Fifth of May

I had on my flowing red skirt, and my hair was tied to the side, like in the eighties, but not quite. My feet were pinched; I wasn't sure if I chose the lesser of two evils by choosing flats over heels. But I felt confident: just free to feel and beautiful enough to not care, and noticing others notice me. I saw myself on a road of possibilities, and the availability for change released me into a high simply described as euphoria.

We had gotten to the Elbo Room close to 11 when the show was suppose to have kicked up. "We" were David and Jennifer, and me - all of us on a "date." I was under the assumption that we were just hanging out and spending time together, enjoy the Mission and Cinco de Mayo, R&R in the middle of the week. Over dinner, David flirted with me shamelessly, and I could feel the fear emanating from Jennifer. "I'm not here to steal your boyfriend!," I wanted to shout over our table. But I did what I do best: remain aloof. David was on crutches from playing ultimate Frisbee. I had heard the story several times - how he leaped to reach the disc in the air and landed solidly on his ankle; after retelling the story again to our painfully shy and apologetic, but amiable server, I suggested that he invented another story, preferably one involving a baby carriage in the street, and an out of control 18-wheel truck. They pretended amusement. On the club's floor, he sat while Jennifer and I tried to dance. At first, we suffered through a band who didn't understand what natural beats were; no real live music at all. I tried to make the best of it, by dancing as ridiculously as I felt the music reminded me of: the "Robot," over the top swing moves, accelerated salsa. I felt better when I made the couple laugh; I wanted them to enjoy themselves, despite the circumstances - and my presence.

Then the main act came on, and everything was instantly magic. I let the slow bluesy, but clearly canción de Cumbia wash over me, and all I felt was la musíca in my body. During the second number, un hombre was weaving through the floor, and for an instant his eyes flickered to mine as he brushed past me. A moment later, he had grabbed a hold of my hands, and we started dancing, like REALLY dancing. He lead me into spins, grabs, moments with our shoulders and smiles, mimicry with our hips and feet. He was a real dancer, and he lead me to play. I became sensitive to his ever movement, his leading, direction, I fell into his body, and he had me do whatever he wanted me to do. I closed my eyes and felt only the music, and when I opened them, he was right there, right with me. The song ended, and we grinned at each other, and said, "thank you." During that next song, David had gotten me a drink; I gulped it down without tasting. I felt thrilled, completely enthralled that a stranger and I dared to tango, and it was the most in-the-body experience that I've had without any forced context, nothing sexual or romantic, it was brief, light, and a moment in time that I swooned with no weight in my soul. I was thankful, immensely glowing with happiness, and glad that the dancer in the night had come and left, so that the experience could be defined as a simple space of lightness in being.

Unfortunately, that didn't last long. He came back the very next song, and meek in the face, lead me out to dance again. This time was the same as the first, and it was a real Cumbia song, and I was just happy to reach this elevated feeling with him again. At the end of the song, he asked if I came often then proceeded to ask for my number, which I unthinkingly gave. David, by then had been prodding me to go home, and I obliged. It was after the stranger had disappeared from my mind that I realized my date(s) had been solemn and distant. In my ecstasy, I had alienated them, but I wasn't one for any attachments except to my feeling of lightness during that time of night. And I floated home.