THE DANCERS 

The band was winding down a pretty good version of "Brown Sugar" when they made eye contact.  Sparkling, lively, smiling eyes locked on to each other.  She was sitting at the end of a long table, hands folded, left on top of right, listening and talking, nearly shouting, to the bride across from her.  A feeling of anticipation came over him like a chill in a drafty room.  He quickly looked away, then back, but her eyes were on the bride now.
        He threaded his way through clumps of chairs and people, set the drinks down next to his sister and looked over his left shoulder again.  Her head was turned away leaving him with only the long dark brown curls of the back of her head.  Someone in the band was saying something he couldn't quite catch about a bird.

        "Go ask her to dance and leave me alone", said his sister.  "I hear she's a good dancer."

        "Have you seen her dance with your own eyes?"

        "No.  Just go.  Get."

        The band started playing "New Kid in Town" by the Eagles as he walked toward her.  She noticed him again, briefly, locking on his eyes for the barest wisp of time before looking at the glass in front of her, lowering then elevating her head ever so slightly.  A twitch of a smile passed across her face and teased a lock of hair by her ear with her left index finger.  Only he noticed that she tapped her finger on the side of her drink in time to the music as he approached head on.
        He stopped at the head of the table and leaned toward her.  She turned her head and looked up to him without any curiosity in her statement.  Her aqua green eyes captured and held him immediately.  There was no hope of escape.  He was certain of her answer before he asked with a smile, "Would you care to dance?"
        They were total strangers to each other.  She barely knew the bride and the bride's family; his younger sister was a good friend of the maid of honor.  She had come to the ceremony and cried; he showed up at the reception with his younger sister and an appetite.  His suit was nicely tailored, his hair was neatly long.  His clean-shaven face was kind and focused.  Her dress was a saucy tease of fabric that floated and sighed over her body, clinging and shimmering.  Her smile was a flash of pure joy as she took his arm.  She floated beside him to the dance floor, instantly responsive to each change of direction.
        He raised his left hand and she closed her right over his fingers as gently as a butterfly landing on a delicate flower.  At first contact their fingers vibrated as though restraining some force that threatened to erupt and bury them.  Their hands locked, matching the intensity of their eyes.
        She raised her left hand to take his shoulder and lock on to her partner as his right arm slid across the cool fabric around her waist.  He could feel the warmth of her beneath her clothing.  He could feel the hardness and softness of her beneath the dress.  The comfort of his hand rested firmly on the middle of her back leaving her no doubt that he was in control.
        Their bodies touched and movement began exactly on time to the music.  He took long steps, sweeping her into a willing surrender to the beat.  She was aware only of him and the rhythm and the insistent firm urging of his body.  She yielded perfectly matching his command, almost as if she could read his mind, moving before him when the thought of it only formed in his mind.
        He swirled her into a floor-touching dip and she arched her back and touched the floor with her outstretched hand.  He raised her back into close contact with one arm and dived straight into her eyes with his own.  The other dancers moved aside in appreciative admiration, silently turning and secretly smiling. They could feel the others' eyes on them and yet could only feel each other's eyes.  Dancers were everywhere and nowhere nearby.  Some were struggling, some were doing a fair job of moving around, but all were watching, some more, some less, the woman in the green chiffon dress floating along with the man in the dark gray suit.
        The dancers ended the song and broke apart to applaud the band's fine performance.  Smiles broke out everywhere and the two shared in the admiration of the other dancers.  Their eyes never looked away from each other and yet they saw everything at once.
        As the first notes of "Unchained Melody" slid from the singer's throat, chills washed their spines and icy gooseflesh embraced both of them completely.  She looked demurely down, never breaking her lock on his eyes, and smiled a full, saucy ray of a smile while raising her eyebrows as if asking for this dance or wondering if it would come to be.
        With a suave and confident sweep of his arms, he melded into her so closely that the fabric of her dress seemed to her to be gone.  The cloth of his suit disappeared, vanished.  Their flesh met, liked the contact, and dissolved into each other.  No longer did they have two legs and two arms each; gone were the eyes and the ears from each; there was no longer an each, a two.  A one, a singularity was left on the dance floor.  Two minds were one.  So closely did they hold on and move ahead of and behind the music, weaving in and out of the melody unchained, that they were no longer dancers.  They became song and movement, the perfect embodiment of the notes made visible, given life and given to life to see.
        He felt her every hair, every muscle, every tiny freckle.  He could see through her eyes and she could see through his.  They shared every sense; they shared one awareness; they shared each other in a way that was nearly immoral, using each other for the one, to be the one, the warm, hot, close, embracing ONE that they were across the music, in the music, with the music.  She became male; hard, strong, lean, aggressive.  He became female; soft, yielding, rounded.  They became each other and together a new creation as much a part of the music as the singer and the horns being imitated on the keyboard.  The music filled them both and carried them across and around the floor and it amazed the other dancers to see that there was no contact with the ground by either partner.
