I was dancing tonight at a party of a friend of a friend, anonymous and entranced by a set of subwoofers I could have bathed in. When the music is my own—right off the soundtrack of my life—and no one knows my name… I’m just that grrl in the thick of it, eyes closed, hair down, moving her hips, her hands, her feet.
In those moments, it seems like no one else is in the room and every inch of my body feels the bass line; the tiny brass bells on my left wrist bracelet are soundless in comparison. I’m lost. I’m found. I’m in my element.
Sometimes, I’m aware of the other dancers but rarely as individuals. Mostly they’re part of the music for me, the physical embodiment of the beat surrounding me, moving around me.
Lately, of course, I imagine Terrapyres in the crowd. I imagine Angelus—wings hidden—or Darkling or Queen. I imagine a body close to mine in that passionate but platonic synchronicity of dance.
I am alone. I am never alone. The music runs hot in my veins.
I should be reviewing graphs and marketing copy but tonight it isn’t about “should,” it’s about “want” and “need.” Tonight it’s about meeting a gaze, deep brown eyes across the room, and sharing a song or four. Then slipping away, at midnight or three, into the silent, holy night, alone and content, the music in my head and in my blood all the way home.
E.J.
(After dancing all night on 9-12-06)
