the song, the dance and the embrace

Damn, the blog-o-sphere is a barren wasteland these days.

There was a time when I'd get pissed off at the lack of comments on my blog and go into a rant or tirade about how everyone sucks and this and that and fuck you and the whole nine yards... but over the years and in the short time that I've been blogging I have accepted the virtual cyber-silence for what it is.

However, I'm not quite sure what it is I am accepting. There's no label for it, and yet I now know that it's nothing personal.

Once upon a time, this blog had lots of readers and they all had something to say, but reality sets in and people tend to their lives and their online pursuits get narrower as things progress. Even I have lessened my blog output, if only to re-channel my boundless writing energy into finishing my damn novel.

And when I do get a chance to blog, I am allowed to be more cryptic. I don't have to explain everything or detail every facet of my life like I used to, and within that limited boundary there is a wide, expansive freedom.

I guess you can say I have grown. Matured, perhaps.


*/*


The place was a dive, a typical hole in the wall.

Not a lot of people were at the bar when we entered but by the time we left it was packed. This is nothing significant, seeing as the place was smaller than my apartment, or so it seemed.

Her roommate said she looked like a sunflower in her bright yellow sleeveless dress, billowing and pleated and pretty with Sunday written all over it. She thought he was kidding her, but I recognized the heartfelt (if slightly cracked) compliment.

A strange and drunk fellow greeted us with leers as we hunkered down onto our stools, his face grimacing with outrage and fear. She knew him, he knew her, they had a connection once but he fouled it up and now here she was with two tough-looking hombres and his mind began to spin so fast that it was as visible on his mug as his eyeglasses or his neatly-trimmed pencil mustache.

He exchanged words with her. All I could hear was the last part of their exchange:

"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck who?"

I turned my head and said loudly, "You."

Her roommate glared in the fellow's direction, not needing to say a word. The fellow got the hint and left, leaving his companions at the bar to nurse their own wounds without the benefit of his charming company.

We ordered our drinks and decided to play darts.


*/*


She insisted that I sing karaoke with her, but I needed no prodding or cajoling.

She picked the song and I agreed. It was a song I knew by heart, save for one vague lyric that I always interpreted in some weird, absurd manner. Fortunately for us, every self-respecting karaoke hostess has the proper lyrics on a TV monitor above the bar so that the singers won't lose face.

Her voice was dreadful, toneless and flat. It didn't bother me at all-- in fact it made me like her even more. Of course I was on key, but you wouldn't be able to discern it by the way our voices entangled themselves through the poorly-equalized sound system and the low-rent microphones.

The line in question appeared above me and I smiled as I read it:

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue.

"Aha," I thought, "That's what it is... I always thought it was about green seagulls... Why have I never bothered to check online or inside the liner notes? Oh well..."

People clapped when we were done. I don't know if they were clapping out of respect or out of relief.


*/*


There were others there singing karaoke that night who made us seem like Sonny & Cher in comparison.

As one such performance went on, she asked me to dance with her.

"But I don't know how."

"Neither do I."

She grabbed my hands and I tried to lead as best as I could. It was a spastic imitation of swing dancing. She flailed and stepped on my boots and (at one point) hit her elbow on the wall next to us. Bystanders laughed and pointed at us, drinks in hand. Her roommate was somewhat embarrassed but also not in the least bit surprised. I spun her around and caught her hands awkwardly, trying not to fall to the ground due to my inebriated motor skills.

The only thing we did right was the dip. I anticipated it, she fell into it, and I did not let her fall.

Then we danced close and slow. It felt natural, fluid, uncontrived.


*/*


Three more drinks and another near-bar brawl later, her roommate decided to walk home and we drove to a liquor store to purchase cigarettes. Then we arrived back at their place, where they engaged in a petty fight over something inexplicable. She stormed off to her room and I followed suit, shrugging my shoulders at him and shaking my head.

She and I chatted at length about everything and nothing, as we are wont to do when we get together and talk. Then I realized the lateness of the hour and plus she was waking up early to catch a flight and I should've been at work hours ago, so I stood up to say farewell.

We embraced. I kept my arms around her and did not let go. She did not try to pry herself from me. We just kept looking at each other, making small talk and shooting curious glances into each other's bloodshot eyes. Every time the urge to plant a soft kiss on her lips swelled up in me, I deflected its power by burying my face into her shoulder and squeezing my arms tighter, and she would reciprocate in kind.

Not yet.

Not just yet.

Sometimes the moment needs to breathe. I act too swiftly, I often move in for the kill with no relenting. No, this was about as far as it could go at the moment, especially considering how foolish it would be for the both of us to shirk our respective responsibilities when we can wait until the next occasion, when there's more privacy, when there's more time, when there's less to risk.

We bandied compliments about and made funny faces. Then I created an out for the both of us by remembering the CD I promised to burn for her.

After I made copies for the both of them, I said my goodbyes and let myself out. I drove back into the suburbs with quick ease, because of the time of night and the absence of traffic.


*/*


I have been filling my time well, but every now and then I think about three things: the song, the dance and the embrace. I think about how they made me feel and what it all means and what there is to be done about it.

It reminds me of scenes from some short stories I wrote years ago, and I wonder if these were manifestations of my fiction or actual events that transpired. I realize, though, that it doesn't make any difference: We all remember things in different ways, from different perspectives and angles.

What is important is not the details, but what actually occurred. And that's why of all the things that happened that night, it is the song, the dance and the embrace that stand out for me.