Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Fiction: Impassioned

I don't know how to dance.

This is what people tell me. My feet don't do what they are expected to do. I can't hold a rose in my mouth without the thorns drawing blood. I use my arms too much. Sometimes I just stand in the middle of the dancefloor slowly rotating, lost in my own world, the music and the movement helping me retreat into my glorious visions and imaginings.

I dream a lot when I dance.

And yet people say I don't know how to dance. That I just move randomly. Well, I do. I let the music take me where it wants to take me. I throw shapes that haven't been invented yet, slide when I'm not meant to slide, and jump when I'm not meant to jump. Sometimes I roar into the air, sometimes I fall on my back and spring back up. I am a marionette, dancing with broken strings.

I don't know the reason why people say I can't dance. I'm not doing what they expect me to be doing. I'm certainly not doing what they're doing. I'm doing my thing, the thing I don't know how to do. Dancing grabs me and holds me. It takes me. When I dance, I feel nothing else. No burn. No malaise. No hurt. I am lost into the ether and the only thing I think is to myself. I think:

You are beautiful.

That's passion. That's love. That's art. And if that isn't dancing, what is?

I get some odd looks when I'm thrashing around on the dancefloor - some of amusement, mostly of disapproval... and it's only when I stop to get some water that I notice her.

Standing at the side, following my every move with an eyebrow cocked. Her eyes sparkle mischievously at me as I glance over. There's no mistaking her small grin and her little nod at me as a signal of approval. I may not know how to dance... but she likes it.

I respond by losing myself in the movements one more time. I dance like nobody's watching, even if I know deep down inside that at least one person is. I whirl like a dervish, pop like corn, and leap like a frog. And it's only when the lights come back on and the club starts to filter out that I bring myself out of the frenzy.

And she's gone.

*

As an entry for Charlie Powell's lipstick competition. I know nothing about lipstick, but this was fun!.

2 comments:

Angela Goodnight said...

Very good.

Girl on the Net said...

This is fantastic, and I'm totally into this kind of dancing. Throwing yourself around because it's fun and not because you know all the right moves. I went to a wedding recently and watched the kids hurling themselves around the dance floor, waving their arms and not giving a single shit what people thought of them - it made me sad that I'm not a kid any more, and at some point adults have been taught to hold back.