Nocturnal Magic....The Saturday Night Dance

Nocturnal Magic…
The Saturday Night Dance

At 7:05 the phone rang. “Who?” he wondered. He heard her excited voice, a portend, as she answered, “Yes, yes—right now? We’re on the way.” He shuttered, “Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Honey, get away from that computer, put on comfortable shoes---we’re going dancing with Dee and Tom.” You know the initial response of a man already settled in on emails, right? But with the intrusion also came the solution of, “What’re we having for dinner, Hon?,” that proverbial conundrum that nightly confounds couples. As usual, he obeyed…it was easier that way.

Small-town Saturday dances often occur in places like Holiday Inn ballrooms that are depressingly dull by day. But nighttime transforms the mundane into the magical, aided by good music and munchies. Tonight was no exception.

The place was rocking when they arrived. The Island Rockers band was beating out vintage Bob Seger,

“…still like that old-time rock ’n roll, that kind of music just soothes your soul,
I reminiscence about the days of old, with that old-time rock ‘n roll...”
and it moves your whole body as well, he thought, as the gyrating dance floor crowd confirmed…the Kahuna Dance Club was alive and well!

Huh, The Kahuna “Who?” What kind of name is this for a dance club, he wondered. But, hey, who cares, he concluded, his bones beginning to move as the music pulsated through his body, and strange but wonderful feelings came over him.

She grabbed his arm and they wasted no time joining the aerobics as one Oldie segued into Chubby’s:

“…Let’s twist again like we did last summer, let’s twist again like we did last year.
Do you remember when…”

The unrelenting beat of percussion, the high-pitched scream of the lead guitar, the wail of the tenor sax merged with the voices belting out more familiar lyrics, like Credence,

“…Don’t go around tonight, well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

You’ve heard it, the slur, “white men can’t dance,” but South Georgia Saturday night dances prove it’s a lie. Not size, shape, or age—nothing-- matters when music moves your soul. He knew that from the days of his own band in high school and college, and he had never outgrown his love of music. Old memories revived, and he remembered John, his best friend.

Life dished out to John the dreaded curse of the “white man’s overbite,” a rodent-like condition brought on by large protruding front teeth that totally obliterated his bottom lip. Girls fled at the prospect of kissing John, but he was a killer dancer and girls were attracted to him like a magnet. This “overbite” was accentuated with he danced. His brilliantly big, pearly whites reflected the strobe lights like a mirror… some of the dancers here were apparently John’s overbite relatives. Orthodontics later restored both his flaw and his bottom lip. He was discovered by Hollywood and last seen “Dancing with the Stars.”

The collective mood of the crowd softened as the music slowed, and couples danced, entwined in embraces. The carcass of BBQ’d pig lay lifeless on a table against the wall, its ribs picked clean, and only a few brownies remained uneaten. He and she remembered the advice of years ago, “dance with who brought you,” and they closed the evening with the song,

“Memories, like the corners of my mind,
Misty water-colored memories,
of the way we were...”

evoking flashbacks of an old Redford/Streisand movie.

Evenings, like songs, have endings—this one, too soon. Hand in hand they strolled into the cool night air, the magic of music having reignited old flames. In a contented silence they retreated into their memories as the car sped through the darkness. Receding low on the horizon, a silver sliver of moon sliced slowly into the blackness of the night in its circuit toward tomorrow.

Their home stood quietly alone among the shadows, illuminated by one small lamp as they entered. Smiling, they agreed that it had been a memorable night of music, magic and memories—a night to remember and not to be wasted…and it was not.

Later, his familiar snoring replaced the rhythms of the music, but in her mind the magic of the moment remained. As her evening closed, she slipped slowly into the dark horizon of her own circuit toward tomorrow, the words of an old tune singing her softly into a peaceful sleep,

“…we had it all, just like Bogey and Bacall,
Starring in our old late, late show, sailing away to Key Largo…”.

Here’s looking at you, kid.


Bud
August 4, 2008