The theatre Rialto glistens in spectacled light dropping slightly upon the open space of the ground floor. The light fixtures that hang upon the glazed wall envelope me in its slightly dulled light. My face feels warmed by the light as I gaze upon the beauty of the theatre before me, the theatre Rialto. I am accompanied by three beautiful young women and two handsome men, all of us slightly awed by the manmade creation before us, a building which has stood since 1924 and has undergone many changes.
The theatre is just the venue but the energy that permeates by the many bodies that swirl allows the theatre to undergo a magical transformation. It no longer exists as an old room, despite all its beauty, but becomes a gaze into a long gone past itching to be free. The bodies twirl and swirl to the rhythmic beat of a Jazz band built upon the musical energies of a drummer, guitarist, stand-up bassist and Jazz Clarinet. The synchronization of sound within the band drifts to the dance floor where bodies have synchronize to each other. Feet and hands move deftly seemingly defying the laws of movement set by our own conscious limitations. Hours of practice, passion, and movement has allowed many of the people before me to slide across the hardwood dance floor with an ease and splendour I cannot imagine. The fingers and hands of the musicians echo the sentiment I feel about the dancers though they possess a skill and a passion I better understand and perhaps am better suited for.
I look to my left and quickly glance at the familiar features I have grown comfortable with. Kind eyes reflect back at me reminding me of a comfort I once possessed and still seek. Her smile reminds me of all that I have lost and all that I have gained over the years, a reminder I am glad to have received in that moment. Her curly hair reflects ever so lightly in the light and adds a nuance to her beauty I have not experienced before perfectly epitomizing the layers that exist within herself. The layers I perceive pushes me to ever great curiosity. How I wish I could untangle more of her thoughts and memories. How I hope I can learn of who she is, who is she will become, and who she wished she could be.
As she is lead away by a dancer of infinite more talent than myself I can not help smile to myself. She is taken in the arms of the confident man and she is lead across the dance floor as if adrift at sea, allowing the nature of dance and its patriarchal laws to flow her in which ever direction she is meant to go. I feel the cold drink in my hand, a manhattan tinged in a blood red that renders me comfortable. I allow the sweetness and the density of the drink take me wherever it wills. Tonight I reach a moment of bliss I can never understand and only experience. A smiled is splayed across my visage.
As the night winds down I am allowed to dance ever so modestly, and if I am to render the night accurately, terribly; as i glance at the wonderful woman in my arms who has gifted me with her company I can't help but feel saddened by the inevitable end of the night. I know that we must leave the light of the theatre which has been caught in a tinge of sentimental magic; I am unwilling to accept that reality. As that moment is reached I mourn. It is gone. The night which has been transformed has ended. Yet, the lack of permanence adds a mystic I cannot deny. It gives me a reason to render more moments such as the one I have told. That drive for more beauty gives me a little something to look forward to, wether I am gifted ever again.
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