Thursday, September 3, 2009

Dancing King

This post really isn't related in any way to firearms or politics, and it isn't a rant. But I had a conversation earlier that reminded me of it, and decided to write it down.

My younger brother had a real good friend growing who spent a lot of time around our family. He even worked with us for a time after he got out of school. Then he went of to Colorado to work for Chevron and we only saw him when he came back to visit.

So he came back for Thanksgiving one year, and it just so happened that Reckless Kelly was in town while he was here. A snowstorm also hit town at about the same time Chad did, which lead to some really funny moments, but they really don't belong here. This is a family friendly place, after all. Anyway, the three of us decided we'd go see the show.

Now we need a little background. I weigh two hundred and twenty pounds and have been called "stout" by construction workers on more than one occasion. My little brother is actually a little taller than I am and outweighs me by twenty or thirty pounds, and Chad has a few inches on either of us and probably weighs as much as Steven. Chad is an easy going guy who you really couldn't call loud, while Steven is somebody who you really couldn't call anything but loud. You also couldn't say he isn't entertaining.

The band put on a really good show, and towards the end the three of us were standing off to the side of the dance floor. Which happened to put Steven close to the bar. At the first chorus to "Wild Western Windblown Band" I looked over and saw a horrified expression on Chad's face. He was pushing my thoroughly inebriated brother to arm's length and looking for an out. He caught me looking and spun Steven to face me. Steven grinned and stumbled towards me, swaying into my arms. I was a little shocked.

"Steven, what the hell do you think you're doing!?!"

"Dancing," he replied unfazed.

"What the hell?"

"Dude, its a concert. Just two step like everybody else," he patiently explained to me.

"But why are you dancing with me?" In the state of confusion I found myself in, that was almost a profound question. Shakespearean even.

"Because you're strong and I can't really stand up anymore." This he explained as if it was the most obvious point ever made.

"No." It was all I could think of to say.

"We're brothers,it's ok, we can hug and stuff."

"No." I was getting redundant, but I think it conveyed my meaning.

"It's ok," he told me, but I didn't believe him. I gave him a spin towards the middle of the dance floor. His path was intercepted by a heavyset girl who seemed delighted to have a dancing partner. At first I thought she didn't mind being his structural support, until I realized it was mutual. Alcohol would make sure neither one of them remembered their dance. I only wish I could say the same.

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