|Tango on the Turf
Author: LovinTheMusic PM
A dream becomes reality as two trombone section leaders dance for luck before their last parade.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Words: 1,935 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 3 - Published: 03-17-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3445236
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
AN: Hello, it's been a while, and a few pennames since I've posted on here. And an entirely new category!
Ah, and this is just a weird piece I wrote after a long night. Enjoy?
Disclaimer: I do not, of course, claim to own any of these lyrics from Moulin Rouge. They belong to...you know, the directors and writers and stuff.
The dance. The passion. The music.
I couldn't get enough. My partner was young, younger than I, if that were possible, and he knew what he was doing. But as the voices and instruments grew louder, my eyes were drawn to him: The man in red and black. I'd never seen such a passion for life, for dance, for love...
..For the Tango, for god's sake.
When the partners separated, I moved closer through the throng to the man I had been watching. I grasped my skirts and spun, hoping...
..He caught me! The song in everyone's ears grew louder, and the dancing fiercer as he drew me close, and kept me there, finishing the dance by dipping me dangerously close to…
I blinked and looked up into the dark eyes of my friend and fellow trombone player, Ryan.
"Um, hello," I mumbled, flushing, and wondering what, exactly, I had just been doing. He grinned cheekily.
"Hullo my beautiful, gorgeous, fantastic, wonderful, blushing friend. What were you dreaming about?" I laughed, covering myself, so to speak.
"None of your business." I sat up and stood, brushing little rubber pieces from my hair and sweater. It was chilly, but not quite the November weather you might expect out of, well…November.
We were eating lunch on the sidelines of our school's football field, having just finished practice. It was our last real practice before we hopped on the motor coaches and went on our 10 hour trip to Chicago for some parade.
Of course, we were excited, and we knew the bus ride would be fun, not to mention the weekend in Chicago, and the two nights in a hotel… But that wasn't really the point. This was our last competition. Ryan's and my last competition, I mean. I wasn't sure what I was—
"Stop thinking about it. Here, come on. Dance with me." I shook my head, trying not laugh and then gave in as he gave me his patented 'look'. He grasped my hand and twirled me a little. "What do you feel like today, m'lady? A waltz?"
He gracefully led me into a few steps before twirling me out again.
"A foxtrot?" A quickstep across five yards of field.
"Or how about…" he pulled me close and I gulped, shocked into silence. "…a tango?" I grinned at him, disturbed slightly by the look he was giving me. It reminded me a lot of my dream…
Ah, but let me explain something to you about Ryan and me. We've been friends since we were in 3rd grade, back when Pokemon was popular, and it wasn't cool to like guys yet. Throughout the years, we grew apart, into different lives, and activities, and then, I moved to his town. I joined the Orchestra, but he taught me to play the Trombone as well, and so I did Marching Band with him our freshman year.
We'd been close since then. The dancing was just tradition. Once before every competition, and once after, no matter the results, we would dance. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes with people, sometimes where no one could see. We were close, and strange. The rookies didn't understand their section leaders, that much was obvious.
But they loved to watch us. The last thing I noticed before he led me into the first steps of the dance we both loved was our group of brass rookies inching closer to our part of the field, watching.
It was silent at first, and we were always fine with that. But then—
"We have a dance!" A voice rung out, as a recording started up. Clearly, the directors had left the speakers unattended, and someone, probably Ben, the flute section leader, and avid lover of both our dancing, and Moulin Rouge, had put that particular CD in.
"In the brothels of Buenos Aires." I seperated from him, as we knew the song commanded, flirtatiously smiling. Ryan mouthed along with the words. "Tells the story of the prostitute, and the man who falls in love..." I stopped, watching him, waiting, possibly looking utterly ridiculous posing like I was in a sweater and jeans.
"..with her." The music started up. We came together, and the words blended as we matched each other, growing quicker and he harsher with every step I took with him.
"First there is desire. Then... passion!" I smirked as he drew me close and I looked over his shoulder at the quiet crowd of onlookers. One pair of eyes caught mine. "Then... suspicion! Jealousy! Anger! Betrayal!" Once again, I was lost, trying to keep up with him, barely noticing the pain his grip was causing. "Where love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust. Without trust, there is no love! Jealousy. Yes, jealousy...will drive you...Mad!"
He threw me away from him as Kris, the Sousa section leader, caught me and buried his face against my neck. I hadn't noticed before, but it was his eyes that were following us as we twirled on the field. My eyes were only on Ryan now. As he stalked away, a few of the kids who did showchoir and the musical in the spring stood up and joined the dance.
