Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Two Men Dancing (from across the way)
Right now, there are two middle-aged men dancing with each other from across the street in the apartment facing mine. One is bald and shirtless, and drinking and smoking. Once in a while he sits down in front of what appears to be a computer and adds more intensity to the moment, and in my head I think the Bee Gees are playing loud and proud in that apartment. The music echoes down the narrow apartment and bleeds from crack of the front door into the hallway, where it appears faintly to other tenant's doors; if one were to be listening with their ear resting on their door, hearing word for word of what a disco inferno is.
The man with his shirt on is dancing, and even if his partner is stopped, with eyes scanning the computer screen for what next to add to this moment, he keeps on dancing and dancing, with no need for a partner to dissatisfy him. In his motion he seems to never want to stop, that the music of the Gibb brothers is too enduring, their voices in full wale too striking, as he enters into a trance of sweat-beading full body motion. Let this moment never end I imagine him thinking to him, maybe even yelling with the Bee Gees, and cries a little while he takes a drink of his beer. Maybe he was singer once, maybe he was a dancer at a time. And if he failed at one or if he failed at both, he was now, in this moment, very much a singer, and very much a dancer.
The light from the apartment below turns off, and a glow engulfs the room in a cobalt blue and in a fuzz of shadows I see a person set down to rest with the city filling his room with soft light. What moments could these people see of mine, with windows open and lights on; forming an aquarium for their eyes, as they watch in silence, observing me and my company, dancing, kissing, drunk, and passionate with all of our failures and all of our pride behind us.