I walked into the clubhouse. Lady Gaga's "just dance" boomed from the speakers. I ran a hand over my hair to make sure they were smooth and imagined I looked like a black Ian Flemming, then went in. Assorted lights ran about the hall, then shot up to the sky in spectacular fashion; large, rotund red and blue lights scampered hastily about the walls, escorted by smaller, exuberant beams of lemon green and purple. Tables, with smiling couples and glinting liquor peppered the vicinity. On the dance floor, there were a small group of people dancing to Gaga's upbeat song. I spotted her among them and darted towards her, head high, exuding the kinds of confidence I did not possess. I wriggled through a number of dancing men and women till I reached her spot. She had on a plain, swirly, oxblood gown that reached slightly below her knees and as she rocked and shook her lithe body to the song, the gown too danced with her, and the duet seemed perfect. I approached from behind her, cautiously now.
"Hello Miss", I whispered in her ear. "May I have this dance?"
Startled, she turned around to see me, and her immediate fright made way for a flowery smile.
She didn't answer. She only gave me her hands and expected me to lead. This was the "it" moment I'd rehearsed days and nights for. I took charge. At first, my movements were supreme, little paces to and fro, sharp twists, a wide, excited smile on my face as my back bent to the rhythms, as my fingers flicked to the snare's accents. But as we began to really get into it, I started faltering.
Suddenly, my sharp movements dulled; the song would run ahead of my body, then my body would run ahead of it.
I prayed she would not notice but it was getting too obvious, as I maladroitly stepped on her feet a few times. I started losing my footing, dancing against the rhythm as though I had my own song playing in my head. She endured. I prayed to God my legs would for once obey me, but they didn't, as though they had minds of their own. To my consternation, the D. J changed the song and Nicki Minaj's "Pound The Alarm" came on. That was when my hell worsened.
More people thronged the dance floor, as I struggled to find balance, knocking parts of my body against hers. I saw her visible discomfort and, while I applauded her patience with me, I could only count the seconds until she finally had enough of my stupidity. But my legs had a plan of their own. Hobbling and tottering like old, feeble men, they veered left and right, having me "woa-ring" on and on, my heart on the edge, praying fervently that I don't end up on the floor - or worse, end us both on the floor.
I wondered why she was still putting up with me now, wondering if she was just trying to cover my shame. I shook my mind's head ruefully - for my real head was concerned about other things, like how to stop my fucked up legs from making me the topic of the night. My nightmare trebled as I noticed people were starting to leave the floor. They looked amused as though they were seeing something exciting -- or terribly funny.
"Oh God! They're watching me" I screamed in my head.
My head spun. My legs were still moving. I heard a chorus of laughter.
"Aaaaagh!! They're laughing!" My mind yelled.
I stopped pitying myself and began to pity the girl, still wondering why her smile never left her face; why she looked as though she was having fun, enjoying the dance. I closed my eyes and tried to forgrt where I was . My prayers had now changed. I prayed all of this would just end.
Moments later, as though my prayers had been heard, I stepped crudely on my own feet , slipped and collapsed into the girl on the dance floor: I, on top of her and clinging to her silky dress. Strangely, it must have resembled a pose because, though in my head, I could already hear them bawling in derisive laughter, the floor only fell unusually quiet.
While we were untangling ourselves and getting up, a sound, like a slap greeted my ears: followed by another and another, and another, until the whole floor seemed to blaze in a flourish of rapturous cheers and applause. And so, I found myself bowing, and her genuflecting, as we went to find ourselves a table.
"You're a very good dancer" she said to me sexily...
I smiled to myself..
"I try my best", I said, returning the smile.
Inside me, my mind wrote letters of gratitude to whoever did and did not answer those prayers I'd prayed.
"Shall we do this again sometime?" She asked, lively.
"Sure" I said, confidently, gulping a glass of Bruick '93.
In my ears, I heard someone whisper..
"You forgot to say thank you"..
I looked up in surprise to see her smiling at me, as she stood, leaving the table, and leaving the bar...