On Friday night I sat for twenty minutes on what felt like a brand new, well-lit SBahn, texting Austin about all the faces and the faraway dog, and totally wasn't paying attention. Finally I realized I was not headed to Oranienburger Strasse, where Clärchens Ballhaus is, but Oranienburg, some place far north. I hopped off, got on the reverse track, and promptly felt that I didn't even want to dance anymore, that I'd be arriving late and was already feeling tired and a little hungry too. But hell, I was already on my way.
I arrived around 9:15 and snuck into the bathroom first to change shoes and freshen up, then walked into the beautiful ballroom, where Nitish was sitting near the front door and I put down my things. The bar upstairs wasn't open, so I had to go downstairs and into the main restaurant for a big glass bottle of water (7 euros). During salsa, one of the DJ's spun me so fast and so hard that I must have looked like an insane tornado, just a laughing blur, trying not to slip, and sometimes hovering in the air. He went easier on me the second time around, probably because of the face I made when he came up to me again.
There were plenty of people there, but as the night went on a surprising amount devolved to stoic spectators. Nitish and I took a breather on the balcony and talked about one of the clubs here in Berlin and the conservative American South, and we made rough plans to go clubbing either the following weekend or the next day, since I told him I was more spontaneous and didn't actually like making plans.
Around midnight I said I was going to go, and he asked how tired I was, and I was like why, ha ha, you wanna go clubbing? Next thing I know we're in an Uber and then standing in a pretty short line to a well-known techno club! Normally there's a pretty fierce dress code and doorman, but it was "come as you are" night so there I was in my leopard leggings and black crop, handing over $25 and then my jacket, purse and phone to a snappy German man who said I was wasting his time and everyone else's by not listening to the instructions to zip everything up.
I sipped a delicious but not very strong Moscow Mule (which came with a giant slice of cucumber) and walked around exploring all the nooks and crannies, the dungeon and the balconies, the indoor pool and the lounges; it was like a mix between a haunted house, rooftop bar and the music festival Deep Tropics, where there’s jungle themes, performance art, and various dance stages. It was such a candy store for the senses, the sounds and the eclectic decorations, the costumes people wore and the way they moved. The stage full of people bobbing their heads, one guy in a full ski mask, one person covered head to toe in orange glow paint; on the dance floor, mostly young people but old people, too; a woman in a wheelchair and "regulars" with ear plugs, hanging out near the front; in the co-ed bathroom, urinals to the left and stalls to the right, frequently two women to a stall and a man vomiting in the trash can. I was maybe a little too sober for some of it, since I was definitely thinking way more than feeling, observing rather than experiencing. Sometimes when I listen to techno I'll get chill bumps and moved to tears, but I've noticed at Deep Tropics and Friday too that in a public place I'm not as tapped into those feels.
Still I danced until 4 am, and then walked into the U Bahn with several other people just ending their day and past a bakery that was just starting theirs. 4 am was an interesting time to be moving through the city, when dawn was just breaking above a scattering of black outfits and tired faces. I waited for the bus by the Arcaden at 4:50 but it didn't come, so I walked the 25-ish minutes home and called Austin on the way. We talked until 9 am, until the spring sun was slinging shadows and sleepiness was settling in my bones.
I took melatonin and fell asleep until after noon, wrote a little and ate some lunch, then visited Opa who was reading a newspaper and lit up when I walked in. Was! Das ist eine Uberasschung! He said, folding the newspaper away. Oma had apparently just left thirty minutes before. I sat on his bed and held his hand and showed him the video of salsa dancing from the previous night, and he asked if I could dance the waltz, which is such an adorable grandpa thing to ask. He scoffed at my ripped-out-knee jeans and I laughed and was like oh nooo I forgot I was wearing these and I had told myself to never wear these holy jeans to visit him because I knew he'd have something to say, and he was like, should I give you thirty Euros to buy new ones? Or give you a pair of my own?
I asked him if he's been out in a wheelchair yet into the fresh air and he said everyone keeps talking about it but it's not happening, and so when the nurse walked in I asked her if it was possible to take Opa into the beautiful day, and she said yes it's possible but unfortunately when they tried to set him in the wheelchair last time, he tweaked his hip somehow. Opa was like was?! Nein! and had zero recollection of this, but when I asked Oma about it she told me the nurse was probably referring to when he was at the other hospital weeks ago. But she said they could try again if they're very careful, or they could also wheel his whole bed outside, which seemed like the ideal option. I was so excited and looked to Opa like YES, do you want to do this?! Because it was literally almost 70 degrees. The nurse addressed Opa like yes, when you want to, we can go outside; is this what you would like? Because we can only do it if you agree to it. And suddenly Opa was almost smiley-shy like ah quatsch! which means nonsense, and hör do mal auf, which means like stop that. And then he quickly changed the subject and said, this is my Enkelkind from America, this is why she's wearing these pants.
On Tuesday when Oma first took me to Opa's new room, she kept saying how much she enjoyed the hospice/hospital campus because it really was beautifully landscaped and calm. She said people from the city should just come here to get away from it all. After visiting Opa, I moved around to different benches, chasing the late afternoon sun and journaling on my phone; it was my first time sitting some place without street noise in so many weeks.
I closed my eyes and could hear the soft shuffle of very old men strolling on by, and the birds cheering them on.
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