I had been anticipating going to dance somewhere, anywhere, all week, but a last minute change of plans meant that I was going to Row's birthday celebrations at Milsa's instead of Salsateque where I have my weekly Latin dance marathon. So, I am pleasantly surprised when Row and the gang agree to come with Steph and I to PJ O'Hara's earlier than I had originally thought we might... let the dancing begin is what I immediately think when we cross the bar's threshold and hand over our coats, scarves and other paraphernalia to the evening's jacket guardians. My feet are already itching to move and my hips are aching to follow the beat of any song the DJ will play.
After greeting and chatting with a few people I either know or have recognized from previous parties, my own smaller and more intimate party makes its way to the dance floor at the back of the bar. The dancing area is rather barren, but it doesn't matter to me as I drag my rather reluctant revelers onto the dance floor in order to get the groove going as early as possible. I climb onto the elevated platform and begin to ham it up for the benefit of my friends, my motto being: fake it till you feel it. I wiggle my booty suggestively at Row, making her laugh, and serenade her with my loud and obnoxious renditions of "DJ's Got Us Falling In Love Again," "I Like it," and "Who's that Chick" while exaggerating my mouth and arm gestures. For Steph, my spooning companion for the evening, I reserve the shaking of my disappearing breasts by moving my shoulders rapidly and spreading out my arms; she dances near me and sings her heart out to all of the songs she recognizes while laughing at the theatrics I am putting on for their benefit, and mine, truth be told. Abdie, one of our gorgeous male friends, disappears and reappears at sporadic moments, dancing with me zealously for short intervals of time.
Clearly, I am and feel in my element while the others are not feeling it so much; thus, it is decided that the others shall go to another bar close-by while I stay in order to dance and ogle the male chocolate wrestlers that are supposed to be the main attraction for us ladies tonight. I feel a little hard pressed to not be going with Steph and Row to the other bar, partly because I do not want to lose Steph since we are spending the night together and secondly because I had not wanted to spend another night alone at a club... though I do inevitably end up dancing with other people somehow... but we assure each other that we shall meet at our designated spot.
"I needs to dance..." I smile sadly and tell my unwarrantably worried and concerned friends while I shrug my shoulders as an offering of further explanation. I glance at Steph and our eyes meet. She nods slightly, tilts her head to one side and offers a small enigmatic smile - I do not need to tell her what it is that I truly desire, which is to forget myself and my thoughts for the ever so brief moments of peace and solace that the music will bring me. She squeezes my arm and makes sure that I do not mind that she is going and I of course reassure her that everything is fine and that she needs to enjoy her night as much as I will attempt to love mine.
They soon leave, allowing me to slip back into the anonymity and darkness I find on the now crowded dance floor. I let the beat of each song decide what my hips, feet and arms will do, letting the tension that constantly dwells in my shoulders and neck disappear and dissipate slowly. I dance at the fringe of all the tightly formed groups of swaying and sweating bodies, letting my own uncoil and relax from the small and mundane stresses it has experienced and absorbed during the week; I sing along to every song, not caring how loudly I am or am not singing.
I decide at a certain moment to go and check out the chocolate wrestling, but after a brief hiatus I return to the dance floor in the same manner that an alcoholic is drawn to a bottle of Bourbon or JD - it is an instinctual and irresistible pull that I cannot and will not deny. The elevated platform I was occupying before is now too crowded with gyrating young female students and a couple, or a potential one at least, grinding against one another as though they are the only two people here. I therefore make my into the middle of all these individuals, close my eyes for a moment and let the beat of the music wash over me like a soothing ocean wave.
The rhythm of the songs dictate how my body decides to move and I let myself get carried away, no thoughts clouding my mind, no foolish feelings choking my throat and making my light blue eyes well up with silly tears. I am right now simply a moving body and I smile despite myself because it just feels so damn good to be moving along to melodies rather than to my thoughts and emotions. How to describe the welcoming blank space filling the area between my two ears rather than the images and scenes that play like a slideshow behind my eyelids whenever I close them, these moving pictures blinding me from seeing and appreciating what is in my life rather than what is lacking from it.
Dancing, what a powerful and effective eraser of anything that is not belonging to my immediate physical state of being and for the duration of my time spent on the dance floor, I am, for the most part, blissfully happy; my sadness, apprehensions, questions and doubts leak out of me with the beads of sweat forming and collecting on the small of my back, the space between my breasts, the crevices underneath my arms, the top of my forehead and the sensitive area that is my neck while my hair is soaked and tied back so as to be out of my way.
At some point, however, a song I both love and abhor begins to play and I smile ruefully as the images that I unwillingly allow to play in my mind bombard and bother me like pesky mosquitoes. Two separate scenes play out in my head in which I danced with the same individual to the same bloody song but at two different locations.
The first occurred at a club when we were the two of us enjoying the night together as though it would not end. We had been dancing for a short while before the song in question had come on and I had recognized it right away - we had been playing a game all night where I would call out the names of the songs before they had fully begun to play... well, at least I was playing! After I had yelped in excitement because I had heard the first beginning notes, he had pulled me towards him and we had started to dance closer together; I took the opportunity to kiss his salty cheek and grinning lips while our hips had continued to move intimately.
The second time was when I had pulled some of his lady friends onto the dance floor with me at a local bar - I had no idea where he had gone and though I was feeling insecure and a little uncomfortable, I was determined to enjoy myself nevertheless. So, we were dancing, the four of us ladies, when the song had come on and I had let out an appreciative 'woohoo!' while allowing my hips and arms to take control of the rest of my body as I mumbled along to the words. I do not know how, but I felt him watching me and so I looked into the direction where I thought he might be, and sure enough, there he was leaning against a table, smirking at me as though he had been looking at me all along. I had smiled back and then looked away so as to continue to dance.
I let the scenes settle in my mind like sediment in a glass of water; I take refuge in the rhythm, lyrics and melodies and focus on what my body is doing. I look around me and see the female chocolate wrestler I had befriended earlier and an ASFA Exec, so I go over and start dancing with them, grateful for the mask of happiness I must now wear partly for their benefit, but mostly for mine. I would dance well into the next morning if I was allowed to, but unfortunately the bar must close and the morning must be faced and dealt with. My sole solace is knowing that I am meeting my dear female friend again at the end of the night to talk and laugh with and with whom I can platonically spoon and hug fiercely if I need to.
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