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The Spanish dance floor looked alive as the sea of undulating bodies moved rhythmically together. Angela looked out at her friends who were a part of the monolithic dancing mass and realized she missed Charlene. Barcelona wasn’t the same without her.
The graduation ceremony had been lovely, formal, and—best of all—short. The whole affair had lasted less than ninety minutes and been followed by a sumptuous outdoor reception at BIN’s small, but beautiful, campus.
After the reception, Angela and Soren had coffee and tea with his family at their hotel. Although Soren’s parents were nothing but polite to her, they also didn’t go out of their way to get to know her. She spent most of her time with Soren’s sister Isabelle and the twins. That had been followed by a large dinner organized by Marco, which included almost all of the sixty graduates and many of their significant others.
Between Soren’s final academic requirements, the festivities surrounding his graduation, and his family time, their private time together had been scarce. She’d spent far more time with Kieran on this trip than with Soren.
She looked out towards the dance floor where many of the new graduates were. Included in the mass were Dalia and Kieran who were among the best dancers in the whole club.
Of course, Dalia stood out wherever she went, and tonight she really stood out in a body conscious red dress that ended demurely at the knees, but had a zipper that went from navel to throat. Although the zipper was in a sedate location a few inches below her throat, it was the potential that the zipper promised that made the frock feel provocative.
Although she was dancing with Kieran, men had been vying for Dalia’s attention all night, and she was relishing it, although she made sure not to ignore Kieran.
Angela tried to keep her eyes off Kieran, but it was hard not to watch him. He was such a good dancer.
He had the grace of a jungle cat: lithe, sensual, and dangerous. Angela loved watching people dance, and no matter where she was, she always found her eyes drawn to the best dancers on the floor.
Tonight her eyes were drawn to him.
She watched him surreptitiously as the lights of the Barcelona disco bounced off his glistening face. His eyes were closed with an expression she recognized from her own face, an expression that communicated how blissful he felt in that very moment. He moved to the music as though it was emanating from within, rather than without.
He was beautiful, perfect, one with the music.
And when Kieran and Dalia danced together, it was impossible to look away.
Angela fought to ignore the feelings that welled up inside her whenever she saw her two friends laughing, flirting, or dancing together; and after five days in Barcelona she had been given lots of time to practice.
Soren put his hand on top of hers, interlacing their fingers. He leaned in. “Why don’t you go dance. I know you want to.”
He was trying to be casual but she could sense sadness in his tone. She turned to him, smiled, and shook her head. She didn’t want to do anything that would hurt his feelings. It wasn’t that important to her. Still, she prayed that the DJ would play a slow song. Maybe then Soren would dance.
“Angela, I can’t stand sitting here thinking I’m keeping you from doing something you love so much. Just go dance.” There was a pleading look in his eyes.
She turned to look at him and searched his face for clues as to what to do. “You really won’t mind?” She knew what he was going to say, but she didn’t believe him. She’d seen his jealous side rear its head enough times to know the truth.
But if he insisted...
“No really. It would be a relief at this point.” His eyes flashed with concern.
She kissed him passionately and then looked him in the eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” he said wistfully.
Angela ran out to the dance floor and was welcomed into the midst. Rolfe—a former professional dancer and her favorite dance partner during her student days in Barcelona—quickly found her and gave her a few turns, somehow managing to find a salsa beat even during a rock song. She closed her eyes and allowed the music to wash over here, inhaling the familiar musk of sweat, alcohol and cigarette smoke that pervaded the nightclubs here.
Her heartbeat began to match the pulsating rhythm of the music as she tuned in to the singularity of people surrounding her. It felt so good to be part of that oneness again. She hadn’t realized how much her love of dance included the joy of being a part of a unified whole moving to the same rhythm. Even if the unification was brief, even if there was a constant ebb and flow of people at the edges, there was something about being tuned in to all the other humans around her that fed her.
She reached her hands out towards Marco—her Roman friend who was like a brother to her—who danced joyously—but gracelessly—hands waving over his head as if he was cheering at a Barca soccer match. He managed to make up for in enthusiasm what he lacked in talent, as he danced around Angela as if she was a Maypole.
Marco leaned in, yelling into her ear. “Why isn’t Soren dancing?”
Angela shrugged.
Marco rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Suddenly she brushed up against another person and felt a jolt of electricity. She turned to see who it was and Kieran’s playfully seductive smile greeted her along with an amused arch of his eyebrows.
Just then, Angela’s favorite Spanish club song came over the speakers.
I Will Survive was the unofficial theme song of Barcelona nightclubs, and could always be counted on to be played once—and sometimes even twice—during an evening. The effervescent disco beat caused a stir of recognition throughout the club as the dancers anticipated the fun that was to come.
