Pride

I entered the dance hall part way through a tea dance with my children at Whitby Pavillion this afternoon.  The room was full, I glanced round for somewhere to sit when I saw a table with four seats and one with a white coat over the back of it.   I looked at the coat a number of times as it hung there and thought about who it might belong to as it was not clear whether it belonged to a man or a woman although I had guessed that it did belong to someone who had attended the dance on their own.  Later, a man appeared with a tray with a toasted teacake and a cup of tea and advised we had taken his place but said he was happy to share the table with us.  I felt a sense of sadness for this man as I observed he had   a sense of  heaviness about him as he observed others dancing, I wondered had he attended for many years with a partner and had now found himself on his own?  There was a sense of joy with others in the room as they danced, sat at their tables shared a joke and drinks, but this man was very much outside of that, as though he so much wanted the chance to be involved.  Now and again, he did dance with another partner but even then, it was like he was waiting for crumbs which had fallen from one of the tables as he awaited with eagerness for her partner to say it was ok for him to take this next dance. It was in those moments where I observed the man looked happy and upbeat for the duration of that dance almost as though a spotlight was on him until the dance was over and he reverted within himself, the quite observer.