THE ROOTS OF CONTACT 1976

By

Peter Nolan Smith

A disco.
Flashing strobes,
Deafening drum bass.
A young weekend crowd.
Dancing.

Sexually fearless males on ‘ludes
Disco waifs on blow
All of us 99% dead by dawn.
None of us desire survival.

A thin wanton teenager sensually sways to
Donna Summer’s ‘ LOVE TO LOVE YOU, BABY’.
She dances with me.
Her body designed to seduce my drugged libido
“Love to love you, baby.”
She lipsynches the chorus
“Love to you you baby.”

I remember her name.
Sara.
I push away the private school blonde.
Hard.
Girls like her are danger.
Even for slaves to the Now.

I thread my way to the bar.
“A vodka-tonic.”
Jhoury, the bartender, wants me.
He pours a double and slips me a ‘lude.

I lean against the bar.
A voyeur.

White boys dance with black men
Girls with girls.
No one is straight.
Not even 10%.

The DJ pushes the beat
On and on and on.

I drop the 714.
It’s my second.

Across the dance floor a lithe female
Golden under the strobe white light
Her eyes fell on me
Mine fell on her.
Mirror to mirror
I know her.

Gia is famous.
A Vogue model.
I am no one,
But I am the most no one here.

LOVE TO LOVE YOU BABY
Segue to silence.
The dance floor stalled to a near-stop.
The DJ smiles under a spotlight.

More silence,
One second, two seconds fifteen seconds
Then Diana Ross’ breathless voice.
We all know this song.
We sway
We all know what is coming

LOVE HANGOVER

Almost a ballad
Then Magic
The bass, the drums, the guitar and
Diana on top of it all
Gia and I meet on the dance floor

She said her name
I tell her mine.
Names mean nothing in our world.
Her body to mine.

The ‘lude hits
The madness of flesh

Gia and me
Immortalia.
For now and eternity.