Rhythm of Life Volume 3

the Rhythm of Life is published weekly by David A. Johnson. -=-=-=-= E-Mail Dave: rhythmofdave at aol dot com -=-=-=-=-=-=- AIM Screen Name: d0johns1

VOLUME 3 ISSUE 3 IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE BEST ISSUE EVER WRITTEN! CLICK ON THE LINK ABOVE TO READ TRIALS, TRIBULATIONS, AND TRAVERSE CITY AND DECIDE FOR YOURSELF!

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Tiny Dancer

February 8, 2004

FIRST A WORD OF INTRODUCTION AND A CORRECTION: This week's is by a guest writer who wants to remain anonymous for now. Any critique you'd like to send her way will be forwarded if you send it to rhythmofdave@aol.com

Now for the Correction on My Old Addiction Part 2. Nick E-Mailed me with a quikkie correction on who it was he rescued as a stand in boyfriend. It was NOT the girl Jake ended up making out with in the car. Sorry Nick!

Dave returns to writing next week, but for now lets enjoy a story from a girl we'll call Lisa!

I met Ben during orientation week, shortly after arriving in Chicago. We spoke briefly about dancing; he does it competitively and noticed that I’d had a bit of training. He immediately caught my eye, but I got the impression that he was unavailable, so I didn’t get my hopes up. A month later we had a chance encounter at the grocery store – he didn’t remember me, but was polite enough to talk for a while. I still didn’t get my hopes up. I saw him again, after another month or so, but although we were in the same conversant group, we didn’t really talk.

Under ordinary circumstances I probably wouldn’t even be able to sketch out these meetings. I noticed him because he’s someone I could see myself dating sometime. Not only that, he’s the only person I’ve met in this city whom I could see myself dating. I determine possibility of relationship within one or two meetings of someone – the faster I get the impression, the better the match. Anyone whom I might consider marrying I’ll know about within ten seconds. This means that practically all people, even perfectly nice ones, get sorted irrevocably into “just friends” after encountering me twice. My pickiness is an extreme impediment to my (nonexistent) romantic life – I haven’t been on a date in over a year. This one’s not even that great of a match, but he’s the only lead I have, and frankly, being alone is starting to get on my nerves.

Scroll forward to this month: a friend of mine starts hyping up these Salsa dancing lessons. It’s a lot of fun, and they’re taught by... Ben. He’s single now, so if you go alone you might get a chance to dance with him. Did she mention he’s a great guy? Yeah, he had a girlfriend for awhile who went abroad and dumped him and it was really too bad because he’s such a nice guy. And he’s an amazing musician and anyone whom he dates has to like classical music.

I was tempted to go, but for two things. One was that karate class conflicted with the time, and I felt like karate had been going particularly well lately. The other was that she kept on emphasizing that Ben would be there (and how great he was) to as many of her female friends as she could find. Thus, I held on to my dignity – or perhaps chickened out – and went to karate practice.

Fast forward to last weekend: she’s having a birthday party, and he’s invited. Lots of people are invited. I go so that I can be social with my friends; I’m not good at initiating social events, so I make sure to attend as many as I can so people don’t forget about me. The party starts off slow, but gets good as more people arrive. I spend most of the evening talking with friends – well, listening to friends, and occasionally trying to contribute to the conversation. It’s a good group: one that includes Wes, a good friend of mine who would like to be more. I bide my time and try to fit in as conversation circles drift in and out of existence.

A few hours in, Ben shows up. I play it cool and stick with the group I’m talking to, even though the talk is slow and somewhat stilted. Once Ben’s group shifts a bit, he says my name. He remembers my name! Joy! I look startled, then join the group. The room is noisy, so it takes me a while to realize that he’s asking about doing the “hustle” to 70’s music. After a brief miscommunication, I learn that he’s actually talking about a partner dance called the hustle, not the cheesy middle school version buried back somewhere in my memory. The birthday girl proposes that he teach me this version, and I say “Sure” a little too quickly. We dance, with me quite clumsy at first, but I catch on well enough to get the attention of the room. I thank Ben, all the while worrying what Wes will think.

After the dance I attempt to make conversation with Ben, but fail miserably. I’m bad enough speaking one-on-one to people I’m not interested in dating. Thankfully my friend Sonya comes in to rescue me. Soon birthday girl suggests that Ben and Sonya try a waltz; the music is not waltz music, but they try anyway. Meanwhile I find another group of friends to dance with, and amusedly try to teach Wes and another friend to cha-cha.

As things settle, I find myself back in the crowd. The party has dwindled down to half it’s former size, such that there are now only two conversations: one large one, and one between Ben and Sonya. I try to talk in the big group, but I don’t make much headway here either. I’m best with middling-sized groups, when I can contribute small amusing quips to an otherwise self-sustaining dialogue. I stand, hoping to associate myself somewhat with the other conversation, but there is no polite opening. Instead I stick with the crowd, and occasionally cast a subtle eye or ear in the direction of the duet.

It’s as though they are dancing, even though they are still talking. My sidelong glances translate their body language into near caresses, despite that logic reminds me she is only touching her hair. She is smiling, he is amused; I can see it all. The scene is obvious to anyone in the room who cares to look; I wonder whether Wes is feeling a quiet satisfaction at seeing that I’m alone again. I ought to feel bad, or rejected, but there are a few things I know that make it all quite different. I know that I’m shy, and can’t really make conversation; it’s only natural that he would want to talk to someone who actually has something to say. I also happen to know that she has a boyfriend, so I know how this dialogue must eventually conclude; I feel like I’m listening to someone tell a joke, while I already know the punchline.

I overhear the word “listening”, and vaguely wonder if they’re aware of me, talking about me, ashamed for me, laughing at me. No matter. Later I hear the inevitable: the invitation to coffee, the polite rejection, the disappointed but tasteful response. Things break up soon after that. People start to leave. Ben even says goodbye especially to me, although he does that for several people. I smile for him as though I’m oblivious to all that just happened, although I suspect that he knows both what I know and what I feel.

Time will tell. The ball is in his court now, the game his. I won’t put myself forward: if he’s interested, he can find me, and if he’s not, he won’t. I’m surprisingly apathetic towards it all. I wouldn’t really feel insulted if he tried me as a “second choice” – I’m just harder to get to know in a short time. Yet I won’t be upset if he stays away, either. For someone whom I know would make a decent partner, I’m strangely not all that interested. I’m beginning to wonder what I’m really after, whether my odd way of choosing people will steer me true or play me false. Perhaps I should be more adventurous. Maybe I should try a dating service. Maybe I should walk up to the next fellow in the coffeeshop with great hair, or pretty eyes, and just start a conversation about nothing. Maybe I should consider Wes, who is a great catch but would get on my nerves after a year or two. Or maybe it’s time to acknowledge that my romantic life is doomed and start preparing to fill my house with cats.