By Terry Martin, Rumford, ME
It is in part a way of re-inventing myself.
I remember dancing lessons as a child. Rushing
from school at the end of the day to attend a crowded dance class.
The smell of all those shoes thrown under the bleaches; sweaty, hot and
tired from running to class yet, energrized to start over again and dance.
The lights were turned on, it was dark outside. The old ballroom had seen better days. Sort of like the group that we were, having seen better days ourselves. The dance instructor spoke with a Russian accent. Imagine coming all the way from Russia to end up teaching dance to this group of Maine dancing wanna be's....... Somehow, I find that inspiring. Exciting in a creative thinking kind of way. If I had imagined this scene, I couldn't have dreamt for a better setting.
The lights were yellow as they bounced from the old tin ceiling. The rococo design that surrounded the gaslight chandelier took me to another time in history when this ballroom was truly alive. The instructor spoke of another era. Although he was young, he dressed like an old man. He danced like a young man but smelled like another century. His steps were confident and his smile reassurring.
I was alone so I tried to blend into the wall. I never was a wallflower. Is that where I would end up?
I could listen.
"My apartment has fleas" one recruit said to his
"I think the closing will be on Friday", said another.
"I missed you all day" as yet another couple kissed in the soft shadows of the room.
"Do you have a partner, Miss?" I knew
that his name was Bill because the shirt that he had on said so.
I returned to the present and said...."no I don't".
"Then, since we are the only two singles, could I dance with you?"
Surely, I said.
The sound of the music was flat and tinney....I
didn't recognize all the tunes. Perhaps they came from Russia.
I closed my eyes and took it all in.
As I start feeling better about what I need to
do, I've taken to expressing my feelings in this format.