The Last Night - Short Story

 ‘So what is a Saturn return?’

Oh, why such metaphysical subjects on a hazy warm soft air on your skin Friday night in December..?

  ‘Don’t sit there in silence looking all cosmic,’ he said. I looked at this man in front of me. He wasn’t wearing his glasses that night, his warm brown eyes shone and his scent lingered, flirting with the breeze in a casual manner.

  ‘Oh, it means that every 26 to 27 years your life gets a review – a spring clean – similar to out with the old and in with the new. So if something in your life doesn’t work it goes and if it does then it stays.’

Actually, that isn’t what I said but my memory fails me at this moment. I am sure I rambled something similar. This is what I should have said. The answer delivers it’s meaning succinctly, it’s not a conversation killer and can easily lead onto a more interesting topic. Maybe if I had asked some context setting questions or added a little more modeling and drilling the English Language Tutors would have stood up and given a round of applause but I believe my repartee may have only been a ‘to standard’ that night. I didn’t do enough preparation beforehand, didn’t do my homework. I didn’t write down what I was going to say in advance.

We moved on and spoke to different people. Yet as time passed our group got smaller and we looked at each other.

  ‘You’re not leaving are you?’

For three months I have sat at this very same computer, restricted by deadlines and routine for the promise of a greater freedom. This was supposed to be a night of celebration, of joy, of dancing until dawn… yet one by one people were drifting to the comfort of their own lives, to the responsibilities and chores of tomorrow, to the bodies already keeping half of their bed warm.

  ‘No, I am not going.’

Relief coursed through me and before we knew it we were leaving the place alone. Suddenly intoxicated with the new arrangement, the night presented many possibilities and we headed to a small bar filled with a young crowd already dancing to the groove of a drunken Friday evening. We stood in the corner with drinks in our hands, happy to share the contents of our thoughts and lives for the other to see. My interest was peaked and I was fascinated by this Australian in front of me. We freestyled from subject to subject according to the DJ’s whim and I felt the ancient rhythmic dance of seduction intermittently tuning up the instruments, trying out a few practice beats, playing with the idea of starting a tune.

We left the bar and moved onto China Town and despite the need to dance I wanted to know more so we went upstairs and carried on talking as if we were the most interesting people in the world. And right then he was, I wanted to know more and there was nowhere else I wanted to be. I dredged up subjects that I hadn’t dusted off and looked at for some time and even surprised myself. I guess it’s only in the presence of another when we see who we have become.      

We go downstairs to dance but it’s awkward and the music is sharp and at angles, it didn’t feel comfortable and the people surrounding us were careless. This place lost its magic and we moved on. The streets of Melbourne seemed in no hurry to slumber. People gathered lazily on corners and we fell in and out of their reverie alternately talking and searching for the next attraction.

The Speigel Tent beckoned, a traveling tent intended for dancing, music and the arts. He saw some of his friends. Momentarily paralysed by indecision he wavered. Yet we sat with them and I talked to a boy he didn’t know the name of. They told us about the swing dance party we had missed but soon Michael Jackson’s ‘Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough’ comes on and I had to move. This song… this song makes me….oh… I have to… Even at home when it comes on random I cannot sit. I cannot allow the moment to pass without my body paying a tribute.  I told him we had to dance. He didn’t hesitate, he followed.  

If I am alone or with my friends I will dance as if electricity is coursing through my body, as if the music takes hold of my limbs and rearranges them according to the moment. Yet in front of a boy I like, suddenly I am self-consciousness and dancing becomes more than movement. It becomes a language and these are words I am unused to discussing.

  ‘Teach me how to salsa’

So, he took hold of my body and pulled me close, my hands touched his shoulders and my head momentarily rested on his shoulders. It felt safe, it felt solid and he felt real. I felt as delicate as a flower’s bloom, only able to present beauty for a short time before nature took back what was hers.

  ‘This is not salsa’ he said and he twirled me around.

In the Speigel Tent the music and dancers were unashamedly upbeat and lighthearted. Girls were acting out the lyrics to the songs, their confidence fizzled and dresses ruffled, we laughed at their antics. I had a moment of ‘I am in Australia. This is Australia. I am dancing with a boy in Australia. And I am in the Speigel Tent, it’s real, here and now’. But before I knew it the last song came on and the tables and chairs were taken away. We said goodbye to his friends and wandered on into the night.

Neither of us wanted to go. He would intermittently put his hand on my back and I could feel rivulets of sweat tracing my skin. The heat encouraged us to take advantage of the hours that lay ahead of us and he took me to an all-night bar. The music was good and before we knew it we were back on the dance floor, the room was packed, the current was strong and I was involuntarily pulled in. We were close. So I pulled back.

  ‘Let’s get some water.’

I stood near the bar and he stood behind me. He put his arms around my waist and we stood motionless. No words yet at that moment our bodies were in deep conversation. He nudged me to the bar, people were packed tightly together eager to get what they wanted. Whilst waiting for someone, anyone, to come and get my order, lucid thoughts emerged and I realized this could turn into something. I pulled away and we went outside.

I could have walked that night, it helps me to think, I could have asked him more questions and I could have stayed awake until the day had begun. But life started to encroach and he wasn’t keen. We got into a taxi and we passed by my bridge of voices.

  ‘Call me’ and then I kissed him on the cheek. And he did. Five minutes later…

You can read my short stories here: Gracie's short stories



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