Two Left Feet

My brother never could dance.

I’d spend hours in front of the mirror in the bedroom we shared, desperately trying to get en pointe in my dolly shoes. My best friend Mary had ballet lessons, and I made her teach me what she knew. Dean would just sit there on his computer, occasionally glancing up to laugh at me.

It turns out I never could dance either.

Not that it stopped me. Even after my brother moved out and went to college, I still danced in front of that same cracked mirror for hours on end. It didn’t quite feel the same as before, especially because he didn’t really want to move out. I’d watch my brown ponytail bounce up and down and block out all thought. I enjoyed it so much, just dancing, it didn’t matter that I had two left feet.

I went to visit him in college once. He wasn’t exactly studying close to home so we didn’t get to see him often, but I decided to drive out once when I was seventeen. We were always quite close I guess. I didn’t have many friends, but those I did I appreciated, and I always thought of Dean as one of them.

I’d never seen the campus before, so he took me on a brief tour. Brief being the main word. He kept saying vague things about how much I’d love this one place. He was right though, I did love it.

His dorm was on the top floor, so right above him was the roof. He grabbed my wrist and held a finger to his lips as we slipped up past the fire escape doors. The crisp evening air hit my face, and I wished I’d had the thought to wear something other than a plain summer dress.

“Come on,” he said, and I followed him when he made his way over to the other side of the roof. “This,” he pointed across at the view, “is what makes this worth it.”

And it was beautiful. A golden sun hanging low in the pink dusk sky, over a high scattering of mountains way off in the distance. A smile broke across my face and he laughed, shrugging his jumper off.

“Just because I didn’t get my dream, doesn’t mean you can’t have yours.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. I stared at him, half sorry that the only reason he was in college was because of our mother, and half completely confused.

Then the music started playing.

“It’s just the radio,” he shrugged. He put the phone on the roof, and then he started dancing.

Two left feet indeed, it must’ve been a family trait. He waved his arms and bounced from leg to leg, waiting for me to join in.

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing his hands. We danced like small children, not grown-ups. We jumped, and twisted, spinning round and round the roof. I was a terrible dancer but it didn’t matter, not with the sun setting over our heads, and my dream in both our hearts.