So, time has come. Below are excerpts I wrote during my absence, which most of you may have already read. But just for the record, I officially post them.
Salsa-Oh-Salsa
I was the one who wanted to go. She loves to dance, but it was I who wanted to go. She smiled at me, nodding her head.
It was not surprising that the hall was filled with only about 45 people, most there to watch than learn. The dips were out, chips spooning out the flavors. The instructor held the mike and we started. Need I say girls outnumbered guys?
He had a clear voice, his assistants two beautiful African American ladies in stilettos. I grinned at my own sandals. They would do fine for me. My roomie, a head shorter than me, remarked, “I hate high heels.” “I have never worn them before.” “Don’t. You might fall.” We laughed.
The music was stopped and we were told to form two lines. The instructor counted the beats, slowly showed the leading part while we ladies watched in muted amusement as the men fumbled slightly. Three mins later, they were marching in formation. The teacher turned his back and faced us, his eyebrows rising as he counted the beat once again for us. I felt like a robot. It was like a drill, like learning those marches back in eighth grade. He stopped us all, his eyes a bit smiling, perhaps at our unison, our stiff legs commanding themselves to follow.
“Relax.”
Five minutes later, we had added some grace to our attempts. When the music poured, the hips moved. Salsa.
Well, to a point anyway.
Next thing I knew, I was standing next to an unknown person of the opposite sex. Oh dear. What would my mother say? My mind was battling. What should I do? Step away, join the crowd of watchers? Stay, grasp his hand? I was standing in between two intense forces. The instructor broke it….
“Say hello to you partner.”
“Hello. Name’s Mike.”
Oh God. Here I go. “Hello. Name’s K.”
Like I expected, his face screwed into a look of incomprehension.
“Sorry?”
“K.”
“K?”
“Yep.”
The instructor was explaining how to hold each other. My mind was still racing. I could still step out.
He held his hand out. I took it. God, forgive me.
I placed my other on his shoulder, his under my shoulder. Our elbows touched. The instructor nodded his head at us: perfect.
He was nervous. I still don’t know what I was. Lost?
We danced. Perfectly fine. I danced with four others, perfectly fine. I don’t remember their names. It didn’t seem important. Just the feet. The feet moving in unison, in collaboration. The music wafting around.
“Not bad.” She said.
“Not good?” I retorted.
“Next time, don’t look so scared.”
I smiled back at her.
“Sorry. I was terrified.”
We laughed.
Salsa.
Stained Slanted Startle
It has become a habit.
The library is perched on a slight hill. It is something of a night time marvel. With the lights aglow, the alluring geometry and architecture commands your stare, delights the very fact that you have eyes to see and a mind that can relish it over and over again. The interior is no less gratifying in darkness. The lighting does something inexplicable to the linears and curves of the walls, ceiling stairs and furnish… Oh the furniture! Futons, sofas, chaises, cherry wood straight-back chairs, silver shaded lamps… the hues of various earthy colors are given marvelous justice. The beauty ~is.~ It captivates you.
But the praxis is not of strolling through the building of books and comfortable seating. Rather we tread the path upwards, cross the lawns, seat ourselves under the stars for a bit, my room mates eyes carefully searching for the worlds emptiness before she does something “stupid” like a cartwheel. I laugh at her. Is the world ever empty? She scowls and rolls her eyes: you and your darn questions.
We saw the moon locking the door of our dorm, the word “weird” passing between us, arguing its shade: Yellow, she said. Orange, I replied. Like cheese, she said. Which is orange, I replied. No, she said. Cheddar, I replied. Defeat stank. Above, the Moon was in half. The wrong half. The line dividing was not at a 90 degree vertical. It was split in diagonal.
Halfway down the hill, we notice the stain again: dark earthly mud red. And it was sinking.
Mars, I fantasized. I was looking at Mars. Where is the Moon? she asked.
I didn’t care. I was running towards it. I wanted to see more. Wanted to be closer. Why were trees so tall and obscuring? I was racing it. Racing against its setting. Beating myself for ignoring it earlier. For not giving it eyes.
Five mins later, the earth had swallowed it.
Where is the moon? she asked.
To think of seeing stars without a moon…
We never found it.
