Little Tony stopped by to save me from my solitude. I actually have a lot of it even though I live with two other people. They tend to be quiet; I tend to go off to my art studio or to my computer, and sometimes I just watch TV alone.
Tony’s text Saturday evening had read, “R u and jim at the bc tonite? I could use a drink or 2.”
I responded, “Sure. What time?”
“I’m almost home. Maybe 15 or 20.”
“Ok probably just me but I will invite Jim. Park at the house. See u soon.”
At the Black Crown we discovered singers doing their best to the piano accompaniment of a player who surely was doing her best, but their bests attracted neither Tony nor me. He suggested a bar downtown, so we drove to it where he drank three mixed drinks to forget the anger a work situation had produced in him the day before. The bar was full of young people. Like so many times in my Denver years I was the oldest patron present. I drank a beer as we talked about a number of common memories.
We left just in time to avoid getting a parking ticket and drove south out of downtown. On Broadway we stopped by a bar where years ago we used to go dancing. Even though the lights were really nice and the music quite acceptable, only one lonely or independent man was dancing. Tony smoked a cigarette, and then we left.
We drove back downtown to the X Bar where I knew there would be lots of activity. The place featured very loud music, video images, and many people dancing. Tony insisted on buying another drink. I said, “Sure, a Miller Lite for me.”
We stood around listening to the music, looking at the young people, mostly gay and lesbian, a few transgender folk, probably undetectable bisexuals as well. Perhaps a few straight couples out for something different on a Saturday night. The energy of the place was high.
We talked swaying a little and finally he began to dance a little, somewhat like years ago when we went week after week to the Denver Compound to dance on Saturday nights. I saw his characteristic moves and began doing my own.
A young Hispanic guy started dancing alongside us, enjoying what I took to be his favorite song. He was cute, fun to watch, moved like the supplest of sinews, and as he danced, smiled with beautiful face and dimples. We enjoyed his movements and beauty. We danced for about twenty minutes. Then a young woman came up to me and began to dance with me, to touch me, to actually feel me up. I thought, uh oh, this one has had too much to drink, but we danced as best we could. Then I noticed my friend Tony was dancing with a young man, someone maybe his own age or close to it. I was so pleased for Tony. He needs to be dancing with someone not old enough to be his father, and he seemed to love it. I had a bit of conversation with the young woman as we kept dancing. Then the guy who had been dancing with Tony came over to me, and we started dancing. The woman started dancing with Tony. I learned some things about them, that she, a single mother, was his best friend, that he was living with his mother in Albuquerque due to the breakup of a 20-year long relationship in New York and to her disintegrating health, that he had driven up to see her and take her out since she rarely has the opportunity to do much of anything besides work and take care of her two-and-a-half year old, that he’d really like to get laid but couldn’t because he was with her, that they assumed Tony and I were a couple, and they wondered how long.
Finally Tony and I told them goodnight, left the bar, and he drove me home. I recall looking at the time as we were leaving—1:39 a.m. I hadn’t almost closed a bar for many years. In fact, I hadn’t been out dancing for several years. I realized just how much I miss the activity. I had danced a lot in my first five years in Denver, almost always the oldest man on the floor. With Tony I learned to be very expressive in the dance. He and I always enjoyed our evenings out.
Tony dropped me off at the house and said he’d wait until I got in the door. What is he? A youngster taking care of the elderly? Anyway, I waved from the doorway as he pulled away.
I hurried to the basement where my computer was waiting. There I began this story of my temporary delivery from solitude and, of course, sat alone as I typed, enjoying being alone just as much as I loved dancing with my friend and the other youngsters.
Denver, © 2013
About the Author
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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