The Dancer.

He laughed out loud at the twisty jerky movement of the “Go Go Girls” on stage with the Mama’s and Papa’s. He considered himself a pretty good dancer. Rings of people clapping whenever he danced at the High School Gymnasium - to bands, or DJ’s, or even just someone's Playlist pumped out thru the speakers; was proof (or so he thought) that he could dance.

So watching those pretty girls twitching and popping to a basically ballad song: California Dreaming - just made him laugh out loud. He had enough, he finally said what he was thinking…out loud:

“I swear those girls are not dancing to the music. I mean they must be on speed, or cocaine or something, because look how frenetic their dancing is…to a slow song! “

To his surprise, his friend Melody answered him. First, he was shocked that Melody even had something to say. Usually she was so quiet and shy, that even joining a brief conversation, was, for her, an act of pure will. Second, her tone was one of “if you only knew the truth.” Like she had some deep insight or understanding. It was that tone that made him pause and hold back the flippant remark he was going to make. Instead, he thought about her words:

“Kevin, they are dancing. Real dancing. You see they are letting the Dance from inside... come out, not dancing to the music coming in.”

He was bewildered. After a few moments of silence he spoke:

“Melody, what do you mean? I am a good dancer, and I would never dance like that to a ballad!”

She shook her head without implying that he wasn’t a good dancer. Because he was a good dancer. But he didn’t feel the music, just the rhythm. So she told him the truth.

“Of course you would never dance like that. Your dance is to the rhythm of the song, not to the music in your soul. You look good dancing because you follow the beat, and your body moves in sync with the drum, bass and piano. That is pretty to look at sure. But it isn’t really Dancing. It is a mild form of choreography.

Kevin was taken aback by her words. After all, she had befriended him at a dance. She had told him quietly after the circle around him broke up on the dance floor and complimented him on his style and movement. Then he remembered her exact words:

“You move nice. Someday you might be a great dancer.”

He had laughed at her wry smile. He bought her a coke and later they split a pizza. Over the next few months, they had become friends. Somehow he felt better when she was around. He never thought of her as his girlfriend. He had lots of dates, but then realized it was more fun to be with her doing nothing more than holding hands while walking through the snow, than it was to be on his game in front of some girl he was just buying dinner for, or taking to a movie, or even chilling with Netflix.

He just felt…well, comfortable around her. Even this conversation, which would have pissed him off if anyone else challenged his dancing prowess, didn’t bother him in the least. Instead he took her words seriously. And so…he answered:

“What do you mean, from the inside? Can you show me?”

She blushed, and rose to her feet. He had never really noticed how she just flowed from one position to another. There wasn’t any “show” to her movements, she just moved with quiet ease…and grace. In his mind, a glimmer of understanding was forming.

She walked over to her iPad, pulled up a song that he could never dance to. It was all heavy guitar smothered in lyrics. Something like the band “Bread” or the Folk Singer genre is chock full of. Wonderful to listen to, horrible to dance to.

He grimaced as she put the volume up, turned towards him, smiled shyly and started dancing.

She closed her eyes. Then she started to sway. A moment later, and her body seemed to break free of the streams that surrounded him when he danced. She was free. He could see it in the way she moved. The music played in the background, but her dancing was what connected it to her soul. She wasn’t dancing to the music at all, the music was dancing to her.

He was spellbound. He could see who she was, how she felt, and the joy that came from releasing her emotions with her body, without any restraint, embarrassment or explanation. She was one with the Universe - her body just a conduit to that space where music, dance, and safety combine.

He swore he could see a glow around her. She wasn’t paying a bit of attention to him, or her surroundings. Only the soft gyrations of her hips, legs and gliding motions of her feet and hands existed. She danced.

He got up. He let go of his ego. All his rehearsed steps, swift turns, and powerful taps of his feet, melted away. He could still feel the rhythm. A part of him wanted to follow that, like a march. Each motion hitting on the right downbeat. But he grew past that.

He was used to moving with the music, now he was moving within the music. Like Melody, who had opened her eyes to watch him transform from dancing to dancer - he flowed. So did she.

The music stopped. He stared at her for a bit. Her eyes twinkled. So did his.

“I can dance!”

She giggled in joy.

“Yes. Yes, you can.”

He hugged her to him, swung her around with her feet flying behind her in what had to be one of the most beautiful pirouettes ever done. He did several small circles like that. Their inner music using that time to bond.

They put another song on from her Playlist. Then another. Later, he held the door for her as they left his apartment to get pizza.
Her hand found his.
The music was over…
but the dance had just begun.