many things that can keep you in a relationship,” I say. “Fear of being alone. Fear of disrupting the arrangement of your life. A decision to settle for something that’s okay, because you don’t know if you can get any better. Or maybe there’s the irrational belief that it will get better, even if you know he won’t change.”
“ ‘He’?”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
At first I don’t understand what she sees—clearly, I was talking about her. Then I get where the pronoun has led her.
“That cool?” I ask, figuring it will make Nathan even less threatening if he’s gay.
“Completely.”
“How about you?” I ask. “Seeing anyone?”
“Yeah,” she says. Then, deadpan, “For over a year.”
“And why are you still together? Fear of being alone? A decision to settle? An irrational belief that he’ll change?”
“Yes. Yes. And yes.”
“So …”
“But he can also be incredibly sweet. And I know that, deep down, I mean the world to him.”
“Deep down? That sounds like settling to me. You shouldn’t have to venture deep down in order to get to love.”
“Let’s switch the topic, okay? This isn’t a good party topic. I liked it more when you were singing to me.”
I’m about to make reference to another song we heard on our car ride—hoping that maybe it’ll bring her back in some way—when Justin’s voice comes from over my shoulder, asking, “So who’s this?” If he was relaxed when I saw him in the kitchen, now he’s annoyed.
“Don’t worry, Justin,” Rhiannon says. “He’s gay.”
“Yeah, I can tell from the way he’s dressed. What are you doing here?”
“Nathan, this is Justin, my boyfriend. Justin, this is Nathan.”
I say hi. He doesn’t respond.
“You seen Stephanie?” he asks Rhiannon. “Steve’s looking for her. I think they’re at it again.”
“Maybe she went to the basement.”
“Nah. They’re dancing in the basement.”
Rhiannon likes this news, I can tell.
“Want to go down there and dance?” she asks Justin.
“Hell no! I didn’t come here to dance. I came here to
drink
.”
“Charming,” Rhiannon says, more (I think) for my benefit than his. “Do you mind if I go dance with Nathan?”
“You sure he’s gay?”
“I’ll sing you show tunes if you want me to prove it,” I volunteer.
Justin slaps me on the back. “No, dude, don’t do that, okay? Go dance.”
So that’s how it comes to pass that Rhiannon is leading me to Steve Mason’s basement. As we hit the stairs, we can feel the bass under our feet. It’s a different soundtrack here—a tide of pulse and beat. Only a few red lights are on, so all we can see are the outlines of bodies as they meld together.
“Hey, Steve!” Rhiannon calls out. “I like your cousin!”
A guy who must be Steve looks at her and nods. Whether he can’t hear what she’s said or whether he’s trashed, I can’t tell.
“Have you seen Stephanie?” he yells.
“No!” Rhiannon yells back.
Then we’re in with the dancers. The sad truth is that I have about as much experience on a dance floor as Nathan does. I try to lose myself in the music, but that doesn’t work. Instead, I need to lose myself in Rhiannon. I have to give myself overentirely to her—I must be her shadow, her complement, the other half of this conversation of bodies. As she moves, I move with her. I touch her back, her waist. She comes in closer.
By losing myself to her, I gain her. The conversation is working. We have found our rhythm and we are riding it. I find myself singing along, singing to her, and she loves it. She transforms once again into someone carefree, and I transform into someone whose only care is her.
“You’re not bad!” she shouts over the music.
“You’re amazing!” I shout back.
I know that Justin is not coming down here. She is safe with Steve Mason’s gay cousin, and I am safe knowing that nobody else will interfere with this moment. The songs collide into one long
“ ‘He’?”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
At first I don’t understand what she sees—clearly, I was talking about her. Then I get where the pronoun has led her.
“That cool?” I ask, figuring it will make Nathan even less threatening if he’s gay.
“Completely.”
“How about you?” I ask. “Seeing anyone?”
“Yeah,” she says. Then, deadpan, “For over a year.”
“And why are you still together? Fear of being alone? A decision to settle? An irrational belief that he’ll change?”
“Yes. Yes. And yes.”
“So …”
“But he can also be incredibly sweet. And I know that, deep down, I mean the world to him.”
“Deep down? That sounds like settling to me. You shouldn’t have to venture deep down in order to get to love.”
“Let’s switch the topic, okay? This isn’t a good party topic. I liked it more when you were singing to me.”
I’m about to make reference to another song we heard on our car ride—hoping that maybe it’ll bring her back in some way—when Justin’s voice comes from over my shoulder, asking, “So who’s this?” If he was relaxed when I saw him in the kitchen, now he’s annoyed.
“Don’t worry, Justin,” Rhiannon says. “He’s gay.”
“Yeah, I can tell from the way he’s dressed. What are you doing here?”
“Nathan, this is Justin, my boyfriend. Justin, this is Nathan.”
I say hi. He doesn’t respond.
“You seen Stephanie?” he asks Rhiannon. “Steve’s looking for her. I think they’re at it again.”
“Maybe she went to the basement.”
“Nah. They’re dancing in the basement.”
Rhiannon likes this news, I can tell.
“Want to go down there and dance?” she asks Justin.
“Hell no! I didn’t come here to dance. I came here to
drink
.”
“Charming,” Rhiannon says, more (I think) for my benefit than his. “Do you mind if I go dance with Nathan?”
“You sure he’s gay?”
“I’ll sing you show tunes if you want me to prove it,” I volunteer.
Justin slaps me on the back. “No, dude, don’t do that, okay? Go dance.”
So that’s how it comes to pass that Rhiannon is leading me to Steve Mason’s basement. As we hit the stairs, we can feel the bass under our feet. It’s a different soundtrack here—a tide of pulse and beat. Only a few red lights are on, so all we can see are the outlines of bodies as they meld together.
“Hey, Steve!” Rhiannon calls out. “I like your cousin!”
A guy who must be Steve looks at her and nods. Whether he can’t hear what she’s said or whether he’s trashed, I can’t tell.
“Have you seen Stephanie?” he yells.
“No!” Rhiannon yells back.
Then we’re in with the dancers. The sad truth is that I have about as much experience on a dance floor as Nathan does. I try to lose myself in the music, but that doesn’t work. Instead, I need to lose myself in Rhiannon. I have to give myself overentirely to her—I must be her shadow, her complement, the other half of this conversation of bodies. As she moves, I move with her. I touch her back, her waist. She comes in closer.
By losing myself to her, I gain her. The conversation is working. We have found our rhythm and we are riding it. I find myself singing along, singing to her, and she loves it. She transforms once again into someone carefree, and I transform into someone whose only care is her.
“You’re not bad!” she shouts over the music.
“You’re amazing!” I shout back.
I know that Justin is not coming down here. She is safe with Steve Mason’s gay cousin, and I am safe knowing that nobody else will interfere with this moment. The songs collide into one long
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