He claps his hands and is joined by another person about his age who twirls across the floor, a blur of pink, sky blue and white ruffles. He introduces them as his partner, Esmereldo. There are two guitarists sitting off to the side and they begin to strum with a powerful intensity.
Manu explains how flamenco began in the south but quickly spread out across the Iberian Peninsula. He instructs us to watch but reminds us that it is more important to listen and to feel. He stomps his feet with more force than I would have expected from looking at him and then his hand sweeps up above him in a gesture of power and passion. Esmereldo does the same thing but their movements have more liquid to them. Manu instructs us to follow but not to mimic the movements. “You must be in your body.” A sly smile crosses his face.
Hayes has his eyes closed, moving his head to the rhythm. I use the opportunity to study him closely. I’m mesmerized by the small bump in his nose that I first became acquainted with back at Clarkson. It’s still there, but where is the buttoned-up medical student who arrived at JFK airport ten hours before his flight?
The music picks up and Manu begins to dance with even more force. His body pulses and gyrates below the waist but his torso remains still and poised. “Flamenco is not straight. No,” he says, still deep in the music. “It is like us. It bends. It breaks.” Esmereldo’s body arches. “Flamenco is a solo dance. But from the individuality grows community.”
Manu demonstrates a sharp turn on the balls of his feet and we all try it, wobbling, tripping, laughing but coming together as a group. The women in the soccer jerseys almost fall on each other but one of the other students catches them. It takes a few songs for everyone to find their way to the experience but eventually, we are all dancing. The rhythm finds our feet, our chests, our arms, wherever the music chooses to enter. The tempo accelerates and I can sense we are all beginning to feel more connected.
Hayes is entirely entranced, keeping his eyes closed as his feet stamp, his fingers snap and his arms extend above his head. I close my eyes as well and let the music take over. My palms hurt from the intense clapping. The guitarists strum wildly, faster and faster, until every single person in the courtyard can feel it vibrate in their bones. “Arsa! Arsa!” Esmereldo shouts over the music and then it all comes to a fiery conclusion and everyone shouts, “Ole!”
We are silent for a moment. Sweat covers my bare arms and the middle of Hayes’ chest is damp from perspiration.
“Asi es,” Manu says to the students. “Don’t tell anyone but the queer classes are always so much more fun than any other. Let’s take a short break. We have some wonderful Manchego and a rich Rioja to share with our new amigos.”
A violinist wheels over and positions her chair to the side of the guitarists so they are now a trio. The sounds shift from the high-energy pulsing beat to something smoother and quieter. Hayes and I sit in a corner off to the side where small cream triangles of cheese with dark purple rind on the edges fan across a platter next to an open bottle of wine.
Hayes collapses on the chairs and pushes his legs out and his head back. “That was so much fun. I didn’t know guitars could even make that kind of sound. Woo-doggie!” he says, and I laugh.
When I first met Hayes, he was so much more country than when he graduated. The occasional “y’all” was heard from time to time but it’s been ages since I heard something as deep-fried as “woo-doggie.” I like this cocktail of Southern roots and awakened libertine. He pours us each a glass of wine even though we’ve both already had our fill.
“I forgot what a good dancer you are,” he says with a grin, and the tone and glint in his eyes catch me off guard. Is he flirting with me, or is it the wine? “Remember when we went to that party at Phi Sig and you were dancing to some old song. What was it?”
“It was ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’. Kylie Minogue. And it isnotan old song. It’s a classic.” I’ve loved Kylie Minogue since I was a small child and I had a teenage Australian au pair who I think was a club kid on the weekends. She introduced me to Kylie when I was barely able to walk. I’m not saying that made me gay, but I’m sure it was a contributing factor. “I remember that party. You told me you weren’t coming because you had to study. We got into it.”
“I remember,” he says. “I let it slip that the midterm was in two weeks and you couldn’t figure out why I would skip a party for something so far away.”
“That’s right. So, I left. Pissed off. But you finished studying and came anyway.” I take a slice of the cheese and enjoy the salty creaminess against my tongue.
“Brady, that’s not exactly what happened.” He takes a breath. The music is now soft and gentle in the background with the violin at the center. “I wanted to go to that party so bad. I wanted to be out with you, but it was all so new to me. I was scared. You left and I didn’t even crack a book. I sat there and tried to get the courage to open the door to my room and walk down College Ave to join you.”
I knew that I was the first guy Hayes had seriously dated and that his upbringing didn’t really prepare him for life as an out bi man. I mean he wasn’t singing post-disco hits with a nanny in his bedroom the way I was. But I didn’t know all this was going on inside his head. He kept his struggle invisible, or maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough.
“I thought you just loved to study,” I explain.
“I did. I do. But books have always been my safe place and it was hard to choose being out in the world over being home with a book. I knew if I worked hard enough, I could ace a test. But there are so many variables outside in the real world. It’s a lot.” Hayes is a rule follower. He has a tremendous amount of integrity, but that quality also made him rigid and unyielding. Being with him here, breaking the rules, makes me understand him on an even deeper level than I thought I already had.
“So, what made you change your mind and come to the party?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. His face turns serious and he bites his lower lip as if he’s replaying the memory, and then his teeth release his lip and he grins.
“Your jeans,” he says, sitting up and leaning in toward me.
I pick up my wine glass and take a small sip but let the rim linger on my mouth a few seconds beyond what is necessary. “My jeans?” My voice full of playful naïveté.
“Brady, don’t play innocent.” He wags his finger at me and then presses my nose. “You know the exact pair I’m talking about. The ones you got at that vintage store with the waist so low you could see your ass crack in the back and even more skin in the front. They’re a deep blue indigo with pale yellow stitching on the pockets and at the bottom and about two sizes too small for you.”
A man who does not know the difference between khaki and brown describes them perfectly. “Oh, those jeans.” I nod my head, but we keep our eyes connected. “You mean the ones I called my ‘Come-Fuck-Me, Hayes-Jeans.’”
“Is that what you called them?” A deep throaty laugh escapes. Now his eyes are glued to mine. I never told him the name of those jeans but that’s what I called them. The same way you call a winning racehorse Champion.
“You left my room and I couldn’t think about anything else. And it’s not just that you looked hot in them. You did, but it was so much more than that. You wore them like… I don’t know… like you were made for them. You had this incredible energy. Totally uninhibited. I thought if I could be a part of that for even a few seconds… if I could spin in your orbit. That was such a turn-on.” His eyes drop down to look at my ass so I sit up and push it out, at first just a little, but then I let the wine do its job and push it out even further, so it’s very obvious.
“You didn’t care who saw you in them. In fact, you wanted people to look. That blew my mind, and I when I got to that frat house there you were in the middle of the party, shirt open, jeans so tight I though the buttons would pop off. Gyrating and jumping to that Kylie song.”
“That was the first night we…”
“Yeah, it was. But not just because you looked so hot. It was more your attitude and how you felt about yourself and how you carried yourself in the world. That’s what I found so irresistible.” He’s talking to me about feelings I’ve never heard before, and it’s exciting but also scary. He must realize he’s letting his guard down since he looks away, sits up and adjusts his shirt.
