90s hits blare in my ears, hitting the nostalgia bone, as if I never grew any older than 14 and the world was still a small town where the best thing that could happen to me was not getting bullied on my way back from school. I remember how voices around me were like a pinkish brown noise, lulling me into a sense of safety and belonging. It made my thoughts lie down for a moment; the noise, smells, and laughter mixed made for a great tranquilizer; I got high on those alone. A lot has changed, but this place still looks the same.
Back then, my body swayed to the beats of whining little lads from lands I have never been to, nor would I ever go to. Things like that were not for me, or so my father told me, while my mother simply laughed. I always loathed the moment the lights went on and took it as my cue to walk against the grain. I would wrestle my way through the crowd, ignoring the angry looks as people elbowed me aside. Once I reached the wall, I would lean nonchalantly against it, patiently waiting for what was to come. I watched how the others tried to cover up their drunkenness; to no avail.
When they were all standing outside singing through their bouts of puking, waiting for a head clear enough to face the parents; that is when I would leave. But not with my own jacket. Cloakrooms were different back then. A great story or simply the indifference of the employee made it easy to just go for the warmest coat I could see. I’d bury my face in the collar of the jacket and turn a corner as soon as possible. I would flinch at the thought of the other kid who, after frantically searching for his own coat and imagining the wrath of his parents for losing a nice and expensive jacket, came home with mine instead.
Although a lot of time had passed, every fiber in my being could remember it as if it happened yesterday. The music and fashion around me made it feel like time stood still for everyone but me; that the intervening years were just a figment of my imagination. A dark and lonely figment that is. I wish I could give my younger self just a spark of what I have now; a bit of hope, a bit of love, maybe even a bit of zeal.
My memories weren’t going the kind and nostalgic route I thought they would go, so it’s time to leave this disco. I no longer want to dwell on the time that I was 14 years old, and I want to free myself from the hold my memories have on me. I collect my coat from the cloakroom. My coat: this time I paid for it with my own money. There’s no need to leave with some rich kid’s jacket anymore. Mine still isn’t stylish, but it sure does keep me warm. As soon as I feel the crisp air, muscle memory kicks in. I put up the collar of my jacket and turn around the corner. The town still wakes up in the same rhythm as it did when I was a teenager. My feet lead me to the route to the river, which has not changed a bit. The benches still have their double function as seating in the daytime and an uncomfortable bed at night. My back still aches when I look at them. I know I will pass the bridge. I know I will halt. I know I will contemplate, but this time I will contemplate thoughts long gone. Thoughts that have been on my mind for a long time, but have now faded like an early 90s hit. Not everything needs a revival.