The man sat in his old truck listening to songs from the Roarin’ Twenties; remembering the days, long ago, when he would put on a suit and go down to the dance hall.

The dance hall was always overwhelming–with fresh flowers, shimmering lights and colorful ribbons and bows. Live bands were playing and servicemen on leave would be dancing with a bevy of beautiful women. He, too, danced with the loveliest women, however, he longed instead to dance with his best friend Jeff. It was a secret he would take to his grave.

Jeff was in the service. Unfortunately, he died in a boating accident shortly after that night both men had visited the dance hall. A pointless accident the fates allowed, to keep the man from his true love. In time, his friend grew old and died, too. Alone. Except for one nurse at the old folks’ home, no one remembered him. And, quickly, he faded from her memory as well.

The fates are fickle, however, and sent the man back to earth once again as a human. He had no memory of his past life; that is, until one evening while sitting in his truck, he heard “Blue Moon” playing on the radio and it all came flooding back into his memory–the good, the bad, and the ugly. Down to the last night–at the dance hall–the ugly wallpaper with a flower painting on the wall. And the smell–a strong scent of urine.

How he longed for Jeff. Now, in his new life, at least he could be himself, openly, and find a man. Maybe a sailor to slow dance with to the music from his past life so long ago. 




What is normal? A body of water untouched by the wind; no waves without or within? A parrot whose feathers are a single shade of grey? A cloudy, overcast day? What is normal? Why can’t it be me? Weird, freak, strange and that is just what friends and family call me. What is normal? A luminescent bulb lit room? A poster of a cat hanging by its claws? Counting brush strokes while looking at a mirror on the wall? “Normal”–a setting on appliances, so simple to be. Why is it so unattainable, because I am wild and free. I strive for normality. I always fall short–like falling in a dream, I open my mouth but cannot scream. What is normal? The rules you all follow? A distant memory; alien to me? Normal a far reaching star of which light I shall never see. So I shall try again tomorrow to simply accept me.