Swing Dancing.
spasmodic.
Back and forth, up and down. Rapid motions and blurs of colors blending in to one another. Just one big ball of movement. Unspoken thoughts racing like race cars and horns, all the horns, big and small, all the brass instruments.
I told you I wanted to take swing dancing lessons and you asked me, why. Why, as in, why would someone as lazy and uncoordinated as me want to take swing dancing lessons? I would surely fall and hurt myself, pop my knee out, elbow my partner in the crotch. You know, the works. Shit I'm known for.
And why, oh why, would I want to ever do anything that required me to interact with another person? You're a loner, you said. And you hate dancing. Abhor it with a passion. So why would you want to do something that... involved? You have no rhythm.
And I looked at you with my big, childish eyes and you shook your head back and forth, waving your hands at me and grinning, thinking that you were about to crush my hopes and make me give up. Thinking that you definitely figured out the reason.
You just want to get next to me, you said. You want me to take it with you so we can be like some Hollywood cliche. Dirty dancing, you said, chuckling at your own joke. You then stated how you weren't Patrick Swayze and that you would definitely allow someone to put me in the corner. And then you laughed hysterically.
You always thought you were so funny, and I always went along with it. You know, feeding your ego by being nice and pointing out your best qualities. And it didn't exactly work in my favor, that whole being nice thing. I usually was able to shrug off most of your snarky, sarcastic comments, unless they cut to the bone. And then I would just pretend.
You looked at me with your arms crossed and smirked with that condescending look in your unreadable eyes, those eyes that frustrated me so much. And you chuckled internally, I could see it in your face. You were pleased, because you thought you had figured out my motives. And I shook my head at you and said, I just want to learn how to swing dance.
You gave me a look that said, bullshit, and then said, okay, whatever you say. You chuckled and walked away, leaving me to think.
Honestly, I didn't do anything to get close to you anymore. My desire to get close to you was always completely denied, and just pushed me farther away from where I wanted to be. So I just gave up. It happens after you get shot down a lot.
The horns and the bright flashing colors and the movement of the bodies in one sophisticated and swift yet erratic motion... it made me think of you. The music, the people, the way things worked in the world of swing dancing. Everything made me think of your thought process. And it made me happy every now and again, to think of the spasmodic way you spoke and how fast the words came flying out of your mouth, yet how eloquent and well pronounced they were. And every time you said something to me in that radio-ready voice of yours, that supercilious tone... I immediately softened. The dancing itself reminded me of you, but I never would want to get that close to you, for fear that you may someday hold it against me.
But you know what... when I went for my first lesson, I sort of, kind of, almost wished you were there to dance with me.
I told you I wanted to take swing dancing lessons and you asked me, why. Why, as in, why would someone as lazy and uncoordinated as me want to take swing dancing lessons? I would surely fall and hurt myself, pop my knee out, elbow my partner in the crotch. You know, the works. Shit I'm known for.
And why, oh why, would I want to ever do anything that required me to interact with another person? You're a loner, you said. And you hate dancing. Abhor it with a passion. So why would you want to do something that... involved? You have no rhythm.
And I looked at you with my big, childish eyes and you shook your head back and forth, waving your hands at me and grinning, thinking that you were about to crush my hopes and make me give up. Thinking that you definitely figured out the reason.
You just want to get next to me, you said. You want me to take it with you so we can be like some Hollywood cliche. Dirty dancing, you said, chuckling at your own joke. You then stated how you weren't Patrick Swayze and that you would definitely allow someone to put me in the corner. And then you laughed hysterically.
You always thought you were so funny, and I always went along with it. You know, feeding your ego by being nice and pointing out your best qualities. And it didn't exactly work in my favor, that whole being nice thing. I usually was able to shrug off most of your snarky, sarcastic comments, unless they cut to the bone. And then I would just pretend.
You looked at me with your arms crossed and smirked with that condescending look in your unreadable eyes, those eyes that frustrated me so much. And you chuckled internally, I could see it in your face. You were pleased, because you thought you had figured out my motives. And I shook my head at you and said, I just want to learn how to swing dance.
You gave me a look that said, bullshit, and then said, okay, whatever you say. You chuckled and walked away, leaving me to think.
Honestly, I didn't do anything to get close to you anymore. My desire to get close to you was always completely denied, and just pushed me farther away from where I wanted to be. So I just gave up. It happens after you get shot down a lot.
The horns and the bright flashing colors and the movement of the bodies in one sophisticated and swift yet erratic motion... it made me think of you. The music, the people, the way things worked in the world of swing dancing. Everything made me think of your thought process. And it made me happy every now and again, to think of the spasmodic way you spoke and how fast the words came flying out of your mouth, yet how eloquent and well pronounced they were. And every time you said something to me in that radio-ready voice of yours, that supercilious tone... I immediately softened. The dancing itself reminded me of you, but I never would want to get that close to you, for fear that you may someday hold it against me.
But you know what... when I went for my first lesson, I sort of, kind of, almost wished you were there to dance with me.