The Rave
It is 11 p.m. on a Friday night and the crowded field is dark and eerily quiet. Suddenly music blasts through four 5-foot tall speakers and strategically placed multi-colored lights flash through the night sky. About 100 teens, pierced and tattooed, scream and begin dancing to no beat but their own. At the rickety homemade bar, liquor is being poured by the shot full as the bartender creates concoctions that don’t exist in most legal clubs. This is a rave. Toted as the most dangerous and frightening parties by parents, cool and outlandish by teens and young adults, these parties are usually held in secret and out of the public eye. Today however, the planners have taken a risk and deliberately held this party on a deserted piece of land outside of Poughkeepsie. The only light comes from the misshapen moon above; no houses exist for several miles. This town in upstate New York is filled regularly with students from local universities including Vassar, Marist, SUNY New Paltz, and Mount Saint Mary, all within a 45 minute drive. This is a rock and roll town and concerts are held here regularly by artists such as Ani DiFranco and Alanis Morrisette. But those performances don’t reach the heart of those who come here. “There’s no better stress reliever like dancing your [âÂ?¦] off”, says C. Spencer, a 19 year old local. “We have a war going on, natural disasters around the world, and spaceships blowing up in the sky. What are we supposed to do?” Spencer, like the others, looks like any other young girl: she’s blonde with sea blue eyes and an A student. This is her fourth rave. “People think rave’s are all about taking Extasy and sex. There’s alcohol here but that’s it. We don’t want to die, we want to live. And this is how we do it.” The dance area consists of an oval section of the field surrounded by large rocks. The planners didn’t place the rocks this way. Rumor has it that this circle was used for witchcraft many years ago and that is why the field is sill empty. On the other side of the dance floor there are a group people hugging and kissing. For them, this is a private, personal event and they do not want to share it with anyone they do not know. Brian Melon, a 6-foot, 5-inch tall man acts as a bouncer has worked these raves before. Hours of dancing, drinking, laugh go by. Dozens of kids dressed in black run around the field playing a form of tag, some lay by a low lit fire, and others hang out by the bar. There are no fights, no sex, and no drugs of any kind to be found. It’s the end of the party and the sun will be up soon. It’s 4 a.m. and people are slowly making it to cars to get home before their parents wake up. K. Roberts is looking for a ride back to Westchester. The 15-year old doesn’t have a license and seems to have lost her friend whom she drove up here with. “I don’t know what I am going to do”, Roberts says, looking around frighteningly at the few stragglers who are left wandering the field. “I have to get home. I have to get home”. “Hey kid, you need a lift”, comes a voice from behind us. It’s the bouncer. “I’m on my way back to the [New York] city.” Roberts, happy to have an offer, runs to the black, high-end vehicle, tosses her backpack into the back seat and holds her hand out to the young gentleman. “My name’s Katie”, she says softly, her small hand lost in his. “Mine is Brian. I’ll get you home safe.” Ah, first names at last.
