TEASE. - The Memoir

2. Cartwheel

2. Cartwheel

Combine giant strobe lights, rainbow glitter flags, insanely loud music, crowds full of people from literally all over the globe, possibly one, two, or three drinks; and lastly the angst of a 19 year old, and what will you create? A late night here in Minneapolis during the week of Pride.

Yep, this boy's story, along with a few more on the album, come from my experiences at my first Pride. It was a glorious time.

This boy in particular was especially glorious. A 20-year-old beam of light, gifted with a great smile, beautiful hair, and the ability do cartwheels under the influence. Yes, cartwheels. And no, he wasn't under the influence of anything illegal. He was simply just high on life, as was I. Right?

We both attended a get-high-on-life pre-game party at someone's apartment downtown, and yet I didn't see or speak to him until we were on our way to the club. My first impression of him was actually watching him do a few cartwheels outside the apartment complex. I was intrigued by his abilities and felt the need to go over and introduce myself. We walked together with the group, talking about shallow things like the weather, and by the time we got to the club my mind felt as if I would feel invincible by the end of the night.

Music played, fortunately drowning the need to make small talk. Instead, no one talked for a while, and we all just danced. Imagine 15 or so guys, all high on life, in the middle of a crowded dance floor, dancing. I was making friends left and right as if I were networking for a career I was desperate for. However, rather than a career, I was networking to be known. To gain a few familiar faces with hope that they might make the city feel somewhat smaller. That's when I met you again, Cartwheel. There on the dance floor.

I can't remember everything as vividly as I would like, but like any true artist I will fill the holes with a perfected version of the truth. I don't know if anyone will ever know exactly what happened, but that's okay.

I recall that you were at the end of a hip-to-hip line of several guys, all pulsing to the music and to each other. You smiled at me, and like the tease I am, I grinned back and turned away, spinning before you to the beat of an unknown song. As I spun, I heard a voice in the back of my mind urging and pulling me toward your direction. It wasn't anything physical, at first, or involuntary. I know I liked the thought of getting closer to you because I remember nurturing it, hoping my hopes would become reality sooner or later. I knew I didn't want to play hard to get forever, and I eventually allowed my feet to dance closer and closer to yours.

Turning around, I felt the warmth of your breath on my neck, and our hips collided to the music. We laughed, introduced ourselves again, as we had already forgotten each other's names, and for a while we dedicated our time to understanding our bodies even more than when we weren't high on life.

Eventually I found myself turned around once again, facing you, my new friend, and we kissed. One kiss led to a plethora and I allowed my hands to be free of care, as you allowed yours to be. Skin contacted skin, lips pushed on lips.

Cartwheel, I love your lips.

We broke in and out of kisses to dance too, together, seemingly more focused than the rest of the dancing line behind us. Your body swayed and rippled slowly, like the waves of a dark ocean. Who controls the ripple of an ocean? Is it the ocean itself, or the moon above it? I learned that it was the moon, but I saw how perfected your waves were, and the moon was nowhere in sight. Even if you weren't in control, you could claim responsibility for the beauty that was your body that night. The moon wouldn't argue.

Bass lines were translated through our slow, descending movements and our shared glances were inspired by the melodies of the treble. We didn't talk much with words, but rather with actions. Arms wrapped around waists and our lips smiled whenever they weren't together. Clothes were removed, allowing me to appreciate the glory of your waving torso more so than before.

Time continued to pass and eventually we were pulled apart. We may have not seen each other since, but sometimes when I look up to the moon at night I smile. I smile because of the night we danced, and how part of me believes the moon cannot control one of the most beautiful waves I have witnessed; the waves that exist in your dancing body. I mean, you can do cartwheels while under the influence, so I think you can control your body rolls too.

Here's to you, Cartwheel.