The first song I ever slow danced to with a boy was "I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues" by Elton John. I can never hear it without remembering that, though I wouldn't say that it is one of my greatest moments. Most mortifying, maybe, though really the contenders for that list are so numerous it could chart in the 100s and still be number one in the lives of most people (the fact that I can even feel the emotion of embarrassment any more is a medical miracle). The memory of that first dance and the immediacy and power with which I can recall it sort of explains everything to me about why I have such a soft spot for young adults. Being a person is hard, y'all, and it's crazy to look back at your life and see all the things you did when you were learning how to grow into one and navigating the rules of living in the world. I'm still not claiming to have nailed that skill set, but I can usually get through the day without resorting to physical violence to deal with my influx of feelings. Not that I've ever been a bruiser, that's just part of the story of my first partnered dance.
Let me set the stage, a bare-bones stage because now that I'm old and my brain is swiss cheese I can only recall about three major details. It begins with me, at ten years of age, attending a co-ed community center dance for kids twelve and older. I went with my best friend, who was twelve. There was lying involved. It was all very exciting because of its illicitness and its co-ed-ness and the exoticism of there being kids who went to the PUBLIC school (I was a naive, parochial lamb). Also, I was boy crazy. There wasn't a time in my life where I didn't think boys were cute, I just mainly kept it to myself. Anyway, we ended up at this dance.
This is not the part where I reveal my Cinderella moment, though. No record scratching (the DJ was definitely playing records though, 1984 in the house). No hush fell over the crowd. I did not get a "Who is THAT creature?" reception, despite rocking it in my Olivia Newton-John mullet, popped-collar polo and sweater vest (again, 1984). But somehow, somehow, we got to the part where I found myself feeling pressure to say who I wanted to dance with and when I picked someone under duress, a chain of events was set in motion.
If you grew up in the greater Mountain Valley, you probably had a crush on this boy at one time or another. You might have even dated him. I am not going to reveal his name or even confirm your guesses because what fun would that be? All I'm going to say is, I picked him out, though I honestly can't say if I actually was interested in him or if I just knew his name because girls always talked about him. And one of my friends talked to one of his friends, and suddenly this guy is asking me to dance and I freaked out and stepped on his foot. Like, stomped on it.
I immediately regretted this move, because as I said, I am not a violent person. And then I kind of really wanted to dance with him after all. So somehow, I honestly cannot fathom how these things happen, I was talking to his friend and it was like the junior mafia and this guy was consiglieri and he granted me a second audience with L'il Casanova and we danced and it was over. It looked just like this.
We were friends later on in life. But I never brought up our "history" because even if he did remember our early encounter--which I seriously doubt, anyway--I was still working on repressing it myself. And I soon learned an important life lesson, which is that fast dancing with friends will always be more fun than slow dancing with a dude, even if you did bust some skulls to get that dance to happen.
You are welcome, if I helped your preteen years come off a little less awkward in comparison.
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