Lone Dancer

My father had two nicknames for me:  "Jettifer B", for the non-stop talker, and "Mouse", for the silent one.

Yesterday evening I forced myself to go alone to the annual three day summer fair. Jettifer B would have loved to have gone with a group of friends and chatted and danced the night away, but none were available that evening, so it was Mouse who ventured tentatively into the throng.  Jettifer provided a running commentary.

I have never had any difficulty establishing contact with people, but it was a challenge to go out alone and be among a crowd composed of groups of friends, couples and local inhabitants who feel at home amongst each other.  Having eschewed the joys of alcohol, I didn't have the usual crutch to soothe and uninhibit.

Jettifer chatted, non-stop:  "How Sad can you be?  No boyfriend, no friends.  Aren't you embarrassed to be out, wandering around alone?".   I remembered once seeing one of my sons, walking alone around the playground at his new school, trying bravely to look as if he didn't care, as if he was part of things.  It hurt.

A year or two ago I would have been with a crowd.  I had many friends at the school where I was teaching - teachers, parents and pupils.  Now, nearly two years after having left the school, I am still in that limbo land between the old and the new.  Many of those old friends have gradually dropped away, along with the common ground of "shop" talk.

I haven't been easy company.  Crashing from crisis to crisis. Trying to re-weave the rug which I pulled out from under my feet. I am fascinated by the emerging warp, weft and colours which are now emerging after a time of self-imposed exile.

I run into an ex-colleague with whom I always got along well.   He seems sort of pleased to see me, but doesn't quite know how to relate.  "How are you doing?", he asks.  "Fine, great!",  I smile, clutching my alcohol-free beer.  "You here with the family?".  He nods vaguely and points to a group of kids before ambling away.  Not one of them belongs to him, but turn out to be my ex-pupils who greet me warmly, and I respond in turn.  The conversation is limited, too, although our pleasure at seeing each other is genuine.

I spot my youngest son, regarding the proceedings critically.  He was always torn between embarrassment and pleasure at my easy, friendly relationship with his schoolmates.  I try to make myself semi-invisible, but am distracted by his friend saying a loud, friendly "Hello!".  I helloooo back, making a jokey comment about my son along the lines of: "Do I know him?", and move on.

Bump into family guy and his mistress, who had also been a friend.  ("AhHa!" moment re: inquiry after family). I defuse any potential awkwardness by giving her a big hug and then stand with them a while, watching the band in which her son is playing.  Their love-child is being babysat by her ex-husband.  I know too much.  People tell me things, whether I want them to or not.  No matter that I keep them to myself.  I "know" and that's enough to put the kybosh on a friendship. 

"I'd rather be knitting", comment Jettifer and Mouse simultaneously.  I ignore them, busy creating t-shirt design in my head.  More warm hugs and greetings from my eldest son's friends who play together in a band and are good-looking, talented and coooooooool!  I admire and tickle  J's new beard and begin to relax and bask in the hugs and banter.

A tap on the shoulder startles me out of my reverie as I negotiate the crowds. My second son and his girlfriend.  Buy them drinks and chat for a while.  I don't want to cramp their style, so linger not.  Later, driving back from the hospital, he tells me I would have been welcome to join them.  I had forgotten that he is not, like his younger brother, ashamed to be seen with me in public.

I stand and watch a rather good band, my feet tapping, wishing I had the guts to dance alone (which I might have done had  I not been stone cold sober).  "Get out there girl!"  hisses Jettifer.  "You're always the Life and Soul of the party".  "You don't have to be", whispers Mouse.  My handbag would have been an incumbrance and I refuse - absolutely, to succumb to the "All Around My Handbag" dance routine, beloved of so many girls and women.

One more awkward encounter with an ex-colleague/friend puts the final stamp on my evening and I start to head homewards.  My mobile jingles.  "Mum ...", (son number two) "My girlfriend's mother has collapsed and has been taken to hospital".  "I'm on my way", I reply before he can continue.  A few more hugs, greetings and "where have you been hiding?"s) from ex-pupils as I run to my car.

I admit it.  Having ascertained that girlfriend's mother was alright and in good hands, I was relieved to have something useful to do with my evening.

Next challenge:  Get back out into the arena tonight, minus handbag, and dance.  Alone, if necessary.  Well, not quite.  Jettifer and Mouse will be with me.