I was at the ABBA play a few years ago. I can’t remember the name of it now, but there was this guy a few seats down from me in my aisle dressed in a suit and tie. He was a tall big guy, and big I mean football in shape big. He was probably in his very late 40’s very early 50’s and was there with, what I’m assuming, was his demeaur wife.

The end of the play is a medley of ABBA hit’s, one after the other. Everyone is on their feet dancing. I look down the row and see the big guy, arms a’flailin’ with this wonderfully huge grin across his face. His eyes are closed and seat is pouring down his face. His tie is loosed just a bit and his jacket is now open, swinging left to right. His face is lit up with pure joy.

I don’t need to know his story about ABBA (there is sure to be one). It didn’t matter. It was shared by everyone there.

Everyone had a personal story expressed again that night. Stories formed by that particular ABBA song– whatever it was or whatever it represented, shared by a collective soul that night.

Playing in my minds eye was a dock in Door county. Dancing under the sun. A youthful tiny bikini college girl, a whole life ahead of me. But that’s another story.

We all smiled at one another around our section. Basking in the glow of memory…and for a night we were back there again, together.

What’s your ABBA story?


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