Wednesday, December 06, 2006
54 Dancing
It was getting close to midnight, but it was Friday. I said I was up for anything. She suggested dancing. We didn’t really have dancing clothes on but I figured what the hell, I’m not gonna let that stop me. By cab, she took us to a place not far from downtown called Amsterdam. I had never been there before, only heard of it. There was a lot of red light inside. Some men there weren’t wearing any shirts. At the time, I didn’t realize that Amsterdam is technically a gay bar, but it didn’t matter. The music was hard, the strobes were flashing, and we had room enough to move. It had been a while since I’d danced like that. I told her I’d danced in Paris and she said, “I knew it had to come from somewhere.”
I had on a long-sleeved shirt, but took it off eventually. Dancing is a good way to work the alcohol through your system, to digest it & sweat it out. I wrapped the shirt around my waist, knotted at the belly. We ordered a couple drinks and somehow ended up with a Long Island iced tea and a vodka tonic. We took a few sips but soon put the drinks down and left them to drown in their own ice.
I like to think my dance moves were somewhat varied. Some hopping, a lot of arm movement, sometimes dancing with my arms above my head. She danced with a black purse in the crook of her elbow. There were close moments, where my hands were on her waist. It couldn’t feel bad to have your hands on someone’s waist, could it?
We left Amsterdam about an hour later, whether because it was hot, or late, or because we were worn out I don’t remember. I had no idea where we were going. We walked along the streets: Wall, Jefferson, Minnesota, Manitowoc. She seemed to think I minded that we were walking. It’s just a little further, she said. We went in a back door and up to her second floor apartment, for the second time in as many weeks.
Next: Statue
