First Loves

#1 Where We Danced

The band nearly blew out the speakers in that sweaty club, where half of us were too young to be. I swung my hair around, dancing wildly with my friends in our spot near the front. Once, twice, three times, the crowd parted in a way that I could see, like tunnel vision, a boy leaning against wall. Lanky with dark hair and a black t-shirt, watching the band, rocking his head slightly, internalizing the beat into his pulse.

I think I might have known, even then: I’d be looking at this boy for years to come.

When the singer started to belt a Bowie cover, I couldn’t wait any longer. I pushed my way through the crowd.

“Hey,” I said, holding out my hand him. His eyes were dark, searching mine. “Wanna dance?”

“Oh. Uh…” His back stayed pressed against the wall. “I don’t usually dance here.”

Where did he dance? In his bedroom after dark, arms flailing? Air guitaring on his knees against beige carpet? And what music did he blast? The Cure or Beyoncé or Springsteen or something I couldn’t even guess.

“Okay.” I bit my lip as I grinned. “Well, I don’t usually dance alone here. So…which one of us going to budge?”

His hand was in mine before I could finish the question.

“Me,” he said. And that was our first night.