It wasn’t so much an accident as it was a gesture.
Not a Grand Romantic Gesture. More of a “it seemed like the right thing to do” gesture.
Whatever it was, it lead to me being on the dance floor with a beautiful woman in my arms, both of us laughing a bit and swaying to that song that everyone only knows from Fallout 3.
I’d noticed her a little earlier in the evening. It was crowded at the club that night, a lot of new faces, bunches of rarely seen ones, and a solid cadre of familiar and friendly. But her I noticed. Standing off to the side of the dance floor while I was twitching on it during some particularly fun songs. Once or twice, I may have spun at just the right time to see a slight smile on her lips.
At the time, I (of course) didn’t think much of it. After all, it couldn’t possibly be me she was looking at, the dance floor was crowded. And if it was me, well, then, she certainly wasn’t looking at me that way.
But as I picked my way through the crowd to snap some photos of friends, at their request, as they took to the floor to dance to a rare slow song, I paused for a moment as someone asked “What song is that?”
Being the music genius I am, I was able to quickly reply, “I don’t know… but I’m pretty sure it’s from Fallout.”
To which a third person chimed in, “I heard it on Torchwood.”
“Or maybe there,” I agreed with a grin.
And that’s when Rose and I started chatting a bit.
By fate or by plan, she just happened to be right there when an opening for conversation appeared. It took me a moment, among the spinning lights and swaying people, to recognize her as the girl I had noticed earlier.
I snapped pictures of my friends and found out little tidbits about her. She was from my neck of the woods in Maryland, but originally from Baltimore. Had been to the club before but never “unencumbered”.
Her face was fantastically expressive and her energy high. She wore a shirt with long, flowing sleeves and another, shorter sleeved one on top of it. Around her neck was a sparkling, solid pendant of some sort–it shimmered a bit in the light, masking it’s actual shape.
The song ended and, just as the couples began to shuffle off the dance floor, the oh-so-familiar guitar picking came across the speakers. “I don’t want to set the world… on… fire,” crooned the Inkspots.
A dude with short cropped hair and a t-shirt came up alongside Rose, opposite me, and asked her to dance.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Here I am torn between two men.”
It took me a good ten seconds to realize what those words and that big-eyed glance in my direction actually meant.
And so, I extended my hand and out onto the dance floor we went.
That shirt she wore was cashmere soft and the curves beneath it pleasant. She thanked me for helping her dodge the other guy and smiled. She smiled a lot and leaned in close. We sang along with the song, at times gazing into one another’s eyes, joy quite evident all around.
Now, those who know me, know that I have enough trouble dancing with myself. I’m still amazed I haven’t totally wiped out during nights out at the club. So, I had to apologize once or twice for not being all that great at dancing with someone else. But there were no toes stepped on and, when the song ended, there were still smiles.
And a hug.
And a peck on the cheek.
It was at that point that I’m pretty sure my brain just turned off and old habits took over.
There was some clumsy conversation that eked out a few more details. Then a friend of mine wandered over, I introduced him to Rose, found out that they had already met a little earlier in the evening. We all chatted for a bit, then he moved on and she and I stood there silent for a few beats.
I think she said something about needing to get some water (it was lost to me in the thrumm of the much heavier song that had come into rotation) and she bopped up to the bar.
I stood where I was. Kind of waiting. Kind of in a daze. Brain obviously still not quite comprehending what was going on.
When she didn’t come back after a few minutes, I took a look around and saw her chatting with a few other people. I wandered around, reconnecting with the numerous people I knew. After about ten minutes, my thinking systems had rebooted and it became kind of important for me to get some way of getting in touch with her in the future.
By then, of course, she had vanished into the crowd.
The last I saw of her that night was as she came out of the bathroom and slipped behind the back side of the bar toward the exit. I didn’t make it through the crowd quick enough to catch her and she never came back in.
Later that night, I was outright asked to dance by another, much more gothy, girl. I accepted. The experience was so completely different from my dance with Rose it made the former stand out all the more. Here there were awkward turns and stumbles, more failed concentration than conversation or laughter. I was the only one singing along to the song (what was the song? I can’t even remember now). That ended and there was no motivation to follow, to even find out her name.
Part of that was because I’d seen her ask another guy to dance before she turned to me. (Later I’d find out she’d been asking many people to dance.) Mostly, though, there was a total lack of spark… of connection.
Of fun.
And now, half a week has gone by and I wonder if Rose is going to be at the club on Saturday. I wonder if I’m going to recognize her if she’s done her hair differently or is wearing a different outfit. If she’ll recognize and remember me.
Mostly, though, I smile as the song rolls through my head.
(So, uh, if any of you reading this actually know Rose… get her in touch with me. Please?)
