Incident Six:
Where They Dance At Dinner
The well-reviewed Bel Cibo restaurant was not far from Bennet’s house, but the drive there seemed long and tiresome. He wished he could fly there instead. No more trapped in the confines of his car, trapped on the road with other traffic, trapped to the ground like the rest of humanity. He could be free.
If he had more experience then he might have left the car at home and tried to fly the whole way. In his dreams he would have done that, and arrived without a care, touching down outside the door and strolling inside like nothing happened. But he was not dreaming now, and he was a long way from that kind of confidence. In reality, that he tried not to admit to, he had gone no further than a short space off the ground, and for only a brief moment. When he realised that his actual flying experience was little more than brief floating, he began to wonder if it was time to take the chance and blend dream with reality. The more he thought about it the more confident he became. He considered stopping his car and seeing if he can float the rest of the way. The street was unfamiliar, but there was no one around, aside from the odd passing car.
He put down the driver’s window and reached out his arm. His fingers were outspread, feeling the rush of air. His hand seemed to hold the wind, and for a second he saw himself in the clouds. A car behind him tooted, and he quickly pulled his arm back in. At the next lights the car passed him and the passengers were all waving at him and laughing.
He parked his car in one of the restaurant’s vacant spots and tried to compose himself. If he was to fulfil his dream, he realised, it would mean that many more people would be smiling and laughing and waving at him, so he needed to get used to it.
Once out of the car he was happy to see that no one else was around, so he tried a few moves. He walked quickly to one end of the car park and then to the other, each step feeling like he would take off, but he didn’t have enough speed. He stopped and tried to focus. It should not be about speed, he reminded himself, but the confidence to do it. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Just a little bit, with no obvious effort, he left the ground. Both feet were still, and he was relaxed, and he felt his body become free from gravity.
He opened and closed his eyes a couple of times, until he was sure that he wasn’t in a dream. Whether it was the dark surroundings or the immediate enthusiasm he felt, or the expectation of meeting Fennel, he did not know. What he did know was that he was beginning to learn to fly.
Again he walked from one end of the car park to the other, and this time, every three or four steps, he rose up into the air and landed gracefully. He continued for ten or fifteen minutes, and did not notice the three cars entering the car park. One of them was Fennel’s. She did not see him in the darkness, so she went into the Bel Cibo and looked around for him.
When he finally went inside he ran, having lost track of time, not knowing if he was ten, fifteen or twenty minutes late. He came to the door and felt like he left the ground again and almost crashed into a glass panel with the name in large elegant lettering. An elderly couple took note of his eagerness, and the man mentioned to the woman that the food must be really nice.
When Bennet saw Fennel he apologised for being late and asked for his table. She knew that something was not right with him but she didn’t say anything. He tried small talk as they looked over their impressively oversized menus, but he could not shake the feeling of coldness between them. She was uncomfortable and unable to look at him, and it was obvious.
“The roast lamb is always good,” he suggested.
“I usually have soup,” she said without hiding her sadness.
The waitress, a preppy young woman with a forced smile, announced herself. She was rushed, and intentionally butted into their conversation. “Good evening, our chef’s special is crab and watermelon, the fish of the day is off, and we are out of asparagus.”
“What is the soup of the day?” asked Fennel.
“Creamy leek and parsnip with horseradish.”
“I will have that, please.”
“The chef’s special for me, thank you,” said Bennet.
“Would you like to order your mains now?” the waitress asked, not really looking at them.
“I just did,” said Fennel. “The soup.”
“That’s our starter.”
“That will do for me, thank you. And please don’t ask me about desert. I’d never have desert at places like this.”
The waitress looked like she had been insulted. She ripped the menus away and left them. Bennet saw that their time together was about to last no more than ten minutes, and he started to panic. Fennel still didn’t make eye contact with him, or try to make conversation. He looked at the large dance area and knew that he needed to do something to motivate her. Something to make her smile. Something significant. Something life changing.
“Have you dined here before?” he asked, to get her talking.
“I never eat out,” she said as she looked at her phone.
“Never do I, really.”
“Have you not been here before either?”
“No, I come here all the time.”
There was silence, before the music started up and Bennet hoped she would like it.
“Is it always this loud?” she asked as she rubbed her ears.
“Actually, the music is the reason I wanted to come here.”
“I don’t like loud places.”
“Do you like to dance?”
“I never dance. I don’t even have two left feet. More like no feet.”
He stood up and offered her his hand. “Come on.”
