Friday, November 03, 2006

The Dance

I don’t like to dance. That was my excuse every time, every dance. But it’s not really true. At least it wasn’t always true. I was five. We would dance around the kitchen floor, Erin and I, sliding across the tile, somersaulting in the living room. Always James Taylor, “Copperline.” Dad would wash the dishes. We would put on skirts and tutus, spinning and laughing until one of us smacked into something and started howling. It was pure joy to slide over the tile, wearing the bottoms of my socks paper-thin. Even now I can’t listen to James Taylor without dancing and twirling in my head. Spinning in circles. Choreographing complex routines. My dad would finish the drying, then sweep me into his arms, my feet flying over his head before he pulled me close to waltz through the entryway.

He asked me to dance. The last dance. And it felt so silly, I can’t even remember the song now. It might as well have been James Taylor. This was different. This was different than the boys who danced too close, if they could dance at all. This was different than shuffling feet and stepped on toes and awkwardly long songs. This was twirling and spinning and fun. This was wishing it wasn’t the last song. This was wanting it to mean something more than a silly dance on a silly night. And then it was over. And I love to dance.

3 Comments:

Blogger Custancia said...

Just wanted to let you know I found your blog through the NaBloPoMo Randomiser - and I'm glad I did. You're writing is far more eloquent and evocative than mine!

11/04/2006 12:09 PM  
Blogger Lauren said...

That song can make even the most dance-aphobic dancers dance. Gotta love JT.

11/04/2006 3:43 PM  
Blogger Sepha said...

Too pretty! - I'm enjoying your lovely writing. Thank you for sharing

11/14/2006 7:46 AM  

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