I got to go out dancing last night. Blues, for the first time ever. It’s been so long since I did salsa that I felt like I’d forgotten everything, and was nervous so was stiff and probably a difficult partner. But it was a wonderful evening. Lots of Chris’ and Carly’s friends asked me to dance, repeatedly, and I owe them both a lot for managing to get me out there. When I wasn’t dancing I was intently people watching – observing their individual styles, who danced with whom, who danced ‘well’ and what that meant, who was enjoying themselves. Watching Chris was phenomenal, insightful, and uplifting. Do you know how it feels to watch someone’s ‘definition’ in your mind shift? I saw a side of one of my best, closest friends, that I had heard of but not actually seen before.
The feel of the place was marvelous. Old warehouse type feel, that (sorry, pretentious word possibly mis-used coming up) gestalt of qualities that goes beyond just sight – textures, scents … feel. Wood floors, swords and sconces on the brick walls (it’s a fencing club), large framed windows open to the street below. No flashy club lighting, just dimmed chandeliers hanging above. Nobody was drunk and staggering, nobody was rude (er, well, except one guy who was being exceptionally and intentionally rude to Chris, but that’s not news to anyone there nor to me. He’s just an ass); it was a private venue.
In the beginners’ lesson at the start of the evening a man appeared at the other end – tall, dark, handsome – and we did the eyes meeting across a crowded room thing. I watched him a little through the evening, saw him chatting easily with friends and dancing with women, seeming at least at ease with the style if not as practiced as others. He asked me to dance, twice.
At one point he told me his name. He had an accent that I can only describe as delicious. His smile was open and seemed honest. The second time I danced with him it had that (sorry to anyone related to me who is disturbed by this comment…) yummy quality to it. A feeling of yeeeeaaaaah, I could enjoy doing this more.
I’ve forgotten his name. I don’t know if it’s deliberate or not. His accent? Lacks description because I don’t want to know. I want him to stay just what he was. An attractive stranger on a surreal evening, little more than a figment of my imagination, a feeling-concept-emotion just hanging there to settle my mind on now and then.
If I know too much, that disappears.
If he has a girlfriend, didn’t like me, didn’t enjoy dancing with me, is a jerk … it all disappears.
Some might call this cowardly.
I call it comfortable and all I can handle right now.