The Woman in Red

Everyone knows the Woman in Red. She's the beautiful woman with the dark curls. She's dancing with a handsome and confident man. Someone much larger than you. Someone better than you. Every step she takes is sexy, and every thing she does looks practiced. She's on the floor, dancing perfectly.

Last Night, she was dancing with Me.

Here's a quick look into the past. in 1998, I was an avid Swing Dancer. I went out every weekend, often twice. I was a leading member of my campus' Swing Club. And I was really good. I had a steady dance partner, and I've never been the sort of person to brag, but we were good. I was in love with her. She knew, and I knew that I could never have her, but we still danced. Then she left. Then I stopped Dancing. For three minutes at a time, I had the only thing I'd ever known that was worth having. And after that, dancing never meant as much to me as it did. So I stopped.
Sure, I danced every now and then. Last Week at my reunion. A couple times at a Campus event. But all I've done for five years is forgotten how to swing.

But I guess I remember enough. Making my way around the room, dancing with all the women I'd met in the lesson beforehand, I slowly recovered my skill. I taught them how to follow (stiff arms), and I practiced my basic moves. I made some friends, and I got a little attention. "You've done this before, haven't you?" They would always say. "A Long Time Ago," was my sheepish response.

I'm walking an old woman back to her seat, when I turn around to find The Woman in Red looking up at me. "Want to Dance?" She asked.

She has been dancing for six months, and she's excellent. She has her own personal style, and dances with a confidence that makes me cower. On the inside.

I remember three dances with her that night, but there were many more.
Our first dance went alright. She had a diverse vocabulary of turns and tricks, and was able to keep up with me, but I fell out of time a couple times. She was a little bored with my limited library, and a little frustrated by my errors. There is nothing worse then looking over at your partner, and seeing in her eyes that she isn't completely involved in the dance.

"Can I use you for a terrible experiment?" I asked her before our second dance. "What?" She was clearly alarmed, but I already held her by the hand. There was no escape. "I'd like to try Lindy again," I said. We danced, and we spun, and we danced some more. My Lindy skill was always pale in comparison to my East Coast Skillz, but after so much time, they are equivocable. I danced with confidence and flair, and never fell off beat. I must have impressed her, and I certainly showed her a good time, because afterwards, she smiled looking at me and said "You should experiment more often."

With a broad smile, she took my hand for the last dance. I started off with a clockwise lindy turn, then threw her out into a clockwise doubleturn, and with all of the momentum, she laughed. We danced a combination of lindy and East Coast, which is the best I can do, but I was spot on, and she was perfect, and for those three minutes we were the only two people in the room. I danced with her, and she looked at me. She looked at me through her dark curls, and smiled in such a way. She smiled at me and told me with her eyes that she was really, honestly having a good time.

I've been living on that look ever since.

I never asked out Star Gazer. It seemed like a bad idea at the time. I've forced myself into too many holes by sticking to bad decisions. By "Putting my balls on the table, infront of the man with the Hammer," as I frequently say. On the night in question, I went to the game store, and we talked. Star Gazer, myself, and an acquaintance/ customer of hers. We talked for no less then an hour about 80's Sci-fi, and I demonstrated that I am clearly deficient in my knowledge of Star Trek. AND Star Wars, which blew my mind. I wanted to wait until we were alone, then I thought, screw it, this is good enough, then I thought "this isn't a good idea." I wasn't feeling suave, I wasn't feeling attractive, and I really wasn't feeling like having my balls smashed with a metaphorical hammer. So I wrote a compliment on her new store layout, said good night, and went to the dance.