So they happened to stumble upon the place, like many of their diversions, by merely happening upon it. Music spilled out in boisterous fumes, loud, clanky, but thumping...compelling...you could tell that the band knew what it was doing and by the surge of people they realized that as well.
She had sort of grabbed his hand in a spontaneous gesture...but in his mind he knew it might have been planned. She pulled him towards the steps leading up to the place...it was more of a shack house...called Sammy T's...like an old gas station that had wooden steps and a broad porch lit with neon. Inside the blackened doorway he could glimpse the strings of white Christmas lights that garnished the room. The swell of people was pretty strong...and in the humid air they glistened.
Zydeco music is a cultural heartbeat...the rhythm of Cajun influence into traditional blues, punctuated by an accordion, a washboard and a drum. Maybe a great violin, maybe a keyboard. But the beat is from a heart in full frenzy, almost erotic, that pulls the couples together in an embrace. They watched the people dancing, the music loud, louder than an alarm, the room peppered with movement and faint white light from the bulbs.
He had quickly whispered as best he could that he was going to grab them a drink, and when he drew her in close, with her hair and her ear brushing up against him he smelled her. It was like smelling a color, and he paused slightly, breathing her in, hoping she wouldn't pull away. She didn't.
He returned with 2 iced down beers, sweating in his hands as the ice chips sloughed off, and he handed her one. She clinked the bottle to his and sucked down a hefty swig as he watched. Her pursed lips around the bottle, her throat moving in the gulps...he watched her and when she finished her eyes were smiling and she looked at him briefly. For some god only knows reason he kissed her...unplanned, unforetold. He grabbed her against the noise of the music, the thud of the drumbeat and the humidity of the crowd. Her lips were still cold from the beer but there was a warmth behind it, a heat inside it, and he lingered upon her like a bead of sweat, lightly, delicately, just touching faintly. It was he that broke it off and drew back. She still had the smiling eyes. But she seemed a little out of breath. At least that is what he thought.
They watched the crowd, they watched the dancers. They drank beers as the night grew long. The shack house bounced with its wooden floors and its sheen of dark musicians. They tried dancing to a few songs, mixing in a somewhat Texas 2 step with a bit of original moves...he caught her laughing as they tried to keep up with the beat, the band urging them on, glancing into strangers as they moved on the dance floor. The humidity was a wrap, and they grew sweaty and wet-warm as the music kept playing.
Finally the band took a break. It was still, like a swamp night, and the silence was imperfect because their ears were still ringing. Conversations were now heard, and the lights seemed to brighten up just a bit. It was like sprinting and then suddenly stopping to talk.
And then, in a brief moment, the overhead speakers came on...the owner decided to play some background music, and in the distractions of the band going off-stage and people mingling or refreshing drinks, he heard the first few sounds of a song.
It was a song he recognized, and he recognized how incongruently it sounded...it was Matchbox 20's "Back 2 Good"...and it was beginning to play in this darkened room filled with strangers and bar keeps and sounds of drinks being served, poured, glasses clinking, being set on coasters...
And he reached for her hand, and pulled slightly. She followed, a little bit of a slow start and they found themselves in the middle of the floor...and he put his arms around her and slowly started dancing. Not a fast dance, not a slow dance...just a dance to go with the simple 4:4 rhythm of the song...unfortunately the song starts slow and then advances...gets a little faster, but the tepid beat is fairly consistent.
In the ending portion of the song it slows again. And he felt her against him, warm and wet, sweating around the back of her head, and he felt conjoined. He felt she was stuck on him.
The music stopped and nothing replaced it. She kind of swayed a little bit, like the music was still playing. He pulled her tight in one last clench to let her know the dance was ending and then felt the release of her arms against him.
When he looked at her the eyes were still smiling.
Outside a storm broke and he could hear the rain on the roof and in the street. Felt the cool breeze flush into the room and some near the door moved closer to the stage.
He couldn't wait for the band to start up again.