        With the ending chord she planted her right leg alongside of his right leg, making full contact, and floated to rest her right hip on his left knee.  Her left leg went straight out and up; her head and back arched again to brush the floor as the hem of her dress slid up her thigh.  His right hand on the small of her back easily held her weight.  She felt good there.  They held the dip for eternity and slowly rose from it, forming two human beings once more.
        They stood apart, they applauded, and they looked at each other with admiration, smiling approval with their eyes as well as their lips, but shyly and demurely, almost embarrassed by the intimacy they just shared.  The ending of the music was the coming apart of the ONE, the ripping of their joined, sweated flesh back to two individuals.
        The singer announced that he band would speed things up a little and broke into the opening of Roll Over Beethoven behind a great guitar riff.  It was a perfect change up, not spoiling the dancer's union at all.
        The dancers looked into each others eyes.  Her want displayed itself with no cover.  His smile broadened on his face.  He took her hand, spun her like a top, and pulled her in. They cleared a space on the floor before anyone else started.  They melded again, apart for this one only physically.  Every push, every pull of his arms and hands sent her exactly where she should be.  And she wanted to be there, to follow his every direction.  She wanted to dance forever with this partner, wanted always to follow his lead.  He pulled her in, guided her out, spun her, dipped her, and swung her around him on his hip.  She was the perfect partner, moving and responding to every touch almost before he even thought of the next step.  And it showed on her pretty, animated face.  There was pure joy and happiness ablaze on their faces.  Her entire body smiled at him and he smiled right back equally as hard.
        The band went right into "Only the Good Die Young" and the two dancers went right back at it with no thought of quitting, stepping lightly through a good swing in triple time.  The lyrics fit, the music fit.  The dancers fit between and around the admiring couples  on the floor.  With each spin, the hem of her skirt sighed into him, sending chills through him even as sweat was forming on his forehead.  The feel of her hand in his made him ache to hold her closer.  The feel of her back made him burn to hug her in a close and long embrace.  And when he caught her eyes with his, her sparkling, smiling eyes, they showed him her soul, her desires, and, somewhere in them he thought he saw hope for the continuation of the ONE.
        They did not exchange names when he asked her to dance and they said nothing to each other the entire time they danced.  There was no need to talk at first.  The exchange of approving smiles, gestures, and shining eyes was enough until now, when the set ended and the band went on break.
        As the last of the song faded, the two dancers ended as perfectly as they had begun with a matched pose that earned applause from the floor. Beaming, they bowed to the crowd, a little embarrassed, but deeply pleased.
        They turned and faced each other.  Her hands were in front of her with the fingers interlaced and palms up, her eyes sparkling but lowered as she felt him admire her.  She felt her smile was too broad, that it gave away her feelings, but there was no help for it.  She had never had a partner as sure as he was.  She had never felt so good dancing; he moved her in unexpected, pleasant ways that she knew looked better than good; she knew it was perfection bestowed upon mortals and she wanted to follow him anywhere, to bend and flow with each touch.  She wanted to join back in with him and the music; she wanted to lose herself again within the rhythm.
        He wanted to let her know that he liked her, that he wanted to dance all night with her and her alone and then maybe, see her again and again.  He wanted to get to know her every feeling; to find their similarities and differences, their mutual friends and acquaintances.  Before he imagined how many children they would have and what the gender balance would be, he felt his tongue and lips moving and his hand extending to shake hers.  He was not sure if he was speaking.  He wanted to say something.  He wanted to tell her how perfect she was, how perfect they were together; how he had never melded with a partner.  He wanted to tell her everything about himself, his day, his fears, his passions, his plans for them for the future.  He wanted to ask her if there was anything in her entire life that she desired and that he would get it for her at any cost or danger.  He wanted all this and more.  Words came out of his mouth; he did not understand what they meant or who was speaking them.  They were just there before he realized he still had a voice.  He was certain that he was in trouble with her, certain that he was babbling, idiotically and foolishly.  

        "Hi.  I'm Mike."

        "Jean's my name.  You're pretty good out there."

        Her praise of him lifted him off the floor.  He felt himself falling into her once again; he caught himself beginning to stare, enchanted by her lovely eyes.  A few beads of sweat formed on her forehead making it glisten even under the dully dim lights.  Each drop was precious to him.  He wanted her never to move from this spot, their spot, it would always be their spot.   
        She looked past him to see who had waved to her.  Her face was alight with pure, ecstatic joy and with barely a second thought, she began to walk past Mike.  Her eyes were fixed on  someone far away, barely visible from Their Spot.

