Dancing and Talking

A quick note before I go to another short sleep.

A friend told me he was a little heartbroken that he suspects his ex-girlfriend is dating someone. He wants her to be dating, but the suspicion was hurtful. He wants to ask her if it's true, knowing that it's true. For what, I asked. So he could feel the pain and be over with it.

One Wednesday night ago I finally got an email from the French girl saying she was seeing this guy. I had suspected it before, suspected something would happen even months before, seeing how he was in his own idiosyncratic ways trying to court her, suspecting that such idiosyncrasy would be her fancy. But like my friend, the suspicion was more tormenting than the truth itself. When I got that email I was about to let go, let the emotions come out, finally accepting that I wouldn't want to talk to her again. Like my friend, I would have asked her if she hadn't told me first, to feel the pain just before the catharsis.

I took a taxi home, alone, and I passed by 51st street, on Third Avenue as we raced toward the 59th Street Bridge. I remember the shops there. Why? I never lived there, and it wasn't some place interesting. But I saw that corner twice and I remember, because it was where the hotel was, where I booked a room for a weekend of tango, when she came with me for one night before going to brunch on the other side of the island. I remember things so clearly it's starting to feel like a disadvantage.

I came from that direction because I wanted to walk this girl home, the girl in red and black (not tonight, of course). She was going away for a month, most of the time with her boyfriend. But live for the moment. I wanted to enjoy the last bit of time with her in the present. We shared more. If she didn't have to pack and I didn't have to go to work in five hours, we would have kept talking all night. We danced half the time I was at the practica (the other half I was practicing, you know, to be the best dancer, etc, etc). And we walked all the way to her building. I was happy. Despite that corner on 51st and Third, despite remembering that I was not chosen while someone else was, despite still going home alone (well, to a guy), I was happy that someone thought I was cool enough to walk home with at 1AM at night. Now I need to sleep.