Missed Opportunity: Wish I had done it.
It was a school dance. This was a small school. I think there were 22 of us in my graduating class. There was only one more class after us before they consolidated my alma mater. They legislated my old school out of existence to spare a bloated budget that has only grown exponentially larger; And to have a football team that could beat Valdosta. Don't know for sure that we have beaten Valdosta twice in the 20 plus years since either, but I am sure some politician ranks the elimination of heritage and tradition at my little backwater school as a feather in his cap.
But.
It was a school dance. The kind held in the lunchroom with most of the lights off and crepe paper streamers running down from a mirror ball to the far corners of the room. Music was playing over large speakers that were just a few decibels too loud for the music to be understood. It was the mid 80's so the music was not very good and thus not a great loss.
She asked me to dance. That is, she came up to me and shout/whispered, "Do you wanna dance?" I have never given her enough credit for that. I had forced myself to overcome the mind numbing fear of laughter, rejection, and humiliation to ask some girls to dance over the past couple of years. It never occurred to me until tonight that walking up to me and asking me to dance was just, or even more, terrifying.
This was roughly 1986 or '87, or '88. I didn't go to any dances in '89, my senior year, because I had already grown too anti-social to even pretend anymore. But she walked up to me and asked me to dance.
I was flattered. I knew she thought I was cute. I had known for some time that she thought I was cute. She had pretty eyes. And freckles. And she had her hair cut short with bangs that raked across her eyes. It was Tomboyish to most from the deep south. It was really cutting edge punk beyond the slack jawed yokels that we shared the lunchroom with that night. I have never given her credit for that either.
She asked me to dance and I said yes. We walked out to the place that I have never been more self aware. The dance floor was the place where I was aware of my arms and my hips and my hands and my feet and my knees and my back and how none of these parts had any business working together with any kind of graceful cohesion. Slow songs were the only thing that let you focus on ankles, knees, hips, arms, neck, thighs, and hands and keep them all moving in some sort of unified ceremony.
She put her hand in mine and rested the other on my shoulder. The one in my hand felt cool and dainty and fragile. Conversely, the one on my shoulder felt warm, weighted, and ...wonderful. My left arm reached around behind her, traced the outline of muscle and flesh that led to the small of her back. The small of a woman's back... I didn't know it had a name back then. I just knew it was a place where it seemed natural for my hand to stop. My fingers found the soft curves and settled there with my palm subtly pulling her to me - just by the natural shape of the muscles in her back.
I could feel her breath on my neck as I inhaled the smell of her short cropped hair and found myself silent and caught up in the moment. This is a meaningful memory. There are very few moments in my life where I don't have some sort of commentary. I was silent in anticipation.
She was dancing too fast. The music was playing and she was moving so much faster than the beat that even with my lack of rhythm and talent and timing, I could tell we were moving too fast. I didn't know what to do - especially since I couldn't make myself speak.
Even though I hadn't given her the credit she deserved for the courage to ask me to dance, I was still flattered that she had asked. I knew, or maybe only imagined, that she found me attractive in some way. That held an allure that was precious to me. I never felt attractive as a young man. I learned a confidence as an older man but had little to none as a boy. This night I was awash with virility and a confidence that she provided for just one dance. And she was dancing too fast.
I pulled her closer with my hand at the oh so intimate small of her back and pulled her hand that was held vice-like in mine to my chest and we came to an almost complete stop. She looked into my eyes as I looked into hers. I tried to be subtle as I licked my upper lip with a soft, quick flip of my tongue, but I was acutely aware that her eyes followed my tongue as it traced the outline of my thin, red lip.
I remember not breathing for what seemed like minutes. I couldn't feel or hear her breathing. I don't know for sure if the music was still playing. I wanted to kiss her. I soooo wanted to kiss her. I wanted to feel my hand at the back of her head where her hair was cut so short. I wanted to feel the tip of her nose against my cheek as we pressed closer and closer together. I wanted the awkward smile as the chaperone pulled us apart. And I wanted to see which one of us looked away first in innocent acknowledgment of youthful, inexperienced desire.
But I was a coward. I let the moment pass. And now I have reached the age where the saying about regrets comes into clearer and clearer focus. You may regret some of the things you HAVE done. But you regret the things you HAVE NOT done so much more.
"Oh," she said, " You want to slow down."
It was a pragmatic statement. It was a logical statement. It was the truth as only humans can limit the accuracy of life through words. What I wanted was a kiss. What I wanted was to feel desired. What I wanted was to have someone hold me as she was held in comfort and joy and peace.
And I wanted her to slow down. And she did. And she looked into my eyes. And she was expecting something. And I whiffed.
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