“What? To where?” At last, she looked at him, but not the way he wanted her to.
“To dance. They have a dance floor here.”
“Bennet, I don’t dance. I can’t dance. Why are you insisting?”
“Because I want to dance with you.”
“I will be standing on your feet.”
“I assure you, you won’t.”
“I assure you, I will. You might like to dance, but I can’t. I’m serious. I’ve never even tried.”
“Neither have I.” He smiled and then she relented. Feeling confident, he added, “Let’s make a scene out there.”
With that he saw her smile. It was quick and it was nervous, but it was an actual smile. He reached out his hand and after giving it a study, she took it, and she slowly got out of her seat.
He smiled more and she could not help but return it. She adjusted her casual black jeans and snug top and said that she wasn’t really dressed for dancing, but Bennet said that she looked just fine.
Two other couples were there. One pair was moving slowly, embraced and oblivious to anyone else. The other pair were apart, laughing and swinging their arms around, trying to have a good time.
The music changed and became slow. Bennet took Fennel’s hands and began to circle her. She was scared at first but then noticed his confidence and began to relax. He moved to his right, and hopped up, then back to the left and hopped again. Then she giggled, and that surprised her more than him. She asked what he was doing and he shook his head and shrugged, saying that he was doing whatever his body wanted.
Then he floated toward her, in an effortless jump. Her eyes lit up, and then her face, and she did not know whether to laugh or shout out. He took her hands and she gave him a big smile. She said that he was a great dancer. He could not hear her, but he understood anyway.
There was a drum roll and the music picked up. She began to move better, trying to keep up with him. Bennet tried another move to the right and do a hop, but this time he kept going. Holding her hands, he went to the left and floated to a forty-five degree angle.
Fennel shrieked a laugh and put her hands over her mouth. Bennet floated to her to take her hands again. Then away, barely touching the ground. He went around her, floating all the way. He quickly tapped his feet on the ground to make it look like he was still controlled by gravity, to look like he was only dancing. It made his move
s look better, and greater. People started to applaud.
He was standing away from Fennel when he noticed his audience. The other dancers had stopped and made room for him. All of the people at nearby tables were focused on him and not their food. As one they told him to not stop, but to continue with his wonderful dance spectacle. He looked at Fennel and saw that she was overjoyed, and not able to take her eyes off him.
To the sound of cheers he floated and tapped, hopped and jumped, doing impossible moves that captivated the restaurant so much that all of the staff, chefs included, came out to see him. Phones and cameras were trained on him. No one thought about their food. No one could think about anything else.
It might have been an hour, it might have been more, before the two returned to their table, and that was only because Fennel was too tired to keep going. The people applauded him, and gave him space to relax, like they were too in awe to go near him.
Bennet had never felt so energetic, and could have gone for more hours. His floating was effortless, and everyone saw that it was easy for him, and that made his dancing all the more miraculous.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Fennel asked breathlessly as soon as she sat down. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Part of my flying adventures I wanted to tell you about.”
“I’m serious. Are you a professional dancer?”
“That was my first time.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
“No, I’m not kidding. I’ve never done that before. In fact, I’d like to thank you for helping me break out of my shell.”
Fennel could not process what she was hearing and she started to cry. Bennet was confused by her reaction, and so was she.
No one in the room wanted to be the first to say anything, but then, after he was seated, a few started to come. Soon a line formed, some asking for his autograph, some for his photo, and all to tell him how great he was. That made Fennel cry all the more.
“Dude, you were flying!” said a large man, his eyes bulging eyes behind his glasses.
“I’ve never seen anyone do that,” said an old woman who was smiling so much that she acted like a girl. “How did you do it?”
“It was like you defied gravity,” said a young man, in a daze.
“Exactly what I did do,” Bennet told him, but it was lost on him.
“Don’t let this one get away,” a woman said to Fennel, with a pat on her shoulder.
Fennel composed herself with a long drink of ice water and said, “Is it too late to order a main?”
Bennet nodded and signalled for the head waiter, who had long since taken over the table from the young waitress. He rushed over, with the wine waiter at his heels. Bennet was given a bottle of sparkling white brut, on the house. They were told that they could disregard the menu and order anything they wanted, free of charge.
None of the attention made much difference to Bennet. Not the adulation and the complimentary food, nor the fact that he proved that he could fly with people watching. He didn’t even think that the wine must be a brute, as he would have done only a few hours before. All that he could think about was that Fennel was happy with him.