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Inside...Outside The Lines
By
Granville
js Johnson
The Ultimate Touch Band was hot; Ronnie G. the band's leader was bringing down the house, as usual. The rhythm was sweet; Ronnie G's sax was fat and crooning to the max as the big man's head laid back, eyes squinting tight, bellowing cheeks, swollen large to blow with all his skill and might, shaking the lights above the band's got-the-funk bass beat.
Ronnie grinned around his horn's mouthpiece, as he watched his aged Uncle Gran, his mother's little brother, enjoying the fruit of his labour, as band promoter...soft-shoe polishing the club's floor boards to their throbbing funk.
Fast
and sharp are my feet feeling the tight rhythm beneath slip and slide my way
across the crowded dance floor. The fluid forms melt before my third-eye sense
of place and space, invisibly moving around and through the two-stepping
couples slick and swift as sweat under the hot party lights.
Blue air trailed behind and parted as Red Sea tides, a kaleidoscope path pulsating with Ronnie G's clarion call to boogie.
I am feeling good and in the mood for the best
dance with a great band.
Broad is the smile on my lips, loose are my hips, fierce yet smooth is my groove. Alone with fifty gyrating bodies, all younger and perhaps fitter than I, undulating in the zone, tap, soft-shoe slap `n slide, triple-spin and shout...
I see the stranger's eyes in the cascading blur
as they dance before me. Curiosity blond framed in rapt attention, burns
brightly in his blue-eyed gaze. The young dude, with like-haired pretty lady,
smiling, pauses out-of-time before me. He is my height and
build. Both are very athletic and less than half my age. In a heartfelt beat, our eyes lock, our smiles cock and the challenge begins.
Space and time shifts; the young couple's connection drifts apart to appear, the young blond and I, together facing off. An unspoken gauntlet is thrown; blond accepts in jest and seriousness. Beaming smiles grace our lips yet our eyes, never leaving each other's determined glare, do not.
Soft shoe tap, loose knee, heel/toe flap, eye
to eye, step by step, lick by lick, beat by beat, smile to smile, the dancing
gets wild.
This young stud is calling me out!
Over the boy's shoulder, just off the dance floor, two gray gents, similar to his wizened dance partner, watched with intent, the contest unfolding on the writhing floor. Their gaze sized the boy up from thick blond dreadlocks, to broad back, narrow hips, long strong legs and fast feet. They seemed impressed as were the rest of the curious crowd, off and on the floor, now moving back, giving space, a circle of grace and respect for the imminent war of wills.
Ronnie G. and the band: Michael, Kevin, Bossy and Benita, all family, were siblings from Chicago playing in Canada for the first time. They knew their Uncle Gran as a floor-burner of a dancer with pride as big, bad and black as a Hurricane sky. Their Uncle had moved heaven and earth to create this gig and get the visas to make it happen.
They all watched very closely from the low stage. On Ronnie's signal, they segued into an up-tempo version of their break out single: "What Do I Have To Do To Come Up." Their tempo and their level of play climbed higher, the funk got deeper, and the beat turned to fire as they all took solos to keep it comingÉbacking up, Unc's play: the man needed to get down `n dance. The music would abide while Uncle Gran reached his awesome stride.
I feel their silent cheer, those good old gents, for the old dude dueling with the young blade, sharp as a tack. It's up to me to set him back to show that my heart is stronger, my wind is longer. Even though my beard is grayer, I must prove what my stuff is worth!
Checking back into the gleeful taunting grin
staring at me waiting/daring me to out-boogie him. "This kid is
good." I must admit to myself.
"The
White boy can dance..." whispered Benita, mostly to herself, intently
watching her beloved Uncle do his stuff, sweat sparkling in the light,
mid-flight. To land around him and
the stranger like monsoon rain from his personal storm cloud. Soon, she knew
there'd be lightning.
I
have to give him credit...
Then,
on the other hand, I have been living by my lightning feet for thirty years
more than this young `un did breathe. This young old man is more than up to the
task.
I
smile, wink at him and turn it up a notch...
The band watched the boogie grow hotter...Kevin, on guitar and Bossy on bass, smiled at each other and took it up another notch.
The Music climbed higher. The rhythm became quicksilver.
I
smile, breathe deeper and fly into the calm: the eye of the storm, the heart of
the zone. Twilight consciousness opens softly; the light within glows deeply as
I become the dance...into the stratosphere, feet and spirit no longer here, looking
within I disappear...only the dance remains.
Perpetual
blur of bad- ass dudes facing down. High noon showdown with one pace between
us. Sweat slinging, arms flying, feet invisible below the hips, nobody touching
ground, we float in the present.
Band,
boogie brother and I doing it for all we're worth.
There
is no tomorrow!
Pride
crows loud in my heart as I dig deeper, sensing the music building to
crescendo!
Five
decades to the truth.
Thunder
clap erupts...
A
final blast of fury!
Nothin'
to lose...
Black
lava burst...over the top!
He
looks! Stares...
The
flash of youthful doubt heralds his wide-eyed arrival at my house. This land
beyond his ability to follow.
Suddenly, as it had begun, it ended...last note...
...step
`n slide in silence
...then thunderous applause for Ronnie G., band and dueling dancers alike.
We
embrace, shake hands and exchange names, quickly forgotten. The dance, forever
remembered, is all that matters.
There in lies the joy of men in the test
of mettle.
Parting
quickly, grateful for the fun, I pass the two grinning gray witnesses, peers of
my generation that I just defended in style, dancing toe to toe with generation
X.
High
fives from both for the pride of breath...
Bragging Rights...Inside...Outside the lines...