Borderline

Los Angeles, California

Joel and I met at Borderline. We each remember this totally differently. He remembers that I asked him to dance (Wrong! I never asked men to dance). I remember him asking me to dance, and that I had never seen him at the club before, though he later told me that he always danced on the opposite side. In the group I hung out with, we mostly danced with the same people each week, and I was not in the habit of dancing with men I didn't know. It wasn't that I had a problem dancing with strangers, I didn't. I had gotten used to that back when I was a beginner. But, I was no longer a novice salsa dancer, and I had a problem dancing with men who didn't know how to effectively lead. Occasionally, I took a chance, as I did in Joel’s case. And to this day, I don’t know on what that decision was based. Fate, perhaps. As we were waiting for the song to start, he said to me, I don't really know how to dance salsa. Oh, great... I thought. What's he doing here? But then he said something about knowing how to dance the way he learned where he had come from. And that turned out to be cumbia and Mexico City, respectively. But he did know enough salsa, and he was a fun lead. I didn't see or dance with him again for awhile, because I went out of town just after that night. When I returned, I didn't connect him with the previous dance and conversation. When I asked him his name, he said, Joe. I'm Deborah. He shot back: I know. We've danced before.

Joel became popular with our group and we all danced with him. And I got to know him better over the years that we went to Borderline. Later, I saw him and danced with him at Mama Juana's. He was not my favorite partner, but we danced well together. And eventually, we started meeting to dance at Bogie's, and Noypitz in Glendale, after texting: Bailando esta noche? We were friends at that time, and talked and laughed a lot together. After we fell in love, we danced a few more times at Borderline. But salsa nights there ended shortly after. Like a lot of salsa nights, they had become disorganized. Out of all the clubs I just mentioned, only Bogie's continues with a salsa night, though with a diminished dance floor since we started dancing there.

I know every part of Borderline, from the parking lot up the stairs to the door and cashier's counter. I know the bar, the stage, and the DJ booth. But, especially, I know the dance floor. It always reminded me of my figure skating days, as it is surrounded by what, in skating, we called the boards, with openings to enter the floor in the corners. When I received the text from my friend in Florida, early Thursday morning, I clicked on the TV to the news that the shooting, about which my friend had texted, had, indeed, happened at Borderline. There have been so many shootings that they no longer carry that sense of once-in-a-lifetime news that they did back when the Columbine massacre occurred. Still, every time I have heard about one, I have felt sickly distressed, my thoughts going to a place where I have trouble throttling back to return to a less unsettled place. But I didn't realize what it would feel like to know that it had happened in a place I knew so well. To see video of that familiar place, a video taken while it was occurring. To hear the eerie silence of that video. I could not stop thinking about it. Thirty-six hours later, Joel was evacuated from his home, not far from Borderline, due to the Woolsley Fire, and he and his dog, Buster, came to stay. Borderline was still a crime scene. There were memorials scheduled at churches, but they were difficult to attend, as the 101 freeway was shut down. Attention and the news service shifted to the fire. Borderline became, literally, yesterday's news.

There is much to say about these shootings, but the solitary question is always: Why? Brian, the owner of Borderline, who I remember often saying hello to, wants to reopen. I admire the sense that these people can't take these things down. But nothing will bring back those lives. And, for us, nothing will bring back the security of earlier days. Where is safety? Not in churches, hospitals, offices, theaters, nor schools. Not at dance clubs, nor concerts. Despite current rhetoric, it's not the terrorists, nor illegal immigrants, who are going to get us. It's our crazy neighbors who have guns. The ones who their neighbors and friends and even family members later reported that they knew were crazy. Crazy enough to go on a suicide mission to take out innocent people enjoying music and dance together. Innocent people praying. Or kindergartners. That crazy, and armed.

Joel and I will dance in other clubs. But there will never be the ease that we had back in the day. With Borderline comes the personal, permanent realization that we just don't live in that world anymore. But we must try to live with the hope that someday we will once again. Once the madness is over. For now, its all you can do. You just cannot give up the hope.


You can find updates as well as the link to the gofundme site supporting victims and families of the Borderline mass shooting, through this link to borderlinebarandgrill: here