I fell in love with you when I saw you dancing. Your towering, skinny tallness; the glossiness of your just-shaved jaw; your hands in awkward fists punching the air and out to the sides, you were marking territory and counting time. You always danced in the same spot, a little to the left of the mirror-ball so that its sparkles kissed your right cheek, glittering down your neck.
I was the kid in the lighting booth in the corner of the hall. Self-conscious back then, I never took my eyes off you. In step with the scrunchin’ bassline and zingin’ synths your feet in silver trainers made shiny diagonals while some girl’s dainty white pumps zig-zagged in time. I trained the yellow spotlight on your shoes and the cuffs of your jeans, wishing I might be that girl.
Flicking out your arm you caused another glittery rush, bending ninety degrees at the elbow and up, up, up like the second-hand of an alarm clock. Then two hands at once, in synch, out of synch, bending from the waist, swivelling and popping, spirals of disco light bouncing off your hips – you were the Sixth Form robotics champion, making like a machine while the rest of the school, all neon and black, body suits and baggy pants, stood in a circle and clapped you on.
Shrinking the spotlights to the size of tip-toes, I made my first move in deep blue. When you spun, I spun; when you jumped, I flashed up the wall and met you just as your feet hit the ground, then widened the pools of light so each of your feet had its own halo. You slid your silver shoes along the floor and raised your arms high above your head, so that you made an upside-down Y shape; I slid my halos along with you, changing them from blue, to purple, to red, to white. Swinging a third light into the mix, I beat a pink pulse on your chest.
After that night, I swear you used to glance into my corner sometimes and I’d run the spotlights under your ankles: you would hopscotch through them. Red, blue and yellow splashing your cool white jeans; spinning circles on the floor in primary colours, criss-crossing like Venn diagrams, hovering patterns on the wall behind you.
This story was included as a gallery wall text in James Johnson Perkins’ solo exhibition Meteoric Toy at Durham Art Gallery, 2008.
PHOTO CREDIT (wall text): Lucy Adlington, 2008, her Flickr page. For a larger image, click here.
PHOTO CREDIT (disco ball): Peter Griffin, Public Domain Pictures