        "Nice meeting you," she said in passing as an afterthought, barely turning her head.    

        In the instant that he disappeared from her gaze, the second that he sensed he ceased to exist to her, his cheeks flushed and his life ended, or he wished it would end immediately.  He had to turn around and watch her nearly run to the man who had caught her attention.  Some perverse spirit made him watch as the man hugged Jean and she hugged him back.  A sick urge forced him to watch them walk out the door, arm in arm, laughing with each other.
        He looked around and discovered his sister staring at him.  He walked over to her.

        "He wasn't even that good looking," she said.  "Can't imagine what she sees in him."

        "Hadn't noticed," he mumbled, staring across the room away from his sister's eyes.

        "Look, I gotta go.  Can you find a ride home?  Or are you ready to go?"

        "Oh come on, Mike.  At least let's stay till they give out the cake."

        "I've had a long day."  But he knew he would stay another hour or two for the drinks if nothing else.  The drinks would make it worth the stay.  Zoe could drive if he got too bad and it didn't look like she was drinking anyway.

        He turned to hunt for the bar and stepped on the left foot of the woman standing behind him.  She had a silly grin, bourbon breath, and a look in her eye that would have captured his full attention one hour ago, but now he had no interest.  He also had no choice.  The only way around her was over top of the people sitting around the tables and he wasn't that drunk yet.

        "Excuse me.  I'm sorry about your foot."  

        He tried to get her to move aside at the same time but it was impossible.  She was determined to dance with him and never felt the pain in her foot judging by the glazed smile on her face.  He knew her from months ago, years ago and was not happy to see her again.  Not now. Francine belonged to a different feeling, a more earthly time when he was mortal.  She had no business being up this high on his level.
        
        "There is nothing else to say, Mike.  Now you must dance with me, or I'll sue."  

        He got the joke, but didn't feel like laughing.  Guarding his statement, he took her out on the floor as the band started a polka.  He knew that she wouldn't give up on him.  He planned to leave right after this dance, Zoe or no Zoe.
        She did the steps well, but was an uninspiring partner as usual, never becoming a part of the music.  When the music turned slower at the next song, she did not give him up, nor did she stop chattering about anything in particular that he could hear or understand.  His heart was focused on the man and woman walking through the exit together, laughing with each other, looking at each other with joy and happiness.  The rest of his body followed the beat of the music without  any conscious thought of his.  He wanted to get away, to follow her and take her back to the floor.  He wanted to dance with her again and forever.  The band stopped and he did too.
        
        "Mike, we could out to my car and.."  Her voice broke into the place he was in his mind and roused him to attention.  "......seats recline."  

        She pressed her thighs into him and did not get the result she wanted.  Disgusted, he broke all contact with her, turned and walked outside.  He got into his car and drove home, never a thought about Zoe until he arrived home and the phone rang.
        
        "Idiot!  Thanks a lot!"  He hung up and went to bed.  The ringing phone did not disturb him at all.
        
        It was three months before he talked to Zoe again.  They had no animosity between them at all.  Their lives intersected only on special occasions like weddings, funerals, or holidays.  Those few times that Mike needed advice from his sister about the conventions of life events, she was very happy to give it and he was eager to listen.  She never butted in, only offered advice when asked.  She forgave him the stranding at the wedding. And now there was another wedding that required him to go shopping for a gift and Zoe provided the basic instruction list for him as usual.  Which stores were acceptable and which malls in which they could be found were parts of the very detailed gift suggestion list.
        There was nothing outrageously practical on the list; no crockpots or toasters. Nor did Zoe suggest solid silver napkin rings with the wedding date inscribed on them.  She was in between those two extremes and it took Mike a lot of walking and looking to find any of her suggestions.  He hunted the entire mall just to find the right store, then searched each one to find the right gift.   
Mike believed in gift certificates.  They were almost as perfect as money because they reduced the anxiety of making a decision and made shopping easier and more efficient.  One only had to select a store and an amount and that was that.  Done, and no need to worry about colors or sizes or duplicates.
        But Zoe had lectured and lectured and made him promise not to take the easy way out.  He agreed to try it the hard way.  There was plenty of time to do this thing too. Mike had 5 weeks to shop for that ideal gift and he wanted to get it done as soon and as quickly as possible.
        He paid little attention to the other shoppers, and there were a lot of them.  He avoided the knots of people and easily overtook the slower strolling window gazers with his long, confidant stride. He appeared to walk with purpose, as if he knew exactly where he needed to go and that was to get to the next unoccupied space in the shortest time.
        The colors and the patterns of the Oriental rug display caught his eye as his energy began to flag.  He changed direction and there she was.  It was her, no doubt about it.  He never forgot how she looked walking away that night, the sway of her hips, her graceful, long stride.  She seemed to float then, and now as well, as the distance between them increased.  He stared at her receding form, admiring her grace and movement when it occurred to him to go after her.  The thought emerged in his brain like a flower slowly blooming.
        Mike's legs needed no conscious instructions to start him in the right direction at a speed that would overtake her in a matter of seconds.  He appeared to run, or at least move at a brisk trot straight through the crowd, angling his trajectory to meet her head on.
        When he arrived in front of her, eyes smiling, he said nothing for a timeless second.  He had to make sure it really was Jean.  He had to be sure he was face to face with her and not shouting at the back of her head.  He needed to see her eyes.  He need to see if there was recognition in her eyes.  He wanted to see, to know, if she remembered him.  He wanted to know, needed to know, if she was unattached, if he had a chance.
        She spoke first, he could not.  

