At 17, I did it barefooted and braless, Pink Floyd pinging off the neon walls. Climbed right up on the coffee table and danced, dipped, ca-chinged to the sounds of the cash register clanking...Bubble eyed gold fished swam in the bathtub, lost in the psychedelic world we painted on their clawfooted world. Christian smoked a fat one. Strangers came and went. And the music played on and on and on.
And we danced.
At 19, I wore neon green platforms and borrowed white painter paints. I rubbed elbow to elbow, knee to knee, through a sea of strangers drinking nickel beer and danced up the steps and down again, Making grand entrances over and over again.
We danced....
In and out of my twenties,
in and out of revolving bars
into raging oceans,
waist high in midnight currents....
At 30 I danced out of one life and in stilhetto heels and a drippy hippy satin dress, danced right into my next....
Tom Jones and the Art of Noise....
The Kiss....
Off the dance floor and into a sea green pool....
Navy blue fabric, and tea stained lace floating,
swirling.....
And we laughed...
Until we cried...
And in slow motion, a gazillion years passed and I watched black and white re-runs...
the music slurring, blurring, getting buried under dust bunnies...
Until I remembered...
And it wasn't exactly like riding a bike....
It didn't come back all at once...
Not until I closed my eyes....
And danced again...
