Article 3 in a series of articles about single life in London.
I am afraid. I am very afraid. As I am crammed into a space a tenth of my body size, smothered by the familiar stench of sweaty bodies, arms flailing above my head I can’t help thinking how lonely I am. Is he in this carriage? If I can just squeeze a glimpse through a gap in the dense mass of miserable, tired, London workers…is he there? Who knows? How would I know? A futile effort.
It’s been a while since I have laughed. Really laughed, when it hurts your stomach, when it makes you cry, when you think of it a day later and still you laugh out loud even if it causes you to look a little insane.
The Pantene ad of the moment says we should dance all day not just at night. What a brilliant philosophy; if only it was possible, if only there were people to dance with. (It is not an entirely feasible suggestion, despite making us feel better it may cause an accident when cooking dinner or having a shower but a great ethos all the same.) Mr. Brightside by The Killers is filling the room. My life as a music video, being played out in slow motion. I am missing the climatic ending where she leaves with him. I’m working on it.
My favourite part is the slow motion dance floor:
I am happy. I am very happy. As I am crammed into a space a tenth of my body size, smothered by the familiar stench of sweaty bodies, arms flailing above my head I can’t think. The shafts of coloured light drown me, force me under in to an imaginary world, I am sharing the moment with strangers who are incredibly familiar. Together. The Pantene ad of the moment says we should dance all day not just at night, and we do. The Pantene hair is heavy with the residue of dance floor frolics, it hits my face leaving salt on my lips, the bass kicks in, there is an eruption on the slow motion dance floor that lifts both my feet off the ground. It’s bliss.
It’s been a while.
Strangers on the tube just don’t cut it like strangers on the dance floor. Not that it matters, I never found him there either and still the burden of loneliness clings to me, but at least I laughed until my stomach hurt when I was looking for him then.
As I strain my neck to glance to the left I am checking out the guy who is inadvertently touching my leg as he stealthily holds on to his laptop bag. Reality check. I might be lonely, I might miss the hot, space-deprived nights of heady laughter but on the most part I am happy. I have my family who love me and I am healthy. I may not have the privileged access to passion induced, lingering looks that are born only out of love but I do have me, and that is enough. You only have to look around London to know that that is enough and that is the bright side, here’s to looking on it. Maybe I’ll find him there.