When We Dance

They dance like me, enthusiastic, alive, grinning from ear to ear. Celebrating. Wearing pretty dresses, showing some skin, having long hair tumbling down their backs, or locks cut short and spiked. Their heels showing off their legs and curves.

“I like your dress,” someone shouts in my ear.

I turn to that woman. She’s part of the group.

“Thank you. I like your outfit, too.”

She wears glittery makeup that makes her eyes pop, her hair a mix of red and black locks. She looks like a fantasy princess, and that’s definitely the look she’s aimed for.

A sheer, lacy, shimmering black catsuit with a bejeweled zipper at the front completes her look.

“It’s hot… What you’re wearing,” I say, moving my finger up and down, pointing to the length of her body.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes twinkle with a smile.

We keep dancing, trying not to pull away from each other while carrying a conversation.

“Are you here alone?” she asks.

I nod in response.

“You? Are you here with your friends?” I ask.

Our dialogue is far from stellar, but we’re doing what we can with what we have.

The music blasts in our ears.

“Yes,” she shouts. “Let’s get another drink,” she suggests, tipping her eyes to my empty glass.

She dangles hers in front of me. It’s empty too.

We navigate away from her group but not too far and stop at one of the bars.

She gets a cocktail. I go for a glass of water.

“No more alcohol for you?” she asks as we hear each other a little better.

I drink my water and laugh.

“It’s not my first event this evening.”

“Oh.”

She takes a sip of her cocktail.

“Are you one of those hired people?” she asks.

I throw her a questioning look.

“You know… For events,” she says.

She moves her eyes over my body and flicks her finger up and down.

“You look like a model.”

“Thank you. I’m not a model.”