The Dance Novel

While they danced, Frances visualized her high school days. She could hear the 50s music superimposed on the beats she was hearing with her ears. These days, they tell you where the rhythm is, you don't have to feel it. As they danced, bumping with the rhythm, they did not touch. They exercised their own imaginations. Everything is programmed these days. They tell you how to play and organize the moves. They tell you how to learn and what to learn and threaten you with poverty if you don't follow. While they danced, time bunched up at the end point. The present moved much slower than the past streamed in. Her mind terminated the flow of the past and there was a blockage that filled the empty cells of memory. As she moved, gesticulating seemingly meaninglessly but not meaninglessly, she carried a wealth in the heaviness of her. We have to write about reality, if we are going to write, not theory. Theory is rarified even if it's the most important thing. We spend our few yearning, hungry years here, with each other, with our human furniture. We don't have time for explanation. Paul couldn't resist. He eventually reached out for the woman's hand and pulled her close.