilet paper and an unfriendly tattooed woman holding the door shut as you pee. Class does not matter here, people are here to be free, not snobby. This place is the most free I have ever felt, intoxicated like I'm not completely in control yet sober enough to memorise every nook and cranny. I know this is a night I will never forget and will often look to as I try and remember what being free feels like.

My heart starts to race as I look up at the mirrored ceiling and see my own face staring back at me through the smudges. I don't look like me but like someone I'd like to know. I wonder if that person will live in this bar forever or if they will follow me home. I step out the tiny hole in the wall that is the entrance, nothing special from the outside, and the cold hits me like a freight train. I back up, back into the warm and push through the crowd. The bartenders are about to blow fire again. I look up at the mirror as the fireballs light up the faces of those around me, and take a mental photograph of my smile.