THE DANCE BY NARIMAN
We pulled up to the traffic light and he leaned over, his seatbelt tightening against his thickened frame.
"Remember this?" he said as he kissed me softly, this gesture now so
out of character for him.
The corners of my mouth curled ever so slightly in remembrance of a time when
we used to pray for the traffic lights to flash red for this very reason: The
hungry kisses, the rough hands, the roaring with laughter…
So
often these days we fume when we are stopped by the red light, cursing the
delay, eager to get going, to be on time, to get on with it. Revving in our
haste.
"I remember!"
What
a simple thing, this stopping at the robot, this celebration of companionship,
this playing and lightness of being.
30 years is a lifetime and the forever-after kinda love has many nuances. It is
vast and ever-changing, challenging the status quo, demanding shifts and
pivots, leaning in and turning away, it is all a part of its epic span. How can
such a love be staid and fixed?
We share a long history filled with so many memories? Memories of the little
things, simple things that get lost in the craziness of raising kids, buying a
house, going to work to afford said house & cars & education &
family vacations & stuff & rainy days...
Memories lost.
Moments forgotten.
Seemingly small experiences carelessly discarded, things like dancing so
close that your heartbeats become in sync, like kisses at the
robots for no reason, like the twinkle in his eye when he sees
you approaching... small things brushed aside for duties and responsibilities.
It becomes easy to forget that he is your home; that you found your sanctuary
underneath his clothes, in that nook in his arms, clinging to him like a
barnacle in the dead of night, security buried deep in brown eyes.
And all it takes to remind you, is a dance.
A dance that loosened the cobwebs and brings the simple things flooding back to
you on a hot summer’s night on the lighter side of midnight in the twilight of
your life.
I sit up straight in the middle of the
bed in the middle of the night on days of white, the glow of the full moon too
enticing to be disregarded. My hair is unkept, my skin flushed, and the white
cotton negligee balloons out from under me where I sit cross-legged on the
white Egyptian cotton bedding patterned with lavender flowers and green leaves
embroidered in silk thread. The aroma of peppermint tea lures me in, and I take
a sip, the warm bitterness rolling around my lustful tongue. The full moon hangs
pregnant in midnight skies, igniting my senses and awakening something primal
deep inside. I allow it to sit there, way down deep, allowing it to simmer and
stew, unlocking feeling and thoughts long quelled in the busyness of everyday
life.
I had lit a single candle, placed it strategically
in the corner furthest from me letting it cast its feeble, flickering light
into the giant empty bedroom. He is away from me, his mind writing code, lines
of letters and numbers keeping him from me.
It feels good letting them loose, the familiar
feelings now tugging at old bones.
I invite them to the
surface.
My body remembers, and
moves, shivering at first despite the heat,
Then arms outstretched,
my body making stars as the moonlight streams into the room.
I stand on uncertain
feet, and inch closer to the rays of light.
On tiptoes I move, remembering that grace once resided in these stiff limbs. I'm whirling in sheer abandon losing my grip on reality like dancing dervishes meditating on love. And love and lust are stirring within me, love of him and a lust for life long since entertained.
When we are green it is so
easy losing oneself in another, but when age has set in, the familiarity creates
distance and danger sets in.
The danger of losing
someone so beloved.
The danger of letting go.
Or the fear of being the
one left behind.
I continue twirling on
bare feet till I reach the room at the end of the corridor. Light from the
computer screen is flittering across his face.
“Do you remember?”
I whisper softly, “that we once danced on rooftops in Singapore, and kissed at
robots…”
“Huh?” he
responds, nor sure what I’m on about.
“Robots and wet kisses
and racing home…”
I can see the smile.
And the knowing descending.
Our history runs deep.
“Dance with me…”
I smile, he smiles, and we begin to sway while the moon looks on paying homage to the dance.
Comments