The fifty-something patrons at the Stained-Glass Pub bob and weave, dancing to Lionel Richie’s “All Night Long.” My husband scans the jukebox, looking for hip hop but finding only “Rappers’ Delight.” He puts in a dollar anyway. The patrons keep dancing, several beats behind a song they might not have liked back then.
My husband and I are dancing in the future, the place I dreamed of in 1983 as I lay in my dorm room, awake all night from too much diet soda and coffee. The jukebox is stuck on the year I wanted to avoid. The year I walked with Jennifer to the thrift store that sold clothes by the pound but not in my size. The year we ate onion rings in the pizzeria that was once the Ball Square Cinema. The year we wanted to race through on our way to the future.
Lionel Richie -- Keith Elwyn