Her body swayed and undulated like a lock of hair trapped in the whirlpool of a drain.
She had the beauty of Cleopatra and the finesse of Anna Pavlova. This was something I had witnessed and seen every thursday for the past six years. Never had I thought to approach her, if I did the mirage would be broken and she would disappear into my dreams forever.
There was also the cost, this wasn’t the most expensive dance club, but a girl like her would bankrupt me. Besides, I still wore my wedding band, and I couldn’t bring myself to take it off even after all this time. Gloria was forever in my heart and no amount of time could wrest her from my thoughts.
When Gloria passed seven years ago, after a long battle with cancer, I lost the frame that holds my notion of myself together. My career seemed to slink away, friends and family drifted out of importance. I took to wandering the streets and spending hours just looking into nothingness. I would have thoughts of self-harm and spurn any social interactions for weeks at a time.
Finally, a co-worked told me I needed to move on, I rebuked him asking whether his degree in philosophy allowed him to have this epiphany. Unsurprisingly he ignored my sarcasm and suggested I start dating again.
Every date I had ended with the girl asking why I wore a wedding band. The very same co-worked that suggested I move on hassled me to take it off if I wanted a chance to get on with life and be happy. He didn’t understand that there was no going back from utopia, and I had accepted that. He took me to this bar, one thursday night to try to help me, and he did, but not in the way he intended.
Because this dancer was here. She definitely did not have the caring loving nature of Gloria, hers was the patience of a saint and she could make me smile at a moments notice. Gloria was gone, but the dancer was the spitting image of Gloria and when I come to see her every thursday night I can return to utopia if only for a brief moment in time.
And life can be worth striving for again, at least for another week.