Prismacolor and ink on 5 x 81/4 Moleskin page
Sunlight streams through the tall, professionally-cleaned windows into the freshly maid-scoured kitchen. Somebody sure had a sappy rehearsal dinner mix, I think, because all sorts of feel-good couply stuff comes on until we find ourselves having to do a little dance. In between the stovetop and the coffee maker counter we are pressed together in classic form – woman’s right hand up in his, her left arm over his shoulder - and we’re be-bopping away to really, the worst thing - what’s it called? - every boy around the world…something something...Dancing in the Streets? I’m just about to think horrible thoughts about this song when suddenly, twirling around in his arms through the buttery bacon mist and sunlit coffee steam, I feel instead like the song is brilliant. Every boy around the world SHOULD grab a girl, I’m thinking. Yes! No wonder everyone loves this song, it’s true! Our t-shirted hearts are pressing, and we are moving in a simple two-step circle. And even though I’m in clumsy clogs, my sweatpants are slipping off, and I trip on the floor mat that gets twisted up between our feet, I keep following his lead and I even rest my head on his shoulder for a second. I relish how I feel in his arms, how he feels like a man when he holds me. Not like a boy, not like a liar.
Text by Heather Anderson