A Boyfriend, a Lover, a Husband, and a Stranger

Our knees touched beneath the table in that dark local bar. His shoulders where bigger than the table that held our beer. The locals were getting wild, happy hour had just begun. One of the regulars, who had coins left over from his brew, fed the jute box. Old country rock poured out and increased the volume of the joint, along with the anticipation in that smoky room. Momentary silence surprised everyone when the song ended, leaving conversations, now able to be heard, dangling in the air, absorbed by ears they were not intended for. As the opening rift to my favorite old Stones song fills the air, he leans in towards me and grabbing my hand, yells. "Dance!" There was no dance floor. There was barely room to squeeze in between tables, but he stood up, and pushed everything he could out of our way to make room. He only had space to move his upper torso to the rhythm as I jumped to the beat. He danced with grace, for such a large man, and would peek shyly from underneath his cowboy hat for my reaction. I threw back my head and laughed with joy as I perspired and bounced. When my girlfriend walked in, he motioned to her, with a nod of his head to join us, but she was unable to weave across the crowded room. So she danced with us from where she was. I remember wishing the music would never end and the endless possibilities, if only we had a dance floor.

I was freezing cold and I was wanting to call it quits, and pack up for the day, when the band struck up. "Dance with me?", I implored him in front of his fair weather friends and began dancing where I without walking to the pit. I knew if he turned his back on me, I would loose him to some buddy, or sale, or simply be forgotten. "C'mon, one dance", I taunted dancing inbetween him and his marks. If he was foolish enough to turn me down, one of his so called cohorts would take me up on it, and I knew his ego would not allow that. "Ok, ok, let me find someone to watch my stuff." I followed him into the front of the band, and tried to dance with him. He did not look at me once. He faced the band and jerked his body in an ungainly manner as ifhe were an epileptic trying to strike a wressling pose. When I danced in front of him, back into his line of vision, he turned away again, to look to see who might else be in the crowd. By that time, I was so embarrassed by his dicombobulated movements, it did not bother me a bit to be ignored by this man to was so intent on seeing who was watching him. He never noticed me slip away into the crowd. I was wishing no one thought I was his partner, I knew I would never be warm with him.

The ball room was lit with holiday sparkle and my heels along with my boredom were killing me. We were having yet another conversation on a subject I knew nothing off, with some faceless suits and their partners, when the orchestra switched from classical to dance. Our group disapates, some to the bar, but most to the dance floor. "Dance with me?" I beg him, heading him off as I know he is heading to a table. "No, I want to sit down." "Please dance with me?", I try one more time without shame. "Come one buddy, get out there on the floor." I am saved by one of his associates who sees how bad I want to dance, but understands how inappropriate it would be to ask me himself. Once on the floor he closes his eyes, to better concentrate on getting his own dance moves right, shutting me out to dance by myself. So I study him, knowing he is self conscious and wanting to make him more so. As I watch him, taking his measured and timed steps, I wonder how much fun he could be, if he were to cut the corporate marionette strings that choreograph his footwork.

It is late and I don't want to be there. I put in my face time, made my appearance with the girls and am ready to go home. It is now to loud and dark in the club to hold anything close to a conversation and the everyone here is at the stage where they are vieing for attention by trying to be the funniest and wildest in the place. I am done, and push back my chair from the table and stand, planning on yelling my goodnights and running off before any of them can protest my leaving, and there he is, standing at my elbow. "Will you dance with me?" he asks. Surprised, I think what the heck, as he leads me by the hand to the floor. We dance together easily, as if we had both done this all our lives. When the crowd became thick on the dance floor, he simply placed one of his hands on my waist to keep us in synch without any interference. His touch was not needed but apreaciated. I do not know what I thought during that dance, I only felt apart of warm perfection in union.