Kieran and Dalia held out their hands in welcome to Angela as the three of them formed a circle with their hands and raised them up as they began to sing along in mock seriousness, gazing into one another’s eyes during the song’s slow opening.
At first I was afraid, I was petrified,
Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side,
But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong,
And I grew strong, I learned how to get along...
And then the infectious disco beat kicked in and the dance floor exploded. Angela jumped up and down, flitting among her friends, lost in the joy of the moment. She was completely out of her head—all sensation and body—and she loved how it felt. The joy of this moment was even more poignant since Angela knew that this evening was as delicate as a soap bubble.
Never again would she dance with this group of people in this club to this song. Graduate school was, like most beautiful things, a fleeting moment not designed to last. The memories and photos would be all that was left to prove that this night of perfection had ever existed.
She had seen it happen among her own classmates last summer as friends scattered to the four corners of the world. Everyone had pledged to stay in touch, but as work/life/family got in the way, the promises proved to be empty.
She fought back the subconscious pang of sadness, recognizing that she would feel it fully tomorrow, and next week, and next month as this moment moved further and further into the past. But for now she was here, reveling in this ephemeral experience and it was delicious.
She looked around the dance floor, taking in the shining eyes and effervescent smiles of her friends as the energy level of the club lifted higher and higher with each verse.
God how she loved these people surrounding her.
Marco and Dalia were like the siblings she never had. And Kieran—well she couldn’t quite classify him—but he had become a great friend to her.
Almost as if he heard her thoughts, Kieran turned to meet her eyes and smiled incandescently—his dimples in full effect—as he reached out his hands to her. Her fingers tingled as they met his. They fell into sync with each other and he twirled her around dramatically as they shouted out the lyrics to Gloria Gaynor’s famous anthem.
As the words of the song died out, and Gloria’s voice along with it, the club became kinetic with anticipatory energy.
The Spanish had a custom during the instrumental part of this song.
Kieran could sense something was happening and looked at Angela with a question in his eyes. She signaled him to follow her as she mouthed the syllable “La” and held her hands over her head like a flamenco dancer about to clap.
When the pause ended and the music began again the club erupted into a chanting, clapping roar, “La, la, la, la, la, la, la,” echoed through the space in rhythm to the song as everyone clapped with their hands over their heads. Some people began jumping up and down and it caught on. Soon the club was a sweaty mess of bobbing bodies following a frenetic disco beat.
Angela and Kieran locked eyes as they jumped, clapped, and sang in unison, stupid grins plastered on their faces.
As the song began to fade out, the energy of the room began to ebb with it as well, and Angela high-fived and hugged Kieran, Dalia, and Marco.
The DJ filled the silence expertly as he transitioned brilliantly to Roberta Flack’s Killing Me Softly.
No fast song could ever fill the void left by I Will Survive, but by choosing a slow song the DJ channeled the energy he had helped create into a different mood, as all of the lovers who had been dancing with frenzied energy could now collapse into each other’s arms and bask in the sweaty afterglow.
Kieran narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in question, as though asking Angela to dance.
She shook her head gently and pointed to Soren.
Kieran nodded and headed for Dalia.
Angela walked over to Soren and grabbed his hand. “Come on, you aren’t getting out of this one. This song is plenty hygge for you.”
Soren stood up reluctantly and followed her to the dance floor. He pulled her close and she laid her head on his chest as they swayed slowly from side to side, the liquid honey voice of Roberta Flack enveloping them like a blanket.
Soren rested his chin against the top of Angela’s head, breathing in her rosy scent as she melted into his arms. He closed his eyes, his heart beat slowing to match the rhythm of the soulful song.
It had been torturous watching Angela on the dance floor, seeing how in her element she was, and feeling like there was no place for him in that world. It wasn’t the only time he felt that way today. His parents’ aloof behavior at lunch had been a stark contrast to the warm embrace Angela’s family gave him in Hawaii. Then there was his talk with Kieran when the other man reminded him of how much Angela loved Los Angeles.
He squinted as his heart panged.
The darkness of the club was welcoming as he could almost imagine that they were alone, back in the living room of his flat in London, dancing in front of the fire again.
He opened his eyes and found Kieran looking over at them. Kieran nodded his head in his direction, his face stoic.
He closed his eyes and pulled Angela closer as he felt a shroud descend over his heart. Despite the warmth of their embrace, a chill rippled through his body.
When the slow song ended, one with a frenetic techno beat replaced it.
Soren threaded his fingers through Angela’s and led her back to where they had been sitting.
“I’ll go get us something to drink,” Soren said, as he began threading his way through the sea of bodies.
Angela leaned against the wall, taking in the festive atmosphere. After a few minutes, she saw Kieran in the crowd and waved to him.
He sauntered over to her and sat down. “Does this group always party this hard?”
