The Encounter

For those with secrets in the dark

***

Jay, my broken-hearted wingman, is AWOL. I’m getting tired of waiting for him. It makes me feel claustrophobic to be surrounded by the illusion of infinite space created by the dark, the fog machine, and the disco ball in this club, and I’m not a fan of the overpowering pulsation from the DJ’s bass cutting right through me. It’s just bad music here. No one wants to hear crap eighties tunes remixed to sound like modern techno and played too loud on a crap sound system. Some clubs get the proportion of space, sound, and crowd level right, but this place is a dive. Jay’s lucky I’m supportive enough to walk into a hole like this. He’s my best friend, and the break-up’s been hard on him. He wants to be surrounded by hot, single, warm bodies, where he can mingle with all the others wishing to drown their sorrows.

Sure. I can support that; just wish he’d have chosen a better place.

I check my phone, but there’s no new message.

Screw this! The least he could do is show up. Dude is already half an hour late.

I know Jay has his duties at the base like the rest of us flyboys, but if this crowd gets any thicker, I’ll suffocate. I can’t enjoy myself alone, and I know I must look like some creep just watching everyone else. I don’t want to be that creeper on the sidelines. I...