the dance - part 2

Phew* we had passed the entrance exam.

We walked into the room and it was the oddest sense of time warp.  Except the people had aged.  In some ways it was a little eerie.  We walked into the room and it was like these people had been caught in an enchanted dream and hadn't stopped dancing since the production of 'singing in the rain.'  It was both beautiful and a little, again, eerie.

The room was softly lit by the crystal chandelier hanging over a generous dance floor.  The dance floor itself was lined by painted cinder block columns beyond which were lines on lines of tables.  I am sure that room was not Attorney
general approved.  They had crammed a long table into every imaginable crevice and each was stuffed with people.  The people themselves were captivating.  Some were wearing full, elegant dresses and dripping with so many jewels that it almost looked costume-y but they wore them very naturally and it looked completely in place.  Others were wearing full dance skirts, with sashes that dripped off their arms and would float around them as they danced.  A few men were in tuxedos most were in button downs with a tie, and one man was in a polo.  Meh, I liked the tie we got Chris and he needed a new one anyway.

The elegantly garbed people had brought their own treats to the event.  Some had cheese rounds and others had bought a beer at the bar to go with their packed lunch style meal.  It was all very convivial and natural to those dining as they waited for the band to take it's rest.  And oh what a band.

At the end of the room, the Jazz band was resting.  They were all in white tuxedos, brandishing brass instruments and seated behind those little boxes you saw in those old time, black and white Shirley Temple movies.  Except for the man behind the black grand piano.  He was the one who started up the music with a jovial announcer's voice, bringing people back to the dance floor as he struck up some beautiful chords that cued the shinning brass instruments into play.

It wasn't long before the instruments and couples were all dancing to the foxtrot rhythm.  It was beautiful.  Couple after couple swung by.  We were seated, almost secreted, at a back seat at the very end of one of the back tables.  Chris and I sat there sipping the sodas we had purchased at the bar, watching.

You know how in all those cartoons and old movies how they seemed to joke as they had the 'dramatic, unsmiling couple' and the 'silly, goofy, overdone' couple, the 'elegant' couple, the 'cool' couple... It seemed like a silly cartoon tradition, but there it was.  That was actually how people danced.  Each couple had it's own, very clear, distinct character.  The couple who looked sober enough to be doing a death tango in costume swung by the one of the oldest couples that were sweetly holding each other up.  They were softly spinning, shuffling, like two aged, loving, and falling cherry blossoms.  Then went by another couple.  She had some of those floaty sash sleeves and delighted in each turn as her sashes rhythmically rose and fell around her.  Finally we gained the courage to join them all.  Our type was obvious - new kid, self-conscious and still learning how this thing worked.

It took a little time, but Chris had us swirling and smiling quickly enough as he navigated by a couple who seemed to refuse to break eye contact with each other.  Chris was pleasantly focused, I was giddy and smiling as we moved into a swing dance.  There was more room on the floor for that one.  And the couples seemed to be some of the younger ones.  As they started the rumba, Chris checked the time and our time was up.  We had a young babysitter and had to be back to get her home.

We had only danced a few dances, but it was definitely an experience worth having.  Chris commented on how that scene would have been so familiar to his Grandpa Alma.  I commented on how we were probably the only ones who had gotten a phone call from our baby sitter asking if she should go get the crying baby.  We walked to the car holding hands, and waving a farewell to the hippies, we drove home.