Please enjoy Part Four of First Love.
Men dance with themselves
At a young age
SUBJECT maturation can happen differently
“Examine primitive societies and you will see that men dance alone, and
with other men, but take a serious lap around our societal pool and you will
quickly notice something different. Mind
you,” Keegan said as he sat musing while watching one of those macho male
classics where he could recite the dialogue.
Alone with the cats and dog on a rare dateless Saturday, feeling
philosophical. “Mind you,” he repeated,
“this diatribe does not take into accounting homosexuality, on that subject I
have no expertise, but does homosexuality play any role in the reason why
present day men will dance with only women, alone, or not at all.” Neither cat cared and the dog left.
His thoughts became introspective.
He suspected that in his adolescence most males were homophobic. He surmised he was able to circumvent that
with sports. Sports forced males to have
physical contact, though in the context of game-play, nonetheless it was
physical contact, touching. Females did
that by going to the restroom together, a phenomenon he couldn’t understand or
rationalize but aptly reasoning it was so.
Now, women, he continued to inwardly wax, appear more evolved, earlier. Therefore did that suggest that more boys
more often should accompany their buds to the john. Seemed like convoluted
logic to Keegan.
Females danced. They may have
preferred male partners but freely opted for a girlfriend. He watched and wondered. They were having fun. What was wrong with
guys? Girls even danced slow dances
without making it creepy. Guys stood and
watched, planned putting aspirins in their Pepsi, gossiped, though denying if
asked, showed off, told stories but they did not dance until the late 70s. Then everyone danced with no one yet with
everyone. One huge collective,
celebrating the music, one huge step in the evolution of the male but if a guy
fancied attentions toward another guy on the floor guys' eyes would turn
judgmental and a bud might come over and tell him to butch-up. Homophobia did play a role.
Now, Keegan took another path.
He played sports. He had evolved. He understood his manness, and was not uncomfortable dancing with another guy, but
there were special circumstances. He and
his friend, Tom, both liked to dance and they were good at it, creative, would
practice after sport’s training and sometimes during, inventing new steps and
moves, all for the purpose to do what guys liked to do best, show-off.
Every week they would travel to other high schools attending their
dances, something innately discouraged.
One never treaded on another’s turf but they did. Why? It was all about the dance. Once there Keegan and Tom would survey the
landscape, listen for the right song, and then move out. Their choreography was always faultless. If people were dancing they would be subtle,
doing their moves, showing off to whoever watched, but there were those special
moments with a vacant floor when the overt nature of a sportsman flowed. They had a move where Tom would run then
slide on his knees. Keegan would follow
and just as Tom dropped, he would leap over Tom and land in a split. With that move they got everyone’s attention
then they shared their new dance.
Invariable, females would join, trying to learn. Why?
Females danced, no matter what.
Guys respected them. Girls liked
them. Then they’d leave, trying to hit
two dances in one night.
Keegan recalled with great fondness returning to Dickinson's gym the
Friday after the Friday before. When
they entered everyone was doing their
dance. They turned and left, proudly,
mission completed. They were dance gods. They understood that and became iconic
locally.
Keegan met Cathy Zirlger, his
first love at that Dickinson gym. She
was years older. They split when she
went to college. She had asked him to
understand, she had to move on. He was
just a high-schooler and she was now
a collegiate. He never told her, never
told Tom, never told anyone that she broke his heart, and the ache of it
remained part of his soul, a tenderness that in time buried itself beneath a
callous shell.
He understood that one’s first love was oft times one’s most
serious. Tom married his first love,
Donna, and Keegan, then until the present thought, good for him. Tom and he danced Friday nights, monogamously
dated Saturday nights, danced with each other and never once for one year did
either of them dance with or date anyone but their first loves.
"What was a first love?"
The words slipped forth. He
silently queried and answered, feelings unleashed and received, respectfully
returned. The first love was not about
the sex. Whereas, he admitted, Cathy and
he didn't have sex. They necked a lot,
submarine raced, which was an expression for parking along the river. Why?
Hormones played a role and when you were in high school money was not
free-flowing. So gas for the car meant
no movie. Why? Damn you had to save every dime for the prom. Those thangs
were expensive. Did think about
sex? Absolutely. Twice he proudly
remembered he was able to touch breast flesh, not nipple just flesh. Mind you, though, he wanted sex and had such
high hormonal content that he wore a virtual erection 24/7 for that year,
except for dancing with Tom or playing sports or having family dinners or
church choir. Well, a few times while
singing he tented up that robe but for the most part he didn’t. He hoped God understood. He’s a guy.
He probably did.
For one year he endlessly thought about Cathy, fantasized over her,
talked on the phone with her about nothing yet everything, shared dreams, ate
dinner with her family and brushed her hair.
Yes, he brushed her hair as if he were her friend. He understood hair. His barber father and beautician mother eased
the hair thing whereas it was intimate to others, creepy to guys, it was
natural to him. She was his friend, his
best friend, trusted her, and brushed her hair to demonstrate that. She was the only female he did so with. None since.
Why? She traded him in.
It hurt that summer, the summer of his love lost. He stopped dancing, turned serious about his
grades, and he pined, pined over Cathy, driving by her home from time to time
and ached. He graduated 16th
in a class of 800. He thought of Cathy,
thanked her and felt he had to move on as well.
TO BE CONTINUED
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