The older man who danced with me taught me how one holds his partner’s hand properly. You don’t interlock your fingers with your dance partner’s, but leave your hand open, palms touching loosely, thumbs touching so that when he spins you around you find your way back, in his arms.
“Nice, good!” he said a few times after I learned.
I danced with this stranger and as I leaned my head against his chest, I had the desire, though fleeting, to close my eyes. We didn’t exchange anything, just sounds resembling a name, a few nods of affirmation, and smiles. We didn’t exchange truths; we exchanged a dance that will remain a sweet memory of one Saturday night.
I like dancing with strangers.