For Both of Us

I could see grace flowing through her veins, down her arms, and out the tip of her fingers. I saw his power down his spine, legs, and out his feet. Sweat cascading down his face, drops of it flying out onto the tablas and maybe even an audience member. He was making an effort. Not the kind of effort that wears you out and exhausts your body, no. It was the kind of effort that brings you to life. I had been melancholic, homesick already and it had not even been a week! Knowing Spanish is an advantage – no denying that. Yet everything sounds foreign.
The sangria on my lips was sweet. Not as refreshing as the favorite tinto de verano but still…Its taste made everything around me sweet, even my thoughts. After the flamenco dancing, there was a Spanish guitar solo. One of my travel dreams was to see a flamenco show in Spain, and it came true on my third day (after looong days of orientation for my new job). But there was something about the silence, and the guitar solo that came after…It moved me. It brought a particular face to mind; the single person I wanted to share this instant with. I did not text; I did not take any pictures, and I did not Facebook about it. I sat on that chair, in that dark room, with a red-lit stage…I sipped my red sangria slowly, and watched them encourage each other in their performance. Flamenco like this is mostly improvised (something I learned after the show).

I sat there, but I did not call you. I did not write you. I sat there and I lived the night. I lived it for both of us. SDC19255

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