The Dance

REZ's EDGE

The Dance

'CLAP, –, –, –, CLAP, –, –, –, clap, -, ca, clap, clap, clap, –, –, –.' The clap repeats and the third time the hand syncopation comes around a funk guitar sound quietly enters the mix. Next time around a single guitar tweak is added to the end. A base line on the piano enters. Finally, some violin strings enter and Rose Royce starts singing about working at the 'Car Wash' via the stereo and P.A. system.

Olivia had asked me to dance, so we are grooving to the song, along with the rest of the gyrating sixth, seventh, and eighth graders on the old gym's makeshift dance-floor.

The song ends and I head over to chat with my boys.

“Disco sucks,” says Josh.

“It sucks so bad all the girls are doing it. So get off your butt and ask someone.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Do it then.”

Josh gets up and walks over to the girls sitting in metal folding chairs around a rainbow-colored plastic table-cloth. He taps Cathy Foster on the shoulder and her brunette hair spins in delay and rebounds as her eyes look up to meet Josh's face.

We watch as his lips move inaudibly underneath the voices of Elton John and Kiki Dee.

Cathy pushes back the chair, rises, and they fumble out onto the gym's dance floor. We all clap.

“Alright, Josh! Way to go, man!”

We are thoroughly ignored.

Josh's body is ill-prepared for this thing we call dancing. He's more of the herky-jerky type, all bull, no grace. Great for football, lousy for dancing. The china closet is definitely off-limits to Josh MacCormack.

“Hey, look guys. I think somebody just pulled the bug out of Josh's butt. Is it just me, or is this a disco miracle?”

It looks as if he just loosened up and is starting to enjoy himself. Miracle of miracles.

“She laughed! He just made her laugh!”

“No way!”

Steve stands, doesn't say a word and walks away from Joe and I. He zeros in on Leslie Dupree, separates her away from the herd of ganders, like a border-collie culling cattle, and works his jaw magic. She nods and soon they're shaking their tushes.

“Joe, wuddya' think about Olivia?”

“Olivia? I thought you were making time with her?”

“No. I'm more interested in Cheryl.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, I think Olivia is cute... really cute.”

“Do you wanna dance with her?”

“Well, yeah, sure I do.”

“You should go ask her.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah, you should. Go do it. Right now.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, right now. Tell you what. We'll both go. I'll ask Cheryl, and you ask Olivia. It'll be less weird that way.”

“Alright.”

I see that look of determination on Joe's face. That same look he got when I called him out on the grass-eating-blanket-ass lineman from Red Cloud. Joe's going in for the kill.

Don't get me wrong. I totally dig Olivia and all. But hey, a boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do.
Plan devised, we make our way over towards the girls and lay the proposal on them. Bait hook, line, sinker,... fish are on!

Joe and I are deep sea fishing and we just reeled in a couple of trophies, as we sway, move, and boogie down to 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' being sung by Kiki Dee and Elton John.
The music fades off and we all, kind of, just stand there waiting for the needle to hit the vinyl again. Joe looks like he wants to fade off the dance floor and I give him the downward thrust index finger. Stay, Joe, stay! Good-boy.

A piano note, a chord. No they didn't? Yes they did! They friggin' went and snuck a slow song in on us! Bastards!

Thank you Lord!

I offer my left hand. Cheryl takes it. My right goes to her shoulder. We start rocking back and forth from weighted foot to weighted foot as Seals and Croft drag out a slow one.

I can smell the heat rising off her body. A mixture of dance sweat and her mother's perfume. The vapors send me reeling.

I talk with this girl all the time. Her locker is next to mine. We rode together to the top of Conflict Mountain. She was with me when I pushed the dommy down one-hundred-eighty-one steps. But now, it's like I'm afraid, afraid I might break her or something.

Her hand is oiled warm silk to my touch. I feel the heat of her body rising through her blouse. A lump grows in my throat. It feels like a road flare has been set off under the indent in my chest. My heart beats along to the waltz of the song. I can hear the blood pulsating through my veins.

Cheryl pulls in, closing the gap between her breasts and my chest.

Those glorious small mounds, pressed up against my flesh, while water caresses our ankles. Those delicious cherry-cinnamon lips embracing my own as my hands ride on naked soft brown curves just below her sleek waist.

Warning-Warning! Maintain hip distance. Protruding obstacle inbound. Impact could result in maximum embarrassment. Maintain distance. MAINTAIN DISTANCE!

My mind is a freaked out hormonal firing mess of dance and Cheryl-induced intoxication. The song is a Volkswagen