He wasn’t the best dancer, certainly not Baryshnikov, but he was the best dancer on the train. That he was the only dancer on the train does not reflect on his prowess, or on his affect on the other passengers. There we were; the down trodden, the caffeine addicted, the rundown members of the rat race all plodding onwards to our monotonous day jobs and he simple exploded into our lives. Headphones buzzing, his jitterbug started as a simple tapping of toes and rustling of fingers. Soon came the head bobbing, none of this much different from the tapping of impatient toes and the bobbing of sleepy heads. But somehow the song grew inside of him, filling him with light and grabbing my attention as though he were a star set to super nova. I smiled at him, hearing his music inside my own head. As his movements grew, his fellow travellers began to shift and grumble. When he rose to take his dance to the aisle their astonished stares made me laugh outright. He was the rainbow to their dark clouds – he was fluent and beautiful and I knew his song even before my feet took me to join him. We danced as the sun speckled landscapes sped past the windows, into a future that suddenly looked far brighter than it had last night. Whoever this partner had been he was mine now, and I knew we were safe in the song.
~Sherrie Charter, 2010