Love In Unlikely Places

Someone from my past once told me,

“when you least expect it, you will

find love in the most unlikely of places.”

Sounds like a load of crap, right?

Well I can tell you this -- It’s not.

 When I first met Jake, I was only concerned with two things: caring for myself and my son. Allowing the existence of another person into this equation was of no interest to me at that time.

 But I had no option. . . because Jake isn’t one of those types of people one can easily forget.

 He stood there, behind the barrier that separated the dj booth from the rest of the club. In his own little castle, ear phones adorning his reddish blonde hair. I passed by the dj booth as I normally would, work bag en shoulder, cup of coffee in my opposite hand. Recognizing that we had never worked together, I turned back around to introduce myself.

My outstretched hand decided to do the talking for me. My vocals chimed in a few moments after.

 “I’m. . .Sierra. Hey.” Smiling, I waited for him to respond.

 “Jake. What’s going on?” He seemed very hyperactive and preoccupied as he fiddled with cords and the sound system.

 “Nice to meet you, we’ve never worked together, are you new?” His hand met mine briefly with force.

 “Oh! No, not new.” He chuckled nervously. I wondered if he was on something. I mean, it wouldn’t have been the most unlikely of scenarios.

 “Cool. Well, I’ll let you get back to it. . .”

Jake interrupted.

 “How long have you been working here?” He asked, now more interested than a few seconds ago. His eyes were a piercing blue-green beautiful. He intentionally locked them on mine, the intensity almost too much to bear. I felt as if I was being tested. Maybe to see if I was “real”. So many phonies in this business, so what he was doing seemed sensical. They looked like the ocean with little black boats sailing through the calm waters. My brain knew a response was needed, but my body had frozen. Not from fear, but captivation. This man was not only confident, but also well spoken, and not afraid of life. Damn it. My attention this one had.

 “Um, only a few months, actually.” I set my bag down and took a sip of my lukewarm coffee.

 Walking directly to the dressing room would normally have been my M.O. for the evening. Gathering any thoughts, feelings, or cares that had been collected during the day, and shoving them into a massive box, to be locked up until I left early the next morning. To me, this was just as important as putting on my face, dressing up, or even stretching. And am I ever a fan of stretching. Having your head in the game was vital.

Keeping this in mind, I knew this conversation would have to be brief.  

 “So where are you from, or currently living? Are you close, or do you drive far?” Damn you sound like a creeper, Lindsey. Why the fuck was that your first question?

 Jake didn’t seem weirded out at all, as he arranged the tools of his trade behind his wooden wall.

 “I’m not far, actually. In Marion, just 15-20 minutes from here. You?”

 “Carbondale.” I paused, considering what else I could use to create small talk.

 “Been there long?” I knew this would go nowhere, as most people would have lived in one place most of their lives.

 “No, no.” He looked up with a silly grin as he attempted to hold in a laugh.

 “I’ve moved around often. A LOT. Too much probably.”

 “Oh really? Me, too. I was a civilian military “brat” for about 10 years, I’ve lived in Japan, Germany and Ireland.”

 Jake paused, looking up at me, not in disbelief, but in awe. I had caught his interest now, and he committed wholeheartedly to this conversation. I was sure of this, upon his full-body turn towards me. His elbows now resting upon the large rail of the dj booth, our bodies only inches apart from one another.

 The pure, electrifying energy he emitted

could have brought a body back to life.

Who was this person? Was he even human?

 “I can barely even count all of the places I’ve lived. Some were only for months at a time.”

 As Jake rattled off towns and cities in almost every state in the U.S., I really started to wonder, is this guy for real? Was he trying to pull a fast one on me, just to get in my pants? But the more he rattled, the more fervently I believed every word that exited his mouth.

He wasn’t lying.

 Minutes went by, and more dancers came and passed as we chatted about music, travel, acting, life. When the time read five minutes ‘til opening, I had no choice but to leave.

“We have way too much in common,”

I eerily thought to myself,

almost as if I had been here before.

 “But I’m more professional than that, and don’t want to date co-workers. Plus, he’s probably with someone, anyway. And I have no need for another faulty relationship, that’s for sure.”

I convinced myself all the way through the dimly lit corridor, down the dirty steps to the dressing room door.

Time to put a lid on this box.




(See how the story unfolds, in my book -- "From Pointe To Pole, A Dancer's Journey")
. . . on shelves soon!