A Mark That Lasts Forever

Denial | 否定 section 4

Friday night, the square in front of Shibuya Station is exceptionally crowded with people mostly in their twenties. When I first moved to Tokyo, just being here made my heart race with excitement. Today, as I walk through the crowd, searching for my friends, my heart races for a different reason. Tonight might make the top three worst things I've ever done.

"Here's yours, Makoto!" is the first thing Takeru says as I approach my friends. He has his arm stretched out in front of him, offering me a plastic card.

"Sorry I'm late," I apologize as I accept the card. It's a driver's license with the photo I had sent to Takeru of myself yesterday. The birth year is set to two years earlier than my actual birthday. My photo is a little bit blurrier than the original, but overall, I'd say it's a pretty convincing ID.

We head down the backstreets until we come across a long line of people in clubbing attire in front of Nest. I try to gulp down my nerves as we slowly inch toward the entrance. When there are only a few heads in front of us, Takeru turns around to show us his excited face. I'm praying the fake IDs will work while anxiously imagining what will happen inside if they do.

The entrance is dark. Two unfriendly-looking girls stand behind a table, checking IDs and taking payments. Thick bass resonates from the hallway behind them. The four of us take turns showing our IDs, me going last. The girl who takes mine glances between it and my face a couple of times before nodding. Whew, we made it.

Making it past the locker area, the EDM music grows louder, pounding into my ears. When Takeru opens the door to the dance floor, my own excitement starts to build up. The room is dark with flashing lasers and countless bodies. Near the entrance are round standing tables, some of them claimed by people. A counter of busy bartenders swiftly filling cups has a handful of people waiting around it. The dance floor is filled with bodies jumping in place, hands waving in the air. The serious dancers are all at the front near the DJ. Seeing a crowd clapping around them, I'm already itching to join in.

"Let's get drinks first," Takeru yells over the blaring music.

I follow my friends to the bar, but my eyes are glued to the dance floor. Takeru hands us all highballs. I don't like the taste, but I can tolerate it.

"What do you think?" Koki asks me, following my gaze.

"I'd rather be over there," I say.

"Me too. Let's show them how it's done tonight," he smirks as he clacks his glass against mine.

"Takeru! You made it!" a tanned guy with slicked-back hair calls out as he approaches our group. Behind him follows another guy who is just as tanned. They both wear tank tops that show off exaggerated arm muscles.

"Hey Jun!" Takeru calls out, welcoming him to our table.

I flinch, thinking I hear "Shun" at first.

Takeru introduces the two guys as Jun and Shinya. Jun looks like he's trying to be friendly, but his disinterest is written all over his face. Shinya doesn't say a word and simply nods to acknowledge us. I wonder why they went to the trouble of getting us IDs.

After a bit of small talk, Takeru, Jun, and Shinya start checking out girls, discussing which ones they should try to approach. Koki and I take this as our cue to down our highballs and head for the dance floor.

We push through the crowd toward the DJ until hitting the circle of people cheering and clapping for two hip-hop dancers. Koki and I stand by.

"Who's going first?" Koki asks.

"First come, first serve," I declare as I jump into the middle of the floor. I let the music take control, going into a hip-hop step. After going two months without moving my body, I'm ready to awe the crowd.