How To Disappear Completely

God works in mysterious ways

I went to the McMaster Hispanic Society Semi-Formal tonight. The party was the culmination of a semester's worth of dance lessons. I didn't really know anyone, but the instructor seemed anxious to get as many people participating as possible and I bought a ticket. The venue was the Torch Room in the Sheraton Hamilton Hotel. I showed up a bit early and sat in the corner of the bar, waiting to go in to the dinner. One of the members of the Society (who had shown up occasionally to dance practice, but wasn't actually in my class) came over and talked to me, and we danced a bit. He was a fourth year, from Peru, and (it would strike me later) probably suffering from senior-panic, because he later asked me if I wanted to hang out during exams and go shopping. Poor fellow! How could he have known that I loathe shopping? Never ask me to go shopping for a first date, or even for the elusively vague activity of "hanging out." Not knowing where shopping fits in the baseball schemata, I truthfully answered that I would be out of town very soon, and kindly thanked him for the offer.

When one shows up to semi-formal banquets without any escort or even friends, one doesn't know exactly where one should sit down to dinner. So I asked one of the instructors if perhaps one spot was better than another. "Well," she said. "You can sit with my friends" and proceeded to lead me to their table. They were a party of five girls, seated at a six-person table. Perfect. They immediately welcomed me, and because of my name, I was pretty cool. I realized right off that these girls were warm and friendly, but I knew that when one of them started showing me how to make cranes out of the table napkins, that I had struck gold. Kindred spirits all round.

We made an expedition to the variety store for water after dinner, since the meal was served dry (to encourage guests to utilize the bar, I surmise; there wasn't even a water fountain next to the washroom). On the way back up to the event room, we stopped on the grand staircase in the hotel lobby and began posing for magazine photo-ops. At first, I took a few pictures with one of the girls' camera, thinking that they wouldn't really want to remember me for the rest of their lives, but soon it began to be too fun. I was right there with them, posing like a model. We were Hott. I gave the girls my email address in order to get the photos, so I'll post them later. We danced and danced. These girls just kept growing on my heart: they'd make up stuff if they didn't know the steps. And they were so sassy and sexy and fun, and yet...I couldn't put my finger on it, but they weren't the dirty sexy that I see so often around me. It was like they knew how to enjoy the way their bodies moved without having to grab everyone's attention. I wondered why I kept getting these vibes. These girls were becoming a Canadian 5th North to me.

Then the girl who had created the napkin crane (whom she'd named Alfred and left on the table for the waiter to find) asked me what I did, etc. I returned the question and found out why my heart had been burning. "I'm a Christian, see," she said, "so I work as a dance instructor down at the downtown mission." She took a sip of her Corona. "Yeah. I'm a Christian, but not one that doesn't believe in drinking or dancing. Just wanted to get that out. I know that some Christians don't believe in it." I was SO happy, because you see, the Christians that I hang out with here are a lot of fun, but would probably be a bit scandalized to hear that I was dancing salsa in a bar. To find people who knew how to honor God even while being unafraid to spend time in places regarded as "unChristian" refreshed my spirit. "Oh, I think it's okay for Christians to drink and dance," I replied. "I'd be drinking, too, except it's just that I hate spending money at the bar (since all bars, to my mind, are simply out to rip everyone off with their overpriced product)."
"Here," she said. "Take the rest of my Corona."

I was touched. The beer slid down my throat. It was the smoothest thing I'd had in a long while, so cold.

"Thanks," I said. "So much."

After more dancing and sharing the prize I'd won from the musical chairs contest (I got a box of Lindor chocolates), I retired home. I left my email address with the girl who had the camera, in order to get the photos, but the others all clamored "We need to see you again, next time we go dancing, we'll give you a ring!"

God works in mysterious ways.