I hate going to charity balls. You have to get dressed in a monkey suit, they're always so crowded and boisterous that even if you don't have claustrophobia you feel icky, you have to listen to boring speeches, the band is often either too loud or bad, and the drinks are way overpriced. I have no problem sending money to worthy causes I just don't like the events that they think they have to sponsor to get donations.
My wife, on the other hand, loves to get dressed up, chat with dozens of people while drinking the overpriced booze, and dance, and isn't bothered by the crowds. Because she's a good sport in going to baseball and hockey games with me I feel obligated to return the favor and tag along to those heinous balls making my best efforts to complain as little as possible.
A charity ball last January was different. It was in a hotel so the guests had access to more than just the ballroom, and in one room a hockey game that I had wanted to watch was on T. V. I sneaked away from my wife and some friends and went into the room to watch so as to relieve my boredom and pain.
While I was watching a friend of mine, who also had escaped the main ball room when the speeches started, came up to me. "Hey Colin, what's the score, and what period?" he blurted out without so much as a "How are you doing?"
"I'm glad to have the company of another escaped inmate," I laughed, "Capitals up 2-1 at the start of the second period."
We exchanged observations about the game for a few minutes when we were approached by a classy older woman and a cute younger one. "Hi, Bill," the women said to my friend, "glad that you could make it."
"Ann, have you met my friend Colin?" Bill inquired talking to the older woman.
"No, I don't think so," she said offering her hand, "I'm Ann Caldwell and this is my daughter Cecil," she said shaking my hand and then turning to usher her daughter toward Bill and I. Cecil also came up, shook my hand with a firm yet feminine grip, and looked me in the eye, something not many young people do.
Since I used the terms "older," "younger," and "young," I need to describe the characters.
I'm sixty though I've been told by many people that I look more like forty, primarily because my hair doesn't have much gray (solely genetics, I have nothing to do with it) and because most of my 6'3" frame is muscle, certainly with no visible fat (something that I do have something to do with because I work out every day).
Bill is my age, probably 5'9", but also in good shape, though his hair is 90% gray.
Ann looked to be in her mid to late forties, medium height, and attractive in addition to being classy, with a beautiful shoulder and backless floral print ball gown.
Cecil looked to be, and I found out later that she was, nineteen with shoulder length dirty blond hair (the color, not the appearance; it was actually very attractive), blue eyes, and light complexion. Even in the high heels that I assumed that she wore she was fairly short, probably 5'4". She also had a shoulder and backless ball gown, robin's egg blue. While her face wasn't classically beautiful it was friendly and cheery, she had a wonderful smile; and she had a real sparkle in her blue eyes, intensified by eye shadow matching the color of her dress.
I don't know exactly how it worked out that way but while Ann and Bill were catching up on things that they had a common connection with Cecil came right up to me and standing just inches away initiated a conversation.
I found Cecil to be one of the most interesting people that I had talked to in a long time. At first I was primarily trying to watch the game while being polite enough to carry on a conversation, but soon realized that chatting with Cecil was better than the game, especially since the Capitals seemed to be tanking. Soon I lost complete interest in hockey and focused solely on Cecil.
I found out that Cecil was working as an intern for the charity that sponsored the ball as part of a course curriculum in her junior year of college, having graduated high school in three years, and would be continuing her internship for another five or six weeks. She had no interest in hockey and had never played competitive sports in school but loved to run and bicycle (or attend spinning classes when the weather wasn't conducive to outdoor biking) to stay in shape. Her passion was helping other people, something she started doing on a regular basis at age ten and continued through high school and now college.
While Cecil stood next to me with a drink in her hand and was effervescent I never saw her drink from her glass. She constantly made eye contact and the more I looked at her the more enthralling she looked. After about a half hour I was enchanted. My spell was broken only when she said, "Oh, they've stopped skating," motioning toward the T V.
Using the break between periods in the hockey game as an excuse I asked if she'd like to dance.
"Oh, actually I don't dance much."
"Why is that, Cecil?"
"I'm really not very good."
"With your lithe young body you have to be better than me," I chuckled.
"Well if you really want to," she said, grabbing me by the hand and leading me to the ballroom, putting her drink on a waiter's tray as we moved along.
The music was loud, the dance floor fairly crowded, and she really wasn't a very good dancer, but I was thoroughly enjoying myself. After three or four dances she pulled my head down to her level and whispered (actually yelled in order to be heard over the din) I'm embarrassing myself. Can't we just talk?"
I smiled and said "Sure," but just then a slow song started. I stopped her and said "Just this slow song, I'll carry the dance."
"Okay, but let me take my heels off, they're killing me," she replied.
With that she ran over to a table about twenty feet off the dance floor, kicked her shoes off under it, and ran back. Just as I thought she was about 5'1", a good fourteen inches shorter, and one hundred pounds lighter, than I was.
We tried slow dancing but the disparity in our heights made it comically difficult and we started laughing. After a few miscues she giggled "I thought you said you'd carry the dance."
"OK," I laughingly replied, "you asked for it." With that I picked her up off the ground, squeezed her tight to me, and moved around the floor just like I was dancing with someone six feet tall.
Cecil never, by word or action, gave even the slightest hint that she was uncomfortable but instead giggled and occasionally squeezed my shoulder or bicep; she obviously enjoyed being gently manhandled. When the song ended and I put her down she said "Wow, you're really strong."
