Second Guesses

Originally written Saturday, December 3, 2005

I arrived at the contra dance tonight curious about whether we would see our elusive friend there. This is a big dance weekend, not part of the usual schedule. The Friday and Saturday evening dances run from 7:00 to 11:30, there are workshops during the day, and the tickets are special event-priced tickets. Since I do indeed have a life beyond dancing, I went only for tonight’s evening portion (Richard, as I’ve mentioned, was volunteering and had been there for much of the weekend). Advanced choreography, experienced dancers. I saw a few acquaintances from other parts of the state and further afield, regulars on the extended circuit; a student from one of my classes was there, and we were equally surprised at never having encountered each other at a dance before. For the most part, the first few hours made for a lovely evening.

Moshe didn’t appear until around 10:30, and when I saw him I wasn’t sure whether his presence confirmed or refuted our prior suspicions about him. On the one hand, spending $25 on a ticket to dance for one hour suggested an ulterior motive. On the other hand, he was actually being social. He danced and conversed with a number of people, including my student, who seemed to know him (when I asked her later, she said they belong to the same temple, which I thought was interesting). At one point, we were in adjacent dance sets, and he said hi. I smiled, said hello back, and then realized that I hadn’t entered the distracted daze I was half expecting.

The contra ended at 11:30, and there were going to be waltzes and other couples dances for a while. I’m not that crazy about those, so I usually try to escape as soon as the waltzing starts (I can spend an evening obsessively pursuing potential partners for the contras, but as soon as a waltz is called, I feel like the most reluctantly popular woman in the room). Richard, however, quite likes them, so I had a bit of a dilemma in deciding whether to wait for him so we could touch base or to call him tomorrow morning. I had begun picking up my stuff at the side of the dance hall when Moshe approached. Now, that was a change in circumstances, I thought. It wouldn’t be the last time it crossed my mind tonight.

It began with small talk: what time we’d each gotten there (I pretended not to have noticed when he came in), whether we were attending workshops, etc. I continued to feel lucid throughout this line of questioning.

“I play the piano at the mall, so I couldn’t get here until after I finished up.”

“What do you play? Probably holiday songs these days?”

“As little of those as I can get away with,” he laughed.

I laughed, too. “I imagine those get old pretty quickly.” But it made me wonder in exactly what capacity he did play the piano. I don’t shop much, but I couldn’t remember much call for pianists at malls.

“Do you play music or sing or anything?”

Hmm. I shouldn’t have been sure how to approach this one. Did he know about the karaoke? Or musical involvements in my less recent past? I just stuck with the current story, but it was more out of habit than concern. He had me completely at ease, and I probably could have said anything. But I generally don’t let on to new people that I’m Gifted—it’s safer to pass as a transitive soul like Richard, when I believe I’m being recognized as amortal at all—and I told him only about singing karaoke and the occasional open mic and fooling around on a couple of instruments. This is, of course, what I would have told him if I’d had time to reflect, but I wasn’t quite functioning on such a reflective plane.

The conversation continued on that comfortable, casual level. I told him what I did for a living and how long I’d been contra dancing (in the current generation, that is—just in case), and we even delved into some political talk. I never felt like I was under any kind of magical influence; portions like the music question seemed to flow from me as if I were just a little tipsy. Nevertheless, we carried on until he mentioned that the weather had worsened while I’d been in the dance hall, and the cars were all encased with ice outside. I headed out to start defrosting, and while I chipped away at the windshield with the scraper, I reviewed the past twenty minutes in my mind. Obviously there was no truth spell, since I’d skated through the usual partial homages to honesty that (sadly or no) have become second nature to me. Likewise, I hadn’t gone blank upon hearing the first few words from his mouth. But something still felt odd. Why should I feel strange about having a perfectly normal conversation with someone?

This day's events to be continued...