Dancing with My Husband

“I can’t really dance. I cling to him and try to look relaxed, if not carefree, when I dance. He loves to dance. He won a dance marathon when he was fifteen, and with the prize money bought himself an olive green tailored green twill jacket. He can dance for hours. He swivels his hips and shakes his head and his arms and legs. He should have fronted a rock band. On the dance floor, I expend most of my energy trying not to look self-conscious. Trying to project an air of abandon. He abandons himself to the music.”

-Originally published as part of the essay, “The Man I Love,” in Art and Australia magazine