She was sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, looking at the dance floor. I asked her to dance. She offered an open embrace. (OK. No problem.) And then, within a few notes, I remembered her. About six months ago, while we danced, she looked bored. I was relieved that she ended the set early. This time, the same demeanor, the same I-am-here-but-I-am-really-looking-for-someone-else-(not-you) expression. She appeared to be more interested in the brick wall than in being with me. Fine.
Then, she asked, "How long have you danced?" I replied, "Two years."
I have found two reasons (yes there are others, but these two are the most interesting) that people ask me this question. One, they think I am good. If I think this is the reason, I answer this way: "You know, it takes a lifetime." Two, they think I am a novice and they are saying it to elevate their status above mine. To these, I answer directly.
Anyway, I asked her, "And you?" She said, "Six years. In my old country, I was an assistant."
This went through my mind: "But you are not that good. I have experienced truly sublime dances. And you are not even in the same galaxy. I don't feel any connection with you. I don't feel any emotion from you. You receive my body's offer, and yet you do what you want... Why are you even dancing with me?"
I watched her the rest of the night. She kept looking at the dance floor, and she hardly danced.
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