Some call it depression
But I like to think of my parents as dancers
Step 1 Step 2 Step 3
They come together
Step 1 Step 2 Step 3
They drift apart
Making eye contact the whole time
Some days Dad takes the lead
Starting slow
Staring out into nothing
Maybe it's for a second
A second is okay right?
A second becomes minutes
I watch his mouth
His eyes
For some movement
And nothing
A steady gaze
A graceful dancer
The music speeds up and so does he
Step 1 Step 2 Step 3
His jaw tightens
His fists clench
His voice shakes
As if he's scared
Scared of his own ability to destroy
Like a strike of a match
Or a shot of a gun
Slowly the music fades
He watches his moves carefully
Letting the music guide his last step
Holding his hand steady in front of him
Lending the floor to Mom
She touches the dance floor
Suddenly, rapidly
Making her way to the spotlight
Mom never cared for slow music
Swift movements
Step 1 Step 2 Step 3
Faster and faster as the beat picks up
Lifting her head up towards the sky
And down towards the ground rapidly
Using her fists as hammers
Against anything closest to her
Doors
Cabinets
Counters
Her eyes move just as fast as her feet
Losing direction
Her voice gets louder
Louder and louder
Until it cracks away to silence
All or nothing
The music stops
And so does she
Voices become muffled
Almost as if no one is talking at all
Call her name a few times
She'll hear you then
Speak up if that doesn't work
She'll give you a gaze
Mom and Dad love dancing
Some will say my parents are depressed
But my parents are just dancers