I wasn’t as drunk as everyone thought I was. I never am. The conversation, or my part in it, was finished so I assembled my things. My coat was over there, hanging on a hook. My bag was on my lap because I was afraid to hang it- I had already lost a pack of gum that night, or perhaps it was stolen by a very feisty quick-handed hipster on Bedford Avenue- they steal for fun and not out of necessity. I believe they exist, like leprechauns. Hipsters are not to be trusted and I’ve never had the chance to meet a rainbow’s end so the possibilities are endless on both fronts.
I wrapped my scarf too tightly around my neck. I zipped up my coat. I put on my gloves. I walked away. But I didn’t make it to the door for at least another hour.
The bar had two rooms; it was a very large establishment. I had spent most of my time that evening sitting at one of many picnic tables. I felt like I was either camping or in the fifth grade all night. The second room, the one I entered into from out of the freezing night, contained the bartender, bar stools, drinks, people laughing-as they should, and in the corner there was a swing band.
Bingo.
They weren’t there when I’d arrived but they were there now and they were, ah, fantastic! Fast scratchy drum thing played on one musician’s lap while he bobbed his knee up and down. I do not know its name and I am embarrassed. Was there a stand-up bass? I think there must have been. There was a clarinet player Benny Goodman would have been proud of, a singer with a fast tongue, and, of course, a trumpet player.
Recipe for delight on a Saturday night. But, oh, it just kept getting better. There was a couple swing dancing in front of the band. Fast feet, she bounced all over the place, smiling and whimsical. He also smiled, and men rarely smile. He tossed her left and right, his knees bent as the trumpet popped, simultaneously, as if planned. Their elbows bent in rhythm and each step was a surprise.
I was leaning against the wall, close, but watching as if from afar. My hood, I hadn’t realized, was still on. My hands were in my pockets. I was sweating and I looked out of place. Why doesn’t she sit down, stay awhile, I felt the crowd asking as time elapsed. I would have if I could have told them why: Because I was frozen in ecstasy. As each song ended, I grew teary- is it over? And then the singer leaned forward again into the microphone and that scratchy washboard rattled like a snake in the grass and then whap! The trumpet joined the tune and the dancers started in with an endless energy that made me feel so alive.
They must have been in love, he and she. I studied his face and I saw an old high school classmate of mine whom I was never close to. I studied her face, and I saw a current co-worker of mine, though it was not them. My mind made them familiar, was all.
I imagined their bedtime whispers while they danced. I imagined them walking to get coffee in the morning, hand in hand. They were the perfect couple, but mostly because they were not perfectly in step. When his foot would land elegantly, her’s would hit staccato, pointed. When he stepped to the side, he kept his leg close to his body, a small step was all he could give. She, his asymmetrical mirror, stepped further from her body, though her body was smaller, as if she wanted to spread herself all over the dance floor like a skater on ice. But they hit every note ensemble, never missing a beat, similar but different; a lesson for all mates: ‘Be one with your lover while maintaining your identity.’
And then the music stopped, the band took a break, and the woman released her partner’s hand and walked away. She left him. She did not look like she was coming back and while I watched she never did.
My heart was broken. They were not in love. I looked down, confused. I sent a text message to my boyfriend that I would be returning home soon, and when I looked up again the man was grabbing another woman’s hand. She, like me, had been watching the dancers all night. Unlike the other woman whose hair was a bouquet of red curls, her hair was long, black, and straight. Her eyes were dark, her body slightly larger.
The music started up and the new couple started dancing and I almost fainted- their movements matched perfectly. He was smooth, and she was smooth. Elegant, liquidy, buoyant; there were not two figures but one gliding creature with four feet and four hands and one heart.
The true couple, alike, and in love.
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