Page 373 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 343

sunshine-blue voice soared over the roar of shouted conversations. She was
singing “Can I Have This Dance for the Rest of My Life?”
Ryan looked deep into Kick’s blue eyes. “Can I?” he asked.
Kick pulled him closer. “Anything you want.”
Neither man led the other. The toes of Ryan’s cowboy boots met the
toes of Kick’s construction boots. They stood in place, each looking deep
into the other’s eyes, swaying to the music. The golden bodybuilder and
the tall, dark man were a sight to see. No one dared cut in. They were
together, totally into each other, aloof from all else around them. The
music rose and ended.
A gay man dragged up in cowboy rodeo gear shouted, “Oh, darlin’!”
The two of them stood stock still with Ryan’s arms around Kick’s
broad shoulders and Kick’s around Ryan’s waist with his palms on Ryan’s
butt. They were beyond words.
The band retook the stage. The lead guitarist started the backward
count to midnight. The crowd joined in. Ryan felt like a missile on count-
down to launch. It was midnight and in the careening bar they stood alone
and untouched. They kissed deeply.
“This will be our best year,” Kick said.
And it was, until March, when Logan Doyle hit town.
Ryan realized his knuckles were white gripping the steering wheel.
He checked his eyes again in the rearview mirror. He hardly recognized
himself. He had to save Kick. He felt like a priest whose vocation was to
save only one soul whose redemption would be his own.
He looked out the car window at the rocky path leading to the top of
the mountain. He feared he could not climb it. He was tired. The agony
of waiting so many months for Kick to appear, and then comforting him
against Logan’s meanness of soul had exhausted him. He knew he must
confront Kick, not to compete with him, but to communicate with him.
Some things a man does not have to decide. Some things he knows he
must do.
In the small heated car, Ryan broke into a Deathsweat. Novels and
movies and plays and songs had always been his refuge. He was a part of
all that he had bought. He walked through pop culture like a safe dress
rehearsal against life’s dangerous twists. Movie dialogue. “We’ll always
have Paris.” Song titles. “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.” Feelings
rushed hot through his head in search of a laugh, a smile, a song. Garland
singing to Gable: “You Made Me Love You.” Judy. Judy. Judy. Chewing
up the mike. The road getting rougher. Lonelier. Tougher. All because the
man got away.

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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