Sing to Me, Make me Dance

The scene opens with a man, just one man.  He has penguin, peppered waves, studied tan skin, and sweat lightly sprinkling down his face.   

Without asking, a tall and gorgeous Hispanic woman with a strong ponytail dabs at his face with a paper napkin from the bar.  

"Gracias, muy amable," he whispers to her between lyrics.  

On a tiny, cheap wooden box below his feet--barely big enough to fit two people--he taps his feet.  His red-worn cowboy boots seen many a gig.  But he taps on--fluid and strong.

"Quiero vender mi amor como yo era un pescador..."

He sings about love, mostly.  But isn't that what makes Spanish guitarists so attractive?  Even if he is a sheriff, old enough to be my young abuelo.

The club is tiny, intimate.  Exactly how it should be for a night like this.  A singer like this.  A crowd...like this.  

The night starts out timid enough.  We, the white audience, are amazed and in awe.  But, at most, we move our heads, maybe even tap a few feet to his mesmerizing rhythms.

Enter the Hispanics, the Mexicans, the Spanish, the Latinos, the Chicanos.  Whatever you want to call them--they are full of pura vida!  They show us guerras up big time.  To my front is a man scooting like an elegant choo-choo train across the room.  A crisp white shirt, dark pants, and a glass of vino that he holds in a relaxed grip, like he's dancing with a waif-like fairy.

I pinch myself for a minute: this is all really happening.

The women--in varying shades of spice--whoosh through the crowd!  Hands clapping, hips swerving, bodies twirling, spinning, shaking.  A younger man with shoulder-length black hair is to my left.  Hand on his heart, eyes closed, he taps in unison with the guitar, with the night.

Never one to be a wall-flower, I can't resist any longer.

I dance.

I dance with new friends.  The spicy ladies draw me in.  I borrow their dance moves like tight black shirts--they don't fit me quite right, but I still look pretty good.  Smiling, laughing, sweating--this is a great night in Tucson.

And it's only just begun.