DANCE
Prompt - Dance : Write about a dancer or a time you remember dancing
I hate dancing. Not that I've got anything against other people doing it. And there are often times when watching dance can be entertaining. It's me doing it I can't abide. Self consciousness. Awkward of movement. Lacking grace. Easily embarrassed (by myself). Even more so nowadays when I can no longer get pished enough not too care too much.
So any exceptions to that basic rule stand out in my memory. There are two that live on in my head.
The first was when I went to a ceilidh with a pal, neither of us having been before. We'd been invited by another friend who was playing fiddle in the dance band. Our first half hour was spent sitting on the distant fringes of the hall, pints being downed, a well placed table cutting us off from any possible involvement with the rest of humanity. Then a guy took to the floor in his kilt. Not just a kilt, but the full formal outfit, right down to the sgian dubh. "He'll be good" we thought, probably worth watching. Well he wasn't good, and he was definitely worth watching. He inspired up. If somebody that crap at it could get up there and not bother then why not us?
So, come the next dance, we tentatively lined up, found ourselves allocated partners, and listened to the caller's instructions. I remember her well. Her name was Sheila Kidney, and she was short and round. She was also, when she demonstrated what we were to do, incredibly light on her feet. More importantly she was a good caller - clear, able to demonstrate, patient and funny. So we walked through the movements, had one trial run, and realised that if there was chaos it wasn't always down to us. Maybe fear made us listen more closely.
The dance began, we both got through it without major cockups, and returned to our table. Puffing slightly, grinning a lot. This was more fun to do that it had looked. I don't think we sat one out for the next hour or more. A couple of women friends arrived and we soon tired them out, had to move on. We had a great night, and would go to several more. The memories of those times also took me along to a couple of barn dances when I was living in the south of England. Just as much fun, despite, having driven, being pretty sober. So when I say I don't like dancing it's the kind where you have to make stuff up that's the problem. If I'm told clearly exactly what to do, and realise I can run through it rather than actually dance, I'm in my element apparently. (Except that nowadays I'd be out of breath too quickly!)
So there's one further exception to my original rule, and it also breaks the second one, for I had to improvise my movements. Fortunately my dance partner, when she wasn't laughing at me too much, was helpful with advice and guidance.
It was my best friend's wedding, we'd travelled down to York for it, and there was a big party afterwards. With dancing. We knew hardly anyone, other than bride and groom, but a few introductions were made, alcohol was consumed, and Barbara was insistent. This was an opportunity she wasn't going to miss, no matter how awful I was at it. So I found myself on the dance floor.
I must have had just the right amount of booze in my system, for I found myself, shockingly, having fun. It was a cheerful occasion, I was happy for my oldest pal, and I was with the woman I loved. Circumstances. Context. The one dance I can really recall was after all the quicker, shaking about (!) stuff, we held each other close and danced to The Bangles' Eternal Flame. Not the greatest of songs, but it became ours in that moment. We were in love, really deeply in love at that moment, intensely connected, and is that something dance can do? It never has again, probably never will, but that moment is seared across my memory filaments.
I still don't like dancing though.
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