20 - The Dance ダンス
I never told this story. A while back I went to a concert in Fukuoka with a woman friend. It was a standing venue. Early in the show we somehow got separated into different sections. Different tickets, different areas, I’m not even sure what happened. Suddenly this gaijin was alone in the middle of Section 4.
About twenty minutes in, I noticed a young Japanese woman dancing near me. I’ll never forget, she was wearing military type fatigues and a white T-shirt.
She never looked at me.
She just moved closer.
Slowly.
As the music played, the space between us disappeared. At first it felt accidental. Then it didn’t. She was dancing against me, subtle but deliberate. I smelled her lightly scented perfume. No eye contact. No words.
It was my first time ever at a stand up concert in Japan. I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know if it was cultural. I didn’t know if it was just the rhythm of the crowd.
So I stayed still and let the music move us.
For ninety minutes I literally felt her energy. Strongly. Strangers sharing heat and rhythm and something I still can’t fully explain. It actually felt as though her energy crossed the space between us and settled quietly inside me.
I kept wondering why she chose me out of the many people attending.
When the final song ended, I expected something. A glance. A smile. A bow. A hug. Just something.
Instead, she stepped forward and disappeared into the crowd.
Just like that. But I found myself hanging in my little space, quietly expecting the moment to become alive again. She’ll be back… I knew it. But that never happened.
So I made my way to the exit, that strange feeling still lingering quietly inside me.
A few minutes later I found the friend who I came in with near the exit. She smiled and said, “That was amazing, did you like it?”
I paused for half a second.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I had a good time.”
What Japan taught me that night was that not every story needs to be told in the moment. Some are meant to live quietly inside you.