It's easier if you smile.

It begins slowly. We all take a moment to scan the room of unfamiliar faces. But the music moves fast enough that standing still is nearly impossible; they plan it that way.

He comes up from slightly behind me to the right, or perhaps he's hidden by the crowd and materializes in front of me suddenly.

Would you like to dance this one?

And in that moment I hope that he’s practiced enough to lead but not so experienced that I bore him. We exchange names, grab hands, and dive in to the sea of stomping feet. There’s no time for small talk. That’s not the point anyway.

There is freedom in the anonymity. We both know how good it can be if we just step, right, left, rock-step, right, left here. A first name is all that’s needed for his hand to be on my waist so that we spin in time to the music, and we grab hands so automatically now.

It’s a game and it’s an art all at once. We miss a few steps, and we work up a sweat, and we finally match enough to enjoy the second dance before escorting each other off the floor.

I look around to see if my friends are still nearby. But another song begins, and there is a new hand on my shoulder.

Hello, care to dance?

We head in again, hand in hand. New names, but the same relationship. Strangers can play closer than friends.


I spent the evening swing dancing at the Crystal Ballroom here in Portland with some friends from Vibrant. My feet are sore, but I tell them that their sacrifice was for a good cause.