Disco HilarityToday while I
studied reproductive pathology, Maggie and Estelle went to Atlanta to
make a run for the Buford Highway Farmer's Market, and to visit friends.
They went with Grace Mwaanza and Nana, who is Estelle's friend. It was
four Zambian women who live in Birmingham hitting the big city of
Hot-lanta.
They went, they had a great time, and they came home tonight.
I was on page 4 of 5 of a Tuesday script, but I stopped and helped
with the groceries, which included powdered milk, greens, Namibian beer,
tilapia, and I don't know what else. Immediately after unloading, Maggie
bid us good night and went upstairs. I returned to my script.
After wrapping up the script, which was describing some studies that
describe the risk v. protective effects of Estrogen in older women, I
went upstairs to be with my wife.
I found Maggie in bed, under the covers. The TV was on, and she was
turned toward the door, so I figured she was awake. As I got closer, I
turned my rear end around, sat on the bed, flipped the pillows on my
side over, and kicked up on the bed.
"So how was it?" I asked, inquiring about the whole excursion.
I looked closely at Maggie for the first time since entering the
room, and I saw she had old school headphones on, the kind that have a
head band. The headphones were connected to a Sony Discman. She told me,
as she removed the headphones and handed them to me in the
television-lit bedroom, that one of our Zambian friends had burned some
music for her. I put on the headphones, and the beats filled my head.
It sounded vaguely familiar, and my auditory eighties bent sought
for some familiarity. Nope.
Instead, in a direct connection between my ears and my mouth, the
instant of recognition was echoed by my question.
"Is this Disco??" I asked, in amused disbelief.
And this was the special bit.
With a wide smile, pure delight on her face, and focused eyes full of
unabashed joy, Maggie's answer was, "Yes!!" Followed by a characteristic
laugh of Maggie's, two escapes, low pitch then high, then peals of
giggles of joy and delight at the revelation of the era, and the having
of something that she wanted. Her face seemed to be saying Can you
believe my luck? Aren't you as excited as I am? Disco!!
I couldn't help but start laughing, and then I couldn't stop. Disco.
My wife is a closet disco queen. No no. She's not even a closet disco
queen. She's proud of her love of disco. Maggie started talking
about something else about the trip to Atlanta, but I just started
laughing out loud and hard. Then she started laughing which made me laugh harder.
The look of happiness on her face made me so happy, and that was
compounded by the humor of all this starting from Disco.
Disco - the much maligned, post-60's hangover of music. Disco -
everybody's punching dummy. Disco - my wife's secret pleasure. I
couldn't stop laughing, and then she started laughing at me laughing. A
few times she feigned a frown, in recognition that I was laughing, in
part at her. Then that melted into my wife's glorious, vibrant,
immaculate, open-mouthed, beautiful laugh. We loved it, and we loved
each other, and were connected again.
It was beautiful then, and it's beautiful now. Life, my friends, is
worth living.
