I loosen my grip on his hands and say, "Freestyle," and he gets what that means.

We both let go and start doing what I can only describe as That Dancing Scene in Pulp Fiction on Steroids.

It's around eleven o' clock at night, the night all my exams finally end. Right after my last exam, I went and grabbed myself a sandwich, ate that, then slipped into a dress and tried, fruitlessly, to fix my hair after the downpour I'd been caught in earlier. Around eight, they--Sam, his friend Joey, and Joey's date Megan (sp??)--picked me up in a giant red vehicle; he got out of the car, hugged me, opened my door, and then shut it and got in, himself. We rode to the lights festival, where we drove (then walked) around the park and looked at all the fantastic displays up for the season.

Then, we headed downtown, where we watched a couple episodes of Parks and Recreation while they drank bourbon and ginger ale.

After that was the Christmas party.

I didn't know the people who were throwing the party, and neither did Joey or Megan. Still, Sam wanted to drop by, so here we are, at eleven. The four of us are the only ones dancing, as the rest look on with an expression that I can only describe as "pinched." I look at my dance partner and think, That's okay. In fact, I look at our little brigade and know I wouldn't change this moment for all the approving glances in the world. Megan is a tiny, blonde freshman with bangs, and my most lasting impression of her is when she says, in a perfectly neutral voice, that her "party bitch" texted but that he doesn't know of anything going on. Joey--who looks vaguely British--is sporting a shirt that he himself described as something from the 70s, and his sense of humor is pleasantly parallel to my own. They're dancing together with complete abandon.

Meanwhile, Sam is a bearded redhead with a giant smile and laugh lines, and is dressed like a southerner visiting New York, complete with an expensive-looking overcoat and suspenders. He laughs easily and doesn't worry about much. I instinctively know that he's the type to let others put him into a quiet rage, though, and later will, without a second thought, put my hand on the back of his shoulder when someone throws a glass bottle off the roof of an apartment complex (to which he will reply, sheepishly, "Woosah," confirming my suspicions). I'm dressed date-neutral, but am currently sporting a Bud Light cardboard container crown (not my choice), which I will later hand to Megan, telling her that I can't get Sam to wear it. She will force her hand.

On our way back, Sam mentions that he's a physical therapist, and I almost want to tell him, "Of course you are," because people who currently--or will, someday--work at a hospital are easily the most attractive to me. I wish it were the attraction to big earners, because that would be an easy explanation (although pretty crappy reasoning)...but, even without knowing what they do, there's just something about medical professionals. It's some weird, bidirectional, magnetic pull.

We get back and the night ends. Sam looks me in the eye when he tells me that he wants to see me, when I get back into town after the break. I say Okay. I mean Okay. We hug twice, and then I drive Megan back with me, because we live less than a block away from one another. Then, after making sure she gets home okay, I stroll off to my room and, without another thought, fall deeply asleep.

Hmmm, medical professionals... have to be smart to get through school, and are likely to want to help other people?
» randomjunk on 2013-12-09 05:59:03

Maybe because they care? Have great dedication?

Or something?

re:comment
AGREED. But then you seem to just know a lot more people in general. I hardly ever go out, and with the same five people. :S
» invisible on 2013-12-17 04:19:55

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