remember honey when we played that game? I made it up myself, I didn’t even get it out of a book. we were dancing, everybody was dancing, it was crowded, and I said, let’s stand still through one song, you want to? it’ll be different. and you said yeah, sure, and I said, back to back. so we faced away from each other in the middle of the floor and leaned up tight and we held hands without looking at each other. instead we looked out like janus, two ways, at the ppl dancing all around us while we stood absolutely perfectly still. and a few ppl looked and maybe they thought we were strange but more likely they thought eh just another night at the club and took it in stride and went on with their own dancing thing. and it was hard to stand still out there for the whole three or four minutes or however long it was till whatever nine-inch-nailsalike synthoshite tune was finished, because one wanted to dance and blend in and fit in and be like all the others. but to fight that urge and do the opposite thing, stand still in the middle of a dance floor, was such a psych. it was great. and I couldn’t see you but I could feel the whole length of your body leaned up warm against my back and I could feel your hands and it was fine and I knew you were always the one I could do the different thing with and break up the monotony. I think some other ppl would have said no, let’s not make a spectacle of ourselves. heh. like standing still makes a spectacle? a “spectacle” is something boring, boring, boring, sid, boring, like dancing on tables or flashing to get attention. stillness is just…still. like statues, static art, not hurting anybody, look if you like. Some other ppl were always chickenshit to try anything different though, always worried about what Other other ppl might Think. you know what (and who) I mean. anyway the song ended, and as soon as the next one started we broke out of it and went back to dancing all normal like nothing happened. killer diller. and we danced more and talked to your friends and I think later we did the standing still thing one more time again before we went home. I can’t remember what I wore that night. maybe the black lace dress ‘cause I remember your friend admiring that, but that could have been another time. I think you were in the brown tweed coat, I could be wrong. (they should have buried you in that coat, you wore it so dern much.) but I still remember what it was like to stand out there and not be afraid for a few minutes because I wasn’t doing it alone for a change.
and that’s how it is again now. I can’t see you, I can only feel for your hand without looking behind me, ‘cause looking back would ruin it. I have your necklace on, I lean back and you’re there again. maybe that was the point of the game. trusting.