Mr. Migraine

You would hardly know he's a dancer.

He sits in the back and stays motionless for days; his limbs limp and soft.

Many songs play; catchy dance tunes.

He ignores them all until...

He hears the beat.  He always hears it before I do.

His little finger hardly lifting to keep time with the distant sound.

So subtle.

The dance begins.

He takes it slow at first; a stroll.

He lets me listen for awhile

He lets me feel the tension in my neck and shoulders

Sense the slight churning in my stomach

Become aware of my mind twirling backwards reviewing foods, beverages, or lack of

Notice the soreness in my eyes

"Feel the rhythm," he says.

"Not today...PLEASE, not today", I beg.

But he grabs my hand

Pulls me closer.

Now we both hear the drum stronger

Start moving with the beat

The tempo quickens

The no longer distant drummer switches to the base.

The nausea increases

Panic sets in

He whirls me around and around; holds me tighter.

My toes and feet start their own quick steps in rhythm with his.

The song is fast and jerky.

The drummer solos for hours and hours and hours.

The rumbling in my stomach requires fast footwork followed by

A lunge.  I lead.  He follows.

He likes the sequence.

We repeat it over and over and over until...

My head drops back in a dramatic pause.

My limbs limp and soft.

Then we are still.

The dance is over.

My partner bows and backs away as slowly as he started.

I can hardly lift my head to say goodbye.

But the man loves to dance.

He'll be back.