MOVING IN STEREO

RUN HONEY RUN

"Well, I wish I could think of some cliché to mouth
To make our parting seem less sad
But if I told you lies or promised you the moon
The truth would come trickling from my eyes

So run, honey run, and hide in the wind
And never stop to look inside your mind."

 Run Honey Run

Morcheeba

I wouldn't say I like airports. They are unbelievably loud and uncomfortable and just electric with humanity's hustle, anticipation, and frustration. I'm not even going to get into the extra layer of arrogance and intrusion of the TSA. It's not the place to say goodbye, either. All the anxiety I had about Sofi leaving was starting to well inside me, and damnit, I swore that wouldn't happen.

Sure as shit, though, I kept thinking about the Dralion Aerial dance my dad, and I had watched Sof perform only three weeks before. You should go if you have never been to a Cirque du Soleil show. You are in for a spectacle. I'm not going to bother you with the details as it is something you really should see for yourself.

Sofi had been practicing for weeks, even after her regular ballet routines. There were times I pretty much only saw her sleeping. But we talked when we could, and I never once missed a chance to wrap her around me, sleeping or not. She was excited and happy, and I couldn't help but be excited for her. I watched her exercises but never really grasped what she had been training for until that night under the tent when the music rose, and the center stage lights came on, and there was this beautiful woman of mine in a form-fitting opalescent leotard. She was draped in a royal blue aerial silk and was spinning her way up into the darkness, then twisting and turning back down as if untangling herself from bed sheets right into the arms of some strapping dancer also donning a similar blue costume.

It didn't matter. It was all part of the routine. I had seen her perform before and plenty of times with men. She spun acrobatically around the stage and intertwined herself with her fellow performer and the long blue aerial ribbons. Their dance was tightly choreographed. As she moved closer, he would secure a hand around her waist in another twist, then again on the other arm. It was very suggestive of restraint. She kept breaking free. She would leap and fly into the air still tethered and perform the most elegant somersaults and landings. I think I forgot to breathe. I was so proud of her when the audience applauded at points during her performance. I teared up and had to wipe my face.

Again the dancers met center stage in a passionate embrace, each wrapping the other seductively in the blue ribbon before she leaped away, her partner holding on only by one of her shapely legs. They flew into the air in a wide circle over the stage, even into the first few rows of the audience, winding themselves higher and higher until they disappeared in the darkness at the top of the tent. When they emerged, it was slowly. Her leg was dangling free, then an arm, then his legs; the further down they came, the more obvious it was that they were wrapped together horizontally and slowly unwinding. The audience applauded. It was sensual, and I felt just a tinge of discomfort. I knew her intimately, and what I was watching seemed intimate. It was beautiful, though, and they were both professional.

"And that's not going to be a problem?" My dad chided me.

I shook my head no, didn't bat him an eye. I was proud. Taking that from him just reinforced my feelings. She had practiced so hard, and it showed. Of course, to hear her tell it, the whole performance was riddled with errors, but for me, the pedestrian, it was beautiful and delicate, even mesmerizing.