Short Stop (Literally.)

So, it was a hard week--a veritable psychic El Nino of break-up, a couple surprise run-ins with old enemies, and general malaise. My friend Kay had a rough week as well, so we decided to attend the roller derby last night. Nothing cheers a girl up like watching a bunch of women body-slam each other while on wheels. And nothing cheers a girl up while watching women body-slam each other like eating a fig and marscapone ice cream sandwich. The derby experience combined many of my favorite things: kick-ass chicks, great dessert, a disco ball (shaped like a roller skate), a guy dressed as a slab of bacon. I mean, how can you be sad in the face of all that? The derby was such fun that I thought the night had reached its apex. I was wrong.

After the derby, we picked up our mommy-friend Mara, who also needed a night out. Mara, a petite curly-haired brunette, had recently returned from a trip to NYC with her baby which included two days without running water in the Brooklyn apartment in which she was staying. She was pretty fried, but being a good sport, she joined us anyway. We headed to the Short Stop in Silver Lake, a favorite bar of ours with good music, Frogger, a photo booth, and hipsters to spare. But the Short Stop was to serve one purpose last night, and one purpose only: I was ready to DANCE MY FACE OFF. And dance we did, after putting away a couple drinks each, Kay, Mara, and I hit the dance floor.

Now, when you're a group of ladies hitting the dance floor, inevitably you find yourself playing defense a lot of the time. If you don't want to be mounted like a donkey, you have to make the appropriate defensive moves: no eye contact, moving subtly away from any guy trying to invade your personal space, making the well-timed trip to the ladies' room when things get out of hand. These are tricks familiar to the single girl who likes to dance, and doesn't like strange men touching her (I fall into this category.) I'll quote the roller derby rules, which I like to apply to my own life: Ramming From Behind Is Illegal.

So we're dancing up a storm, and I'm pulling out all the tricks to avoid the dreaded Ramming From Behind, or anything remotely related. I happened to notice, out of the corner of my eye, that there was what appeared to be a child on the dance floor. Since the bouncer checked my ID on the way in, I assumed that there was a no-child policy, so I looked more closely. It was a very short Asian man, perhaps a dwarf of some kind, no more than 4 feet tall. He circled us, dancing awkwardly, wearing a white backwards baseball cap, a sleeveless t-shirt, and dog tags. It was an odd sight. This went on for a good 20 minutes. At one point, Kay excused herself to the ladies' room, and Mara and I were left on the dance floor. The Asian dwarf tried to bump hips with me, which I neatly avoided. He then extended his hand to Mara who, to my total surprise, took it. The dwarf and Mara danced palm-to-palm for a good 10 minutes, an awkward cha-cha of sorts. At one point he drew her close, and I, panicked, gestured "Do you want to be rescued?" She didn't--she felt badly for him; it was a pity dance (Mara is apparently much more charitable than I am.) I later learned that when he drew her in, he asked her (in an odd, deep voice) "Are you from Africa?" Now, Mara is a Caucasian woman, in no way from Africa. They continued to dance. Eventually, Kay returned and we had to leave, as both of us were reduced to tears at the slight of our lovely friend in the iron grasp of a short Asian dwarf.

I hurried the ladies outside, to avoid any further awkwardness with the dwarf, and I went to close my tab at the bar. While attempting to get the bartender's attention, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Worried it might be the dwarf, I turned around. It was a brown-eyed, handsome stranger with a huge smile on his face. "Having fun?" he asked me. I said yes, slightly embarrassed from all the dancing (DANCING YOUR FACE OFF is great in theory, it's quite another thing when you're actually executing it in public.) I had seen him smiling at me earlier, bemused by the enthusiasm with which I danced. We chatted by the bar while I waited for my tab. I discovered he is a Marine, just back from Iraq and headed back there on Monday. Talking to him was a strange contrast to the derby, the dwarf, the stress of the week, etc. His big smile and warm, clear-eyed gaze made me feel seen for the first time in a long time. I wished him a good night and left, my life put back in perspective.