Our Song

The DJ plays a slow, sultry song by Melissa Etheridge and I’m thinking that the guy moving his body rhythmically in front of me is pretty cute and I’m thinking that I’d like to get to know him, maybe even give him my phone number before this night is over so he could call me and we’d probably talk for hours about everything from school to family to music and even though we’re both trying to avoid the topic we’d eventually talk about sex and we’d both be nervous at first but because we’ve been talking for so long we feel like we’ve known each other forever and soon we’d be going out for dinner or to go see a movie, preferably a romantic love story, and we’d sit together with the “proof-that-I’m-a-heterosexual-male” seat between us and we both cry and hold hands during the movie and on our sixth date we tell each other that we’re ready to make a commitment to our relationship and we begin using disgustingly cute nicknames to address each other like babe or snookums or love monkey and he’d meet my family and they’d love him and I’d meet his family and they’d love me and we’d spend Christmas together unwrapping his-and-his towel sets for our new apartment and on our one year anniversary we’d return to the club we’re dancing at now and the DJ would play the same slow, sultry song by Melissa Etheridge and by now it would be our special song and we’d dance until two in the morning and then go to Denny’s for a special anniversary dinner and before we go to bed that night we would tell each other “I love you” and really mean it.
But instead, he turns his back and dances with someone else.