'The Dance'

THE DANCE

By Yolanda A. Ng’oma

I hated these office gatherings, especially when I was expected to come. I spent enough hours at the office. Hours I wish would just melt away with the scorching mid-day sun. Hours spent in front of the computer, typing reports I didn’t believe in or agree with, hours spent by the photocopy machine trying to ignore the office gossip. I didn’t know why I bothered sometimes, given the chance I would quit in a heartbeat. Leave all the boredom and the tedious work behind me.

Monday morning meetings were the worst, I would wake up every Monday, sorrowful that the weekend had ditched me and left me to fight off the Monday morning blues. I would be cranky and irritable and just when I would think it could not get any worse, I would be called into the Monday morning meeting.

For two hours, sometimes more, I would listen to people rant on about things I considered useless and an utter waste of time. Of course I could not say that, not out loud anyway. All this I could take, after all my job description did say nine to five, five days a week. What I resented was when they took my precious Friday nights away all in the name of staff parties or whatever they chose to call them.

I had had my Friday night all planned out, it was going to be me spending some quality and well deserved time with my HD plasma screen T.V., one that I had worked hard to obtain I might add. But ‘they’ (the office) had ruined it for me. They had planned a Latino dance themed party that everyone was expected to attend.

And here I was, sitting in the corner of the huge conference room, drink in hand, watching people make utter fools of themselves. Well those who could not dance anyway. I felt like I was being stifled in the red silk V-neck strappy frock I was wearing. I felt ridiculous in the outfit with its red matching heels, my hair pulled in bun behind my head. I can’t believe I let my roommate talk me into dressing up for this shindig. I took another sip of my drink before I set the cup on the chair beside me.

“May I have this dance?” I heard someone ask me and I looked up to see who it was.

It was Martin, the deputy director of the division I worked in.

“Latino heat, I see” I said as I looked as his flair black pants and silky blue shirt which’s first three top buttons were cracked open exposing his hairy chest.

“Of course Mamacita” he said raisin his eyebrows as he mimicked the Latino accent.

“Even went as far as the hair” I said amazed at how silky and shiny his black hair looked.

“Dance with me Mami” he said seductively.

I felt the whole suggestion was preposterous and outlandish but then again I was already here, I might as well enjoy it.

“Come on Papi, let’s rock this joint” I said getting up with the intention to boogie the night away. I was confident that I would out shine him, after all I had had lessons in the “Salsa” and this was my way of punishing the ‘suits’, a popular term used in the office to refer to management.

Martin took my hand and led me to the centre of the makeshift dance floor. I could tell people were staring, waiting for the show to start. Martin bowed and I curtseyed and the music came into play. I was pleasantly surprised from the moment the music began, Martin could dance, he could actually dance I found to my delight. It seemed he had had lessons as well. He pulled me to him gently but firmly by the waist and the magic begun.

At first the tempo was a bit fast; I swayed my hips to the music as he led me across the dance floor. I heard people cheer in delight as he dominated me in our little “Tango”. I found myself laughing as we swept across the floor, whether it was the joy of the dance or the alcohol causing this feeling I did not know. All I knew was I was having a splendid time. As the music drew to an end, we ended our encounter with him holding me close in his arms right in the centre of the dance floor.

“You are quite the dancer” he complimented me as the crowd applauded in the background.

“So are you” I responded breathlessly.

“Let’s give them something more to talk about” he said softly.

“What do you mean?” I asked thinking he couldn’t possibly be talking about what I thought.

He bent down and sealed my lips with his in a passionate kiss, sending the crowd into a jubilant frenzy.