Persistent Pressure

By Asche Keegan

Once more I’m dancing. 

The music falls soft and slow, and ordinarily this is one of my favorite songs. The atmosphere shines with golden aesthetics and roving LED lights, and around me, couples slow step in time with the music. 

I’d rather be on my own. I will always prefer loneliness to the expectant and hopeful looks my friend keeps giving me. I have intentionally been avoiding his eyes, hoping he will not ask me to dance, but he does it anyway. 

I put him off, saying I don’t know how to dance, or that I’m too shy, but he keeps asking, and finally I give in. 

He tells me to put my hand on his shoulder, and he settles his against my waist. He takes my other hand, and I can feel his sweaty palms through my thick gloves. I try not to shudder away, but then we’re dancing, stepping back and forth in a horizontal line for the duration of the song. 

The music cries out to me, and I find myself drifting into daydreams, desperate to find some way to bear the three minutes. I imagine that it is someone else holding me, and I long for him to be here to save me from this dance. I grow lost in the moment, and my imagination takes it further, replaying old dances. I watch our feet back and forth, and overwhelmed by longing and love, I look up. For a moment, I was surprised not to see his face. 

Then the fear and disgust comes racing back, and when the song ends, I all but push my friend away, staggering backward and blaming it on my heels. I feel like I just betrayed some kind of sacred code, and something feels wrong, but I can’t determine what it could be. 

He looks hurt, but I can still feel the pressure of his hand on mine, and I turn away.

The music transitions to a different song, and I dance wildly along in the center of the room, throwing as much distance between the two of us as I can. Nostalgia, longing, and loneliness overcomes me, and I just wish… 

I just wish it was him with me instead.