The Night the Whole Switchboard Lit Up for One Slow Waltz

There are nights when the switchboard behaves like a sleepy cat, one lamp blinking now and again as if it can't be bothered. And then there are nights like the one I'm about to tell you about, when every single bulb lit up at once, a whole little constellation of nervous people dialing in at the same moment. All because of a waltz.

It was a worn, creaking recording, a small orchestra swaying in three-quarter time, with a clarinet that sounded slightly in love with the violin. I had meant it as a palate cleanser between two louder songs. Instead, about forty seconds in, the lines began to glow, one after another, until the board looked like a tiny city seen from a plane. My producer, who is a rumor, swears she saw me put my coffee down in awe.

It was a worn, creaking recording, a small orchestra swaying in three-quarter time, with a clarinet that sounded slightly in love with the violin.

The callers all said some version of the same thing. They wanted to dance with someone, or they remembered dancing with someone, or they had never danced with anyone and suddenly wanted to very badly. One man whispered that he was standing in his kitchen in his socks, turning slowly around a chair. A woman said she had pressed her palm to the window and pretended it was a shoulder. I won't tell you who I wanted to dance with. A host has to keep a few secrets.

What strikes me, still, is how a three-beat rhythm can loosen a whole city's tongue. Strong, soft, soft. Strong, soft, soft. It's the heartbeat of someone leaning in and then thinking better of it, and leaning in again. You can't argue with a waltz. It simply asks you to take one step, and then another, and trust that the room will make space.

My verdict that night was short and a little hoarse: dance, you magnificent cowards, even if it's only around a kitchen chair. Take a bow in your socks. And if you'd like to hear the story told again in my own low laugh, with the waltz going in the background, the booth is warm and waiting on TheFriend.

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