Look Up
Empty. Too empty. I don’t know why I keep hoping for the opposite. Logically though, it made complete sense: There was an Anime movie playing at seven. Mexico’s Independence day being celebrated at seven. A Friday evening at seven. Star Party? Six fifteen till eleven. Seven included.
The few who were there sat half curious, half bored. It was not an anticipated lecture. The professor giving it reminded me of, and forgive me if I am using a cliche, Einstien. I have been to a few of his lectures out of curiosity and interest. His white hair and mustache, slight European accent, and usual attire of shorts, T-shirt, long socks and tennis shoes never fails to give an interesting first impression to the newcomer. In truth, it’s not so surprising. He was, after all, the Astronomy professor.
It began, a stunning picture of a gamma ray flash back-grounding the title. There was no need for a microphone, nor was there the need to shift your head to avoid being black-spotted by the person in front. One could slouch comfortably, assured that the screen would show. What continues to irritate me, despite all the advances of our times, is the easy availability of the virtual world: Laptops. Curse them. Especially in a lecture. It’s one thing taking notes. Quite another when the operator is surfing through purses or beating a level of WOW. I admire the tolerance of today’s professors… I know they are not ignorant.
Those whose sense of humor matched the presenter’s were left chuckling to themselves as the majority stared arround wondering whether to join. It was amusing watching their faces. The content itself was captivating enough, the theme being ‘watch out.’ He told, pacing gently to and fro, of the many hazards we face from a world we barely know: Comets, Asteroids, gamma zaps, black holes, even (and why not?) outer space aliens. The images were magnificent, often glistening in the pupils of the audience. Space certainly held a delicate, sharp beauty, however harsh the actions leading up to it are. Death is light, Life is a beginning from the dark… and both are so breathtakingly beautiful in the sky. The only layback in the presentation was in aspects of time: the dangers were so long away. In Astronomy, the excitement is the waiting. Unfortunately, waiting is exciting to a very few. Often, I wonder why… isn’t Life itself a waiting game?
The conclusion came with a polite round of applause. Then the hurried rustles of leaves. I was among them. The lecture was all well. I had enjoyed it. But show me, my mind called. Show me all these phenomena?s. Let me see it. I wish children would have more exposure to the actual viewing of space. If you have ever preached to children of space, you’ll have given the mothers a week of listening to their sons and daughters dreaming of spaceships, moon walking, and Mars travel. Why does it all fade? Where do those dreams disappear to? And yet, how can they not collapse when they can’t see? The hall door locked. Telescopes were waiting for us. And we wanted to see.
Walking towards the lake, the darkness enveloped us. Of the three telescopes there, only one was truly set. The crowd rushed to see. Jupiter. With four of her moons. I lingered behind. Throwing my head back, I was engulfed in a different sea. Stars. Stars. Stars. Bright against a deep black. Standing there with my neck refusing to hurt, I couldn’t help the want to count them overwhelming me… What makes the impossible so tempting?
“You’re looking at an arm of our galaxy, the Milky Way.”
The voice belonged to a local. His face, I would never know in daylight: the night masked it perfectly. I wonder if mine was just as opaque under the lightless veil. His most distinguished feature was the outline of his baseball hat, worn backwards. He gave quite a lesson. His fingers grasped a green laser that pointed far into the sky (”Uh, no, you may ~not~ hold it… I don’t want anyone getting arrested for pointing at a plane.”), pinpointing each star, tracing each constellation, circling a planet, following a satellite… the sounds of amazement that took the air when he did that! Satellites visible to the naked human eye. If only people knew what else they ~could~ see! He pointed his scope to nebulas, to double stars, to the concretes of time… I could sense his satisfaction as we responded with awe and speculation. And we finally saw.
At nine thirty, the few that were left stood in little clusters around the expert and the professors. I stood near the Astronomy professor, who, despite all his knowledge, claimed to have none of little ground telescopes. “I work with the huge ones.” We spoke of a club that could be. Would it be? I hope. If I can see, there is almost always the urge to know how I saw it. I shook his hand a final time, thanking him for everything.
“And thank you for your enthusiasm!”
I laughed. I looked up one more time, being swallowed again by the tiny jewels of the grand.
“That is all I ~can~ give Professor.”
The take?
Look up. And see.
