A long time ago I used to go to this Black Lesbian night in Southie called Slainte. Twenty years prior a small clubs worth of blank lesbians venturing into this staunch Irish neighborhood coulda ended in bodies, or at least blood, but in 21st century Massachusetts it was cool.
I used to go with my dancing buddy, a cute tomboi who could tear up the floor. One night we were out dancing and some gorgeous back to Africa type sistas walked in with their effortless prints and radiant smiles.
There was one woman particular who intrigued me: she was so beautiful with her rich brown skin and thick curves. Each step and dance move owned her space and honored her body.
I told my friend how beautiful I found her and she tried to get me to talk to her.
“Naw.” I shook my head. “She’s not looking at me”
She and her friends were wrapped up in themselves and in each other and in the music.
So I respected them and didn’t try to intrude. I danced with my friend and enjoyed my night while she enjoyed hers.
Part of being in that space was respecting the people there. I’m sure a lotta folk might have tried to insert themselves in some way into their evening; but that would have felt wrong to me.
I’m not sure why my attitude is so difficult for others to take on. Check her out and if she’s not checking for you? Keep it moving. Everyone can still have a good time. That’s all I’m saying.