‘Cheek To Cheek’: Jammin’ with the One

  • The service having id "propeller" is missing, reactivate its module or save again the list of services.
  • The service having id "buzz" is missing, reactivate its module or save again the list of services.
‘Cheek To Cheek’: Jammin’ with the One

of that relationship.  The scene made it into a song she wrote for me, aptly titled "Rhythm." If Virginia isn't “for lovers"—the state motto—it’s safe to say it is for dancers. Or, so it felt during my graduate school days in Williamsburg, where I learned white girls can dance. Some even jam. The Iowan who proudly wore her Smith College sweatshirt around the Grad complex rocked my world on a dance floor in Norfolk to Lauryn Hill, and I loved her for it. Whenever we fought, she'd put on Hill’s music; I’d conjure those dance nights, and we were good as new.

A great romance with someone significantly older in a city where I was teaching undergrads, who often took to the clubs themselves, meant I couldn't dance out in public much. (Nothing kills the potential great night like traversing the same venues as your students.) Fortunately, we traveled frequently. Each time we visited a new city, a new country, finding a nightclub became priority. If the fantasy of Alone on a perfect deserted island with your mate appeals, try dancing to music you don't understand, in a sea of people whose language you don't understand—adventure with the added benefit of a bar.  Two New Yorkers danced in Seattle, Amsterdam, San Francisco, Paris, Santa Fé, Vienna, Boston, Budapest, Philadelphia, Berlin, Phoenix, Istanbul, Chicago, Bologna, Florence, Venice. We still joke that our passports should bear stamps of two tiny feet in motion. More recently, an indication that interest might tip over into blossoming love dawned on me as I planned my birthday party. Imagining a twirl with a certain guest, suddenly mixed CDs weren’t good enough. I wanted the surprise of music I hadn’t ordered into a playlist and the freedom of spontaneous dance moves. I needed a disc jockey, thus turning a small shindig into “an affair” my friends discussed all summer long. Now, on our way into winter, my Sweetheart smiles when I put on music, randomly instigating a dance. No matter the tenor of the day, we take real pleasure in the way our bodies respond to each other's.  Be it jazz, r&b, country-western or hip-hop, tangled in a slow grind or eyeing each other across the room in a sweaty bounce, it becomes impossible to hang on to a bad day… there is no telling where the night might take us. As long as we dance, there's no