dancing in the dark

The news was unexpected. Oliver was dead.

Looking back on what I knew, the end should not have been a surprise to me. All of the evidence made the end inevitable -- like a Shakespearean tragedy. But I had wished that the narrative would have had a different ending.

I met Oliver Adalid under unusual circumstances. Four years ago, I was toying with the idea of writing a novel based in Mexico. International intrigue. Double-crosses. Political ambiguities.

As part of that process, I started introducing myself to my neighbors in Barra de Navidad through Facebook. The device seemed to be perfect for filtering people I would like to interview about their lives here -- and elsewhere.

One of the first who volunteered to be interviewed was Oliver. We agreed to meet in the Barra de Navidad jardin and propitiously sat on the steps of the stage there. 

One reason I had wanted to interview Oliver first was that he spoke English. My Spanish conversational skills were much worse than the bad state they are now in. It was a good move.

I do not know if it was the fact that we were speaking English or that he trusted me, but in that first meeting he told me a lot about his life ambition and two things he believed were a hindrance in what he wanted to do.

His ambitious was to head up a dance company that would tour the world and teach children the power dance could add to their lives. He sounded almost like a Presbyterian missionary touting the glories of redemption.

He never fully-realized that dream. He was a dancer and he did teach children (and adults) the release of dance. Even though he never had an international dance team, he danced with passion at La Quinta Gran Bahía in Cuastecomates. Whenever I was in the village, I would stop by to see him or he would stop me in the street to let me know what was happening in his life.

We had several other interview sessions and we frequently relied upon Facebook Messenger to chat in the late hours of the night.

But, like all of us, he felt hampered by some circumstances in his life. His were his sexuality and his English skills. Even though this area appears to be very accomodating of a person's sexuality. Oliver said he had run into enough people who disliked him for his that he often felt ostracized. Some people he sought as friends avoided him.

The same was true for his ability to speak English. His impression was that some people looked down on him for it -- as if he thought he was better because he could speak English.

Oliver is not the first person to mention that to me. Several Mexican-born acquaintances who were raised in The States tell me that they have met social resistance here because of their English ability.

Someone once told me the feeling harks back to the Revolution when large groups of Mexicans headed north to avoid the revolutionary chaos. The people left behind considered them to be traitors to the Revolution.

He told me a little tale I will never forget. When he lived in The States, he enjoyed watching the old Hollywood dance movies. Primarily those in black-and-white. One song stuck with him. "Dancing in the Dark." He said that is what his life seemed to be.

Maybe both of his impressions were false. But, they seemed to drive Oliver to be popular -- an underlying motivation of many show folk. And he was.

Nothing could be better evidence of that then the last few days of his life.

Some people live their lives out on the pages of Facebook. Oliver was one. 

On 25 July, Oliver posted that he was suffering from the classic symptoms of the delta variant. On 30 July, he asked for prayers. That was his last post.

From that point on, others posted his progress and requested prayers. He was hospitalized and, at one point, seemed to have rallied. But it was not to be. The end came quickly this week. The funeral was yesterday in Jaluco.

It turns out that Oliver's fear that he could never be popular simply was not true (as is true with most of our fears). While he was ill, his Facebook page lit up with post after post informing him that because he was loved, people were fervently praying for his recovery.

And, in death, the number of accolades on the page keep rolling in. Page after page of people grieving for their friend who will never again dance for them.

Jesus preached that the second greatest commandment was to love your neighbor as you love yourself. If we started thinking of our neighbors as Oliver, someone who felt others could not befriend him, we could start treating one another to quell fears while we are alive.

Oliver gave me that piece of joy. Even though he felt socially restrained, he put everything he could into building a life that mattered. 

One thing he was wrong about. His life was not dancing in the dark. 

He danced in a spotlight that he wanted to share with each of us.

Dance on, brother.