        "Mike?"
        
        Her voice, just as he remembered it.  Suddenly the switches in his brain clicked, thoughts fired across vast electrical distances, and words appeared in his throat, working their way up and out and into the air between them.    
        
        "Jean! How are you!" he said too cheerfully.  "Nice seeing you again!"  

        He knew he was smiling like a perfect lunatic and he didn't care.  He knew he was acting too anxious, almost desperate, and he did not care at all.  There she was, wide eyed and smiling and the ring finger of her left hand was unadorned.
        
        "I am well, thanks."  

        She could feel her eyes shine and her ears lay back against her head.  She felt her smile was much too broad, afraid that she might seem desperate.  Her mind worked to find something to say, anything to say. 

        "Been dancing lately?" she asked. 

        It was not just a polite question, she needed to know. If he had alluded to any sort of commitment or relationship, her heart would break on the spot, visibly, completely.
        It delighted him to realize their common interest was alive, confirmed by the sparkle in her eyes. He answered truthfully, saying that he had been busy with work and added, 

        "No, haven't been out at all lately. You spoiled me for anyone else." It was the truth.
        
        "Oh my, that is quite a compliment. Or should I apologize for ruining you?" She laughed. 

        The statement, so honestly and simply spoken, astonished her and made her heart race. She liked him as a dancing partner, maybe more than that. No one had ever connected with her like he had that night. The freedom she felt left her wanting more of him.

        "Well, how about a cup of coffee and then we'll talk about apologies? Or are you in a hurry?"

        "That sounds good to me. I'm about done shopping for tonight anyway and not having much luck finding anything."

        "I've found the ideal wedding gift, so I am done." He waved a gift certificate in the air. "Good at the Persian Rug Emporium."

        "Whose wedding?" she asked as she followed him to the coffee stop.

        "Jim Sheller, a friend from college."

        "No! Really? Me too! What a coincidence. Shelly Burns is the bride-to-be, right?"

        "Yes! Do you know Jim well?"

        "No, not at all!"

        They found a table and sat across from each other.

        "Shelly and I are friends. She says she is keeping her last name. She doesn't want to be known as Mrs. Shelly Sheller." 
        
        She raised an eyebrow and he laughed, genuinely and deeply. That gesture endeared her to him immediately and a blush rose to his cheeks. The lights seemed too bright, they made his eyes hurt as they laughed and talked and gazed into each other's eyes.
        He wanted to know if she was seeing anyone, but he was afraid of the answer. He needed to dance with her again. He needed to feel her melt into him, to become one with her again. He craved the union, the freedom of spirit, the binding of their souls. His needs overwhelmed his fears too late.
        
        "I must go now", she said. "I didn't realize the time!" She stood, looking at her watch.
        
        "Oh, yeah, sorry", he stammered, heartbroken, hating himself for his shyness. All he could manage was, "See you at the wedding?" 

        It was a half question from a desperate man whose face was filled with pain despite the smile. He rose quickly and searched for the shortest path out of the mall. He was certain that she was involved with someone.
       
         "Sure, see you then." She turned and walked toward the exit, then turned back to him without warning. He crashed right into her.
        
        "How about sooner than the wedding?" he asked, shocked by the sound of his voice. The contact with her jolted the words from him. "Just dancing, this Thursday at the Lantern?"
        
        She shook her head. "I'd love to, but I am busy then." She looked down, not into his eyes.
        
        "Okay, just a thought", he said. "Friday? Saturday for dinner?" He grinned a shaky grin.
        
        "Saturday is fine", she answered.

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