So, does the question, "Do you wanna dance?", hold some significance for you in the story of your life?
Familiar? From somewhere? Recently? Or long ago? Someone asked you? You asked someone? Was it ever? Was it never? Yes? No? Well…?
Move in any direction you choose. Left to Right. Up and Down. In Circles. Or, if you are daring enough, pause briefly, hold, and recall the stunning beauty of the stillness. No wrong step could possibly be taken here, so, please, revisit a souvenir you hold, that began, with the question: Do you wanna dance?
She was so awesome. Twenty-Something, I gathered. I was 16. Yup. It was a concert for peace, at sunset, on a High School gridiron, somewhere back in my awkward youth. Funny. I knew the band playing on the back of a flatbed truck, I loved their music, and now, in this moment, I really loved the way she moved to that music. Effervescence. In counterpoint actually, to the band, as she was creating a sensual series of spontaneous swirls against the edgy stomping rhythm of a Muddy Waters style blues riff. Never saw anything like it ever before. Like, you know, poetry in motion. This was exactly what that phrase meant. Cool. This regal fairy-like crown of Black-Eyed Susan’s adorned her long red locks, and the teasing glimpses I was blessed to witness of her beautifully sculpted Rubenesque figure through the long white gossamer peasant dress she was draped in, held my breath inside my body till the pain made me burst out beyond my comfort zone. “Yeah!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. She spun quickly to face me. Snapshot, click! “You wanna dance?” she said. “Huh?”, I think I uttered, stupidly, regretfully. Oh crap, I heard my insides moaning. And then, as if she was the celestial love child of Sophia Loren and The Cheshire Cat, she toyed, purring, “Now you know, I’m not wearing anything under this dress?” “I know,” came the only two words I could clumsily mumble out of my innocent mouth before I could stop myself. Damn. And then she danced around me. Crazy. I dug it. I started to move a bit too. Neat. And then we talked. About dancing, and other things. And then, when the concert was over, we walked off into the woods, laughing and teasing, and we, yeah, well, we, you know, well, I, I guess, I guess for the first time, yes, it was for the first time, on a bed of leaves in the woods, in the humid darkness of an August night, without any music at all, I learned how to dance.
And it was real nice.