Don't Leave Me This Way

 I recently started a short online memoir writing course and last week I was so productive I actually wrote two pieces for the our weekly task. As we were writing about memorable music I had so much scope.

Here is the second one I wrote but never submitted ...

    As Jimmy Somerville sang the long ahhhhhhh in anticipation of the next line I twirled as best I could on the sticky nightclub floor with my friends all around me. It was an elaborate display but years of dance classes starting at an early age had taught me how to spot and spin without getting dizzy, although I confess a little dizziness mixed with the sensations of a Malibu and coke or two was not an unpleasant sensation.

It was student night at the Hungry Years, the only nightclub we really frequented. It was situated near Brighton pier and is now, perhaps unsurprisingly for its location, a gay club. I wonder if it’s glitzier and more vibrant? Along the wall, as we went up the stairs, it used to portray pictures of men queuing for food in the depression.

“Don’t Leave me This Way” was guaranteed to get me up on the floor, although to be honest we pretty much danced the whole night.

Year later I sat with a green ring binder on my knee. As I had studied librarianship, I was impressed with Andrew’s catalogue of all his vinyl.  I guess it was an early version of a spreadsheet, what used to be called a database – are they even the same?

Anyway you could search for records by either artist or title.

In his spare time Andrew was a DJ, lugging big wooden flight-cases and all his gear around in a white transit van with a blue stripe. (I have such great memories of time spent in that van and maybe I’ll share them another day or just hold them closer for a comforting hug.)

Suddenly I found the one I wanted to play, I checked the number, found the correct case and flicked through the records, all housed in sturdy brown or white carboard sleeves rather than the usual coloured, flimsy paper wrappers.

777 - Don’t Leave me This Way by the Communards.

I can't survive I can't stay alive, without your love oh baby
Don't leave me this way…
No I can't exist ...
I'll surely miss your tender kiss
Don't leave me this way….

But you did leave, you died, I stayed alive and here I am all these years later and I still somehow exist without your kiss.

The song I danced to all those years ago became woven into our memories together, Andrew knew it was one of my favourites and it became one of those titles we joked about being a good funeral song.

Actually we didn’t play it at the funeral, there were songs far more appropriate for the occasion, but I hang on to the vinyl copy. I have it in my hand now, perhaps it's time for another turn, swirling together thoughts from long ago, before you, my years with you and the present, more than just surviving because after all this time I still recall the art of how to spin without becoming dizzy.