We’re in a bar. It’s seventies night. There’s free food. Could this be any better? My partners in crime for this evening, Alison and Kate, not usually big drinkers, are getting stuck in, and we’re all on our second or third cocktail. There’s a cute guy at the bar, and Alison nudges me. Go on! I shake my head, laughing. I may be a bit merry, but there’s no way I’m chatting up a random. It’s just not me. This music, on the other hand – now *that* is right up my street. I pass a note to the DJ, asking for You to Me are Everything. He squints at the piece of paper – I’m not sure if he’s having problems with my Italian, or with my writing, but just as I’m about to get up and help him along, his brow clears. He rattles away on his computer keyboard, then turns the screen towards me with a questioning eyebrow raise. This one? I grin and give him a thumbs up. He nods and pulls the laptop back round, frowning as he concentrates on cueing it to the track that’s playing at the moment. I’m jigging with excitement. As soon as the opening chords start I leap to my feet, dragging the others up to dance as well. I’ve loved this song since I was in the womb, I think. Certainly it’s from the long, hot summer of ’76, when my mum was pregnant with me. She wasn’t into disco, but something of it must have got through despite her best efforts, as I can never resist it.
The song finishes and I head to the bar for another round of drinks. The Italians in the room are line dancing and Alison and Kate join them. When I reach the bar, Alison catches my eye and has another go at getting me to chat up the cute guy, by dint of some very obvious sign language. I’m pretty sure by now that he’s with the barmaid, so I pull ‘no bloody chance’ faces at her across the room. There’s an amused prego from behind me and I turn round mid-gurn to see said barmaid grinning at me, clearly totally aware of what’s just been occurring. I turn bright red, grab the drinks which she’s just put down in front of me and make a run for it before I lose any more dignity.
The opening piano glissando from I Will Survive shimmers across the room. I’m not usually a fan, but for some reason it just *gets* me this evening. I abandon our drinks and tear across to the dancefloor. Instead of heading down the steps which lead to it, however, I strike a pose at the top of them. In my head, I’m dressed in a silver, sequinned fishtail gown and platform heels, with cornrows in my hair and a skinny microphone in my hand. I sing for all I’m worth, the way that I used to when I performed for a living. The way that I never get to do any more. Alison and Kate are shrieking encouragement, and from out of nowhere comes a full Pan’s People-style dance routine, as I belt the song for all I’m worth. By the time it comes to an end I’m covered in sweat and breathless with excitement. Even if it is for one night only, it’s good to be back.
Image by rogilde, Roberto la Forgia (Creative Commons)
This post is a response to the Scintilla Project’s day 5 prompt: Show a part of your nature that you feel you’ve lost. Can you get it back? Would it be worth it?