Walk on Water by Josephine Garner

powerfully urgent and earthy about the scene, like we were caught up in the madness of mob rule, a primitive, energized herd, nearly unaware of ourselves as individuals.
    In college disabled students had “danced” in their wheelchairs at the student union. They had been guys mostly with their able-bodied partners, gyrating around them and sitting in their laps. They had required a lot of space to accommodate them. A wheelchair would never fit on the Sensations dance floor, unless it was a slow night, or one set aside for people with special needs .
    My current partner, Brian, an attractive man with a nice watch and heavy cologne, kept pulling me up against him so that our bodies rubbed together. I’d push away and spin around only for him to catch me again and hold me close. It was all a part of the dance, the ritual of modern courtship, or rather seduction, because it always came to that . People wanted to rub their bodies together. AIDS may have given us pause, and forced us to deal with condoms, but it couldn’t stop it. We didn’t want it to. Eventually the mobs always broke up into pairs.
    Another song was starting up again, but this time I took the ending one as my opening to leave the floor. I wanted a drink of water. As I headed back to our table, Brian came with me, keeping a proprietary hand at the small of my back. He was going to ask me for my telephone number, I was certain of it. But I wasn’t certain that I wanted to give it to him. That was the main reason why I had gotten caller-id, my tendency to be too free with my telephone number and then regretting it when the conversations took the budding relationships to nowhere.
    Back at the table, Brian held my chair for me to sit down. Then he kept his hand on the back of the chair and hovered over me, making small talk, which he had to shout, and even still I wasn’t catching all of his words. Corrine was escorted back to the table too, but her partner thanked her and moved on. She sat sipping the remnants of her margarita and smiling at me knowingly, as Brian continued to work his magic.
    The executive business card made its appearance. Suavely Brian took it from his wallet and placed it on the table, sliding it towards me. “Maybe I could take you to dinner sometime,” he said. Corrine’s eyes widened as she waited to see what I was going to say in return. Despite the dim lighting I could see it was a nice business card. He was a marketing executive. He looked successful. He was well-dressed. He’d be disappointed when he learned that I was very happy merely being a counselor. I wondered if he was a Republican too. Oh well. At least my bait seemed to be luring a better class of fish. It wasn’t likely that I would find my Mr. Right in a night club, but Brian could easily be a Mr. Right Now, so I had no good excuse not to take him up on his offer. I just had a reason. But it was a dumb reason, and I was supposed to be smarter than that twenty years later. Moreover Corrine was going to gloat relentlessly if I turned Brian down.
    Smiling up at him I began patting down Brian’s torso and then his trouser pockets, all of which took him by complete surprise.
    “Whoa!” he grinned looking pleased. “You’re a feisty wench, aren’t you?”
    “Hardly,” I coolly replied. “I’m looking for a pen. I didn’t bring one.”
    “Oh,” he said a little deflated, as he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a pen.
    Taking it from him, I jotted down my cell phone number on the back of his business card and then slipped the card and pen back into his trouser pocket.
    “I’m old-fashioned,” I said giving his pocket a final flirtatious pat. “ You have to call me.”
    “Okay,” said Brian, smiling again. “I’ll do that.”
    “Great,” I continued. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
    Where there was naturally a line, albeit a short one. I was glad for the delay anyway. I had needed an exit after what I thought