Angela nodded her head. “Yup, pretty much. From Thursday to Saturday, this was my life when I lived here. Dancing until 3 or 4am was completely normal.”
“No wonder you love this place. The energy of this city is electric.”
Just then, a familiar face emerged from the crowd and locked eyes with Angela: Thomas. She gave him a small smile—no longer feeling any animosity towards him—and he began making his way toward her.
“Hello Angela,” Thomas said shyly, looking from her to Kieran and then back again.
Angela smiled at him easily. She no longer felt anything but sympathy for Thomas. He had faced a challenging situation and manned up. She was proud of him. “Hi Thomas. I was wondering if I’d see you.”
He looked sheepish. “I’m on my way home. My wife is pregnant ya’ know, so I can’t stay out too late. She’s already at home. Who’s your friend?” he asked, lifting his chin towards Kieran.
“Sorry. How rude. Thomas this is my business partner Kieran. Kieran, Thomas.”
“Glad to know ya’,” Thomas said as he nodded, his face serious.
Kieran nodded back silently.
Angela cocked an eyebrow at Kieran, surprised by his silence. He seemed not to notice.
Thomas looked at Angela expectantly, as though he had more to say.
She gave him a questioning look. “Yes?”
Thomas sighed. “Angela. I just wanted to apologize for me behavior last summer.” Thomas shifted his gaze nervously at Kieran, clearly uncomfortable. “I just wanted you ta know that I know what I did was wrong and I’m sorry.”
Angela’s eyes widened. She had never seen Thomas look so vulnerable. He really had changed.
It was an easy enough thing to accept his apology. She almost felt bad that he felt as though he owed her one, since she had moved on so long ago. But she recognized what it cost him to say these words—especially in front of Kieran.
She put her hand on Thomas’ beefy forearm. “All is forgiven Thomas. I wish you and your wife much happiness.”
Thomas’ face relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted. “Well I’ll leave ya’ to it. Enjoy yourself.” He leaned forward and gave Angela a kiss on the cheek, and then nodded at Kieran again. He gave her a final, sad smile before turning and walking away, losing himself in the crowd of revelers.
“An ex of yours?” Kieran said more than asked, as he raised his beer bottle to his mouth.
Angela narrowed her eyes. “How did you know?”
Kieran shrugged. “Just a vibe he gave off. He was checking us out for a bit before he came over. I saw him giving me the once over. I guess he didn’t know what to make of me.”
“Yeah, well he knows Soren and I are together so I’m sure you were a random variable.” Angela looked around for Soren. She hadn’t seen him in a while. She squinted as she searched for his blond hair in the crowd. Kieran’s voice brought her back to the present.
“What happened last summer?”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Oh God. It’s a long story,” she paused, shaking her head as she remembered her trip to London. “It’s kind of a crazy story actually. Anyway, let me sum it up this way. It was unexpected for Thomas to apologize, but it was definitely warranted.”
“Yeah, well having a kid often puts things in perspective...at least that’s what I hear,” he said with a smirk.
Angela nodded.
“Well, you’ll have to tell me the ‘crazy story’ someday.” He downed his beer and then stood up. “Excuse me. I see your boyfriend is headed this way. I’m going to get another beer.”
Kieran gave Soren a nod of his head before walking away from Angela. She was amazed at how well they seemed to be tolerating each other this evening.
When Soren handed her a glass of water, he had a big smile on his face.
“Where have you been?” she asked, as she grabbed his arm and draped it around her shoulders. She rubbed her free hand on his thigh. It was so nice to be close to him.
“Just talking to everyone. It’s hard to believe all of this is coming to an end.”
She nodded. “I know. Two years is too short a chapter of one’s life, don’t you think?”
“Yes it is,” he said thoughtfully, then added, “It’s been an exciting time though, hasn’t it?”
“It has. I guess you stuff it full when you know it’s not going to last.” She leaned in for a kiss, inhaling his cool, woodsy smell. She leaned her head against his chest and sighed contentedly.
Soren smoothed her hair as she leaned into his chest.
Angela’s words felt prescient, reminding him of one of their first conversations, almost two years ago.
Her eyes danced with passion as she told him about all of her plans for her short time in Barcelona. “I just want to squeeze the juice out of this city so that when I go home I have no regrets of missed opportunities.”
He paused and cocked his head to the side, considering her answer. “If a missed opportunity is the worst that can happen, that isn’t so bad, is it?”
She exhaled with exasperation and shook her head. “Are you kidding me? That’s the worst. I absolutely hate the regret of a missed opportunity. I would much rather regret something I’ve done, than something I haven’t.”
It seemed a lifetime ago.
He put his hand on her head and hugged her to him, once again wishing they had been together during the six months she had lived in Barcelona.
He regretted that missed opportunity dearly.
He sighed deeply.
