Sweaty bodies that move in the dark. Just silhouettes flashed into existence for a second before the club lights fade or turn away. Not persons at all, but embodiments of motion; hands waving, torsos twisting, hips swinging. And the smell – sweat and perfume, beer and deodorant. A beat that slam into you like it’s physical, compelling you to move. I could learn to like this.

danceMark is uncomfortable in crowds, when he can see faces, and when he can see persons. In the crowd on the dance floor, the others are just other shades moving to the beat. Usually he’s content to stand by the wall, beer in hand, and watch me do the gymnastics on the dance floor.

When the mood hits, and the stars align, and he too feels the need to move the other shades just disappear for me, and it is awesome. It becomes something quite different. He’s very real, he’s very there.

We have a bargain. Usually I defer to his crowd avoidance issues, because I have that a little bit as well. But sometimes he just have to suffer it when I get the urge. It’s all about give and take, and neither of us can always have it our way exclusively. Sometimes he just has to give me what I want, and that is to get up on the dance floor and become one of the crowd that is moving as one.

On that floor there’s no mind. The thoughts that otherwise skitter through my head all the time disappear. There’s just the beat, the moves, the music. I fill with music, and the music pours out the only way it can. Through the pores, through the limbs.

This evening we’re going to a party that Stephen is having. Mark is coming. Since this time it’s going to be dancing and singing, I won’t be asked to sing. I’ll be one with the crowd, and the shadow, and I’ll move as one with the rhythm. Just an appendix to the organism of the crowd. And Mark will be with me. Maybe tonight the stars will be in the right positions, and the comets will appear in the sky, and he’ll join me there. I hope so.