I have a waltz, playing behind my eyes - open or closed -
a silhouette of two girls dancing.
I learned it when I was 7,
playing dress-up as Cinderella -
my grandmother taught me, dancing around her dining room table.
There isn’t any music, just a rhythm -
But there wasn’t any music in real-life, either -
just a fast song we ignored, tired of jumping up and down like crazy people
(or high schoolers who couldn’t dance)
“I can’t dance” - I had said, at least four times already, an attempt at an apology,
watching our two friends take the dance floor by storm.
“Yeah, neither can I” - I got back, although you knew Swing, I was fairly sure,
“Well, except the Waltz,” I think I said, my attempt to make up my own inadequacy -
“So do I,” you said, and then, most hesitantly, gesturing to nothing at all, “do you want to?”
I didn’t remember most everything, just that it was three-time,
I let you direct my hands where they were supposed to go, covering shoulder and waist - and then we were, for all purposes, ready to dance.
and No - I don’t know what it meant, if it meant anything, -
just that it was awkward, a bit, because the fast music messed with the three-time rhythm so my steps were a bit off beat, and that the song ended just in time to stop it from becoming truly awkward,
just that we were friends, and I had never danced with anyone before,
grandparents aside -
just that it was lovely, and it made me smile
just that I can’t stop remembering it, but I don’t really mind.
Because we did dance;
the left back corner, a section of the dance floor all our own.