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in a silent way
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eight or nine years ago, i was sitting in the dj booth at the bar i used to hang out at on friday nights, while sean navigated the gulf between the indie rock he considered hip and of-the-moment, and the pop_music he despised but almost everyone else wanted to hear. he would gradually reveal himself to be a piss-poor excuse for a friend, but on this night we hadn't made it that far yet.
my eyes found a girl on the dance floor and then had a difficult time drifting away from her. she had short dark hair. she was wearing blue jeans and a black_and_white striped sweater. she danced without a partner. her moves were not expansive or studied, but there was something about her. a kind of casual elegance. she smiled to herself in a way that made it look like she was enjoying a private joke.
i wanted to walk over to her and tell her i loved the way she moved. i wouldn't ask to join her. i didn't want to disturb the sanctity of her solitary dance. i wanted her to know she was beautiful. that was all.
i ran through different scenarios in my head. she would smile, thank me, and that would be it. or she would invite me to dance with her, and i would get to soak up a little bit of her magic. or she would look at me like i was some hideous creature who'd just crawled out of the swamp.
in the end, i didn't have the guts to say anything to her at all.
i think about her every once in a while. i never knew her name or anything about her, but i remember her cherubic face, the stripes of her sweater, the curves of her body beneath the fabric, and the way she danced, adrift in a sea of sweat-flecked bodies and at the same time apart from them.
i've never seen anyone else move like that. it's the way you dance when you have nothing to hide.
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