Sage stands against the wall, her
back pressed into the cool brick. Just watching. She is always watching, on the
fringes. From there she can see everything, and usually, Sage finds it ideal.
But, at times it could also feel like the loneliest place on the planet.
Bodies were undulating under the
bright, pulsing lights in the club. A throng of bobbing heads, waving arms,
shuffling feet, and spastic legs. Yet, somehow, all that chaos created an ocean
of united movement on the dance floor. The sight amazes Sage, filling her with
yearning. The beat thrums loud in her ears, thumping in rhythm with her heart.
How she loves that feeling!
Sage’s foot taps along with the
beat. Tap, tap, tappity-tap. Her knee bounces, and her arms ach to wave -
uncontrollable, wild. Her chest opens, the music resounds deep inside, calling
her name with its beguiling and enticing beat. Still, she remains pressed
against the wall, her hands knotted behind her back.
Scared. Hidden.
“You
will look stupid.”
Another girl spins forcefully out
of the crowd, pushed a little too enthusiastically by her partner. Her tight,
dark curls fan out around her head as she twirls. Sage attempts to blend in
with the wall, but the girl jostles into her and teeters dangerously on her
platform boots. Sage instinctively reaches out to catch her.
“So sorry,” laughs the dark haired
girl, placing a hand on Sage’s shoulder to steady herself.
“No problem,” Sage says.
“It’s wild in here tonight!”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” the girl says, eyes already
pulled back to the floor where her friends wait.
“Come on, Rissa,” they call,
giggling, dancing on.
Rissa looks back at Sage, smiles
another apology and…pauses. She studies Sage’s downcast chin, her knotted
hands. Tapping foot.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” she asks.
Sage looks up, startled. She
shrugs.
Rissa arches a well-formed eyebrow.
Sage shrugs again. She doesn’t say
that she is afraid of looking stupid, that she is alone and lonely, and that
makes her feel small, and vulnerable. That she isn’t even sure why she is here.
Rissa doesn’t give up. “Come dance
with us.”
“Oh, no. No, I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I…I,” Sage scrambles for an excuse that won’t
make her sound like a loser. “I can’t dance.”
Rissa puts her hands on her hips,
cocks her head. She says, “That is the stupidest thing I’ve heard all night,
and believe me, I have heard some stupid shit.”
“Rissa!” Her friends call again.
Rissa waves a noncommittal hand at
her friends, ignoring their pleas. She holds out her hand to Sage, but doesn’t
say anything. The gesture speaks for itself.
Sage stares at Rissa’s offered hand
uncertainly. Sage can dance. Not
well, not like a professional, but she can dance. And she loves the feeling she
gets when she sashays, and stomps, and swivels her hips. But that’s in the
safety of her home, where no judgmental, critical eyes can see.
Rissa leans in conspiratorially,
her hand still extended. “I dance like Bambi on a frozen pond.”
Sage looks unconvinced.
“Like a chicken on a hot stage.
Like a clown on skates.”
Sage still hesitates.
“Come on! Everyone looks stupid when they dance.”
Sage blinks, dumbfounded. How could
this girl know her secret? She doesn’t even know Sage’s name.
Rissa
flexes her hand in a saucy wave. “This offer expires in two seconds. One…tw-“
Sage grabs
Rissa’s hand. She tries not to cling too tight and give away her fear, and her
desperate desire for this to be real.
“Woohoo,”
Rissa cries, and pulls Sage onto the floor.
Rissa’s
friends shout gleefully when she rejoins them, barely blinking an eyelash at
Sage’s presence. Rissa shimmies next to Sage, her arms thrashing, her legs
churning. Her friends laugh, and thrash too. Sage
bounces on her heels halfheartedly. She doesn’t know what to do with her arms,
so she observes Rissa.
“No awkward Bambi, or floundering chickens
here,” Sage thinks, a shade disappointed. She retreats further into her
protective shell, her movements becoming tiny. But then Rissa hip bumps her and she stumbles sideways. One of Rissa’s
friends grabs her hands, pulling Sage into a pattern that resembles the Twist.
“I love
this song,” the girl cries.
“You love every song,” Rissa laughs.
The friend ignores Rissa’s comment,
and spins Sage, twirling her out and then back in.
“They call me kooky,” she says into
Sage’s ear.
“Yeah?” Sage responds, baffled by
this revelation. “Me too.”
“No,” Kooky giggles. “That’s my
name.”
“Oh. I’m Sage.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kooky says. She
lets go of Sage’s hand and bounces on her toes, one arm raised above her head.
Sage stops, unsure what to do without Kooky leading. The bodies suddenly feel
too close, too smothering. Fear freezes her limbs. She can feel the eyes on her.
Peeking around carefully, Sage
catches Rissa doing a disco routine that looks ridiculous. Another girl is
boogying beside her, totally out of rhythm with the song. Kooky is still
hopping, but now she is flapping her arms in a weird, bird-like motion.
Suddenly, Sage realizes that they do look sort of stupid. The girls, and everyone else dancing, they
all look stupid. But not in a bad way, in fact, the awkward, hectic dancing is
beautiful. It’s beautiful because no one is worried about what they look like.
They are just having fun, just moving to the music.
Sage loses herself in the dance.
She shimmies. She flails, and jumps, and struts. Rissa and Kooky scream with
delight. They take Sage’s hands, and they all spin, laughing and lurching. Sage
becomes one with the moment, with the crowd and the music. She is just one wave
in a teeming sea of dancing people.
And she understands that she’s had
it all wrong. She had been afraid to dance because she was afraid of being seen.
But it doesn’t matter what she looks like, or who is seeing, or what they might
say or do. Because no one, not one person in the room, can watch Sage as
closely as she watches herself.
Dance on my friends,
Steph
"Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order." ~Samuel Becket
"Is he dancing alone or dancing with everyone in the room? Here's the secret: It doesn't matter." ~David Levithan, Two Boys Kissing
Sometimes you just have to leap!
And trust there will be someone (or something soft!) to catch you.