"Roxanne!" Kris began our dance. "You don't have to put on that red light. Walk the streets for money; you don't care if it's wrong or if it is right." As I was passed from Kris to Nick, our center snare, and then soon after to Zach, another trombone player, I realized, abesntly, that Ryan was actually singing the Argentinian's part, and not simply following along. In fact, this Cd had no words…
"Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight. Roxanne, you don't have to sell your body to the night." Being passed between the three boys, and followed by Ryan's voice was exhausting, not to mention slightly arousing. (A girl can only take so much passion, not to mention touching.) I briefly wondered who would sing Christian's part, when Ben started in with his beautiful tenor, and the dance continued.
"His eyes upon your face." I paused to breathe and Ryan's hands grasped my waist. "His hand upon your hand. His lips caress your skin…" I knew it was cruel, but I played a part well, and so I leaned forward, almost brushing my lips against his, touching his chest as I pulled away and looked towards the group gathering. Ryan stalked further downfield. "Its more than I can stand!" I knew Ben was singing for someone else. As much as we hated to admit it, we all loved Moulin Rouge because our lives and loves were similar to it.
"Roxanne!" Their voices were overlapping now, but I could only discern Ryan, and I looked at him briefly before moving to the edge of the circle, as he did on the other side.
"Why does my heart cry?"
"Roxanne!" I caught his eye as the dancers came together, a mad teenage rush to find partners and be part of this strange ritual.
"Feelings I can't fight!" Ben was singing while standing on the step of a drum major podium, not part of the melee of disturbingly good, unchoreographed dancing, but away from it, lost in his own world. "You're free to leave me, but just don't decieve me. And please, believe me when I say, I love you!"
There was a pause, and the dancing continued. I glanced away from Ryan, but his fierce eyes weren't leaving me. Finally—
"Yo que te quiero tanto, que voy a hacer? Me dejaste...me dejaste como una paloma el alma se me fue; se me fue el corazon ya no tengo ganas de vivir porque no te puedo convencer que no te vendas, Roxanne…" We never found out who whispered that into the microphone attached to the speakers, but we all had our suspicions…
Ryan and I shared glances throughout the spanish mumblings, but we knew it wouldn't last. He broke character, and ran at me as he sang his next line.
"Roxanne! You don't have to put on that red light." He caught me in his arms, and we danced, close and with feeling.
"Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can't fight!" He leaned close, murmuring the words now more than anything.
"Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight…Roxanne…" I knew it wouldn't last for long. Ryan and I were too dramatic, and Ben's voice soared too far for us to ignore what he wanted us to finish. But suddenly, all was quiet, and his head was resting in the crook of my neck. We heard her voice…
"Come what may…I will love you…til my dying…day." Ben searched for her, but she was lost in the crowd of colourguard girls; they hid her quickly, and his head drooped. I could feel the dancers around me tense, and Ryan sucked in a breath of air, and pushed me away, again. He sang as I kept his gaze and moved around and across the dancing.
"Rooooxanne! You don't have to put on that red light!" Ben stood up, calling out to the wind.
"Why does my heart cry!? Feelings I can't fight!" Suddenly, the dancing was harsh, and the boys pushed their girls to the side, or to the turf. I found myself dancing to the music, feeling him come nearer…the boys moved to surround me, and he quietly joined the circle… He and Ben matched each other from nearly half a football field apart.
"Roxanne!!" The violins were swirling to high crescendoes, and I was laughing, half giddy, half scared to death. I ended up in his arms and he stared me in the eye before pulling me against him. I tensed, and he gripped my arms as if he were going to snap me in half; he put his lips against the side of my neck and jerked me harshly—
—and then he only threw me against the ground, and the circle of boys stared, shocked at what they thought they had seen. I stayed still, not panting, though I desperately burned for more air.
The notes faded out, and everyone stood panting, some of the girls just pulling themselves off the ground, and wondering what had happened in the circle. Ryan was staring down at me, I could tell. His dark eyes would be on fire now. One more second, and someone, some boy was going to lean forward in desperation, some flute girl was going to scream, some—
"My god. Bravo."
We all jumped. Our directors and staff stood there, watching, one of the brass instructors putting something back in his bag and grinning widely. Our main director, Mr. B clapped and took up the microphone.
"Well…Now that we've had the customary trombone section leader dance for good luck…and that was one hell of a dance…" We all blinked. "…The busses are here."