Vicki and I went to see Plan B last night.
They were AWESOME.
What a great set.
Ska, reggae, rap, motown, blues, house, dance, a fusion of old (My Girl, Aint No Sunshine When She's Gone) with hip hop ... genius lyrics, oh and he's easy on the eyes too.
Cliff would have loved it.
As we drove over to the venue, I remembered that the last night out we had together (3 weeks before Cliff died) was at that very same venue for the "Rendezvous" reunion that our friend Ray got us tickets for. I was too young to remember the original "Rendezvous" Club, and Cliff kept teasing me, saying, "don't worry baby, I'll take you away from all this soon. I know you're pretending to have a good time." And I retorted, "you have got to be kidding me. They are playing the first good tune of the night, and now you want to leave?" (I was dancing to Liquidator at the time, which also happened to be one of his favourites.)
My stomach was unsettled because I wasn't sure how I'd react being there. But I was fine.
We bumped into people we knew and Vicki's youngest sister Sarah was there.
Sarah is a great dancer (she dances for a living), and we really did dance ... like we used to, and found ourselves lost in the music, the bass banging through our hearts, all together, along with some of Sarah's friends.
Vicki looked great. I'm so proud of the way she has fought her breast cancer. Her treatment is over now and she is beginning to find her energy again. Slowly, slowly. Both of us. But not last night. Which made it even sweeter. God I love her. So much. My bolthole. My confidante. My lovely friend of 29 years.
And then I started worrying that Plan B would play any one of three tunes ... because I knew I would sob.
Now these three tunes are amongst their most popular.
But they didn't play any of them. Which is very strange. Or perhaps not.
I think he was there last night. I felt him. I smiled at him and I smiled for him.
We had the best time.
But today has been hard.
Just like when I went to Australia, San Diego, Sofia, or wherever I've been ... afterwards it's always so hard to return home alone. Back to reality.
But. Just as every second of this pain is worth the fifteen years that I had with Cliff, the sadness through loneliness, the pain of being reminded that this is a permanent loss each time I drive home alone ... to my empty, dark, cold house ... the house that used to be lit with love and laughter, care, fun and tenderness is worth the happiness that I feel intermittently today.
Here's their opening: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lt01V04hIp8
It doesn't do it justice. It doesn't show the atmosphere, the buzz, not to mention the sound quality is poor. And I'm relieved it doesn't show us dancing either ... I still only dance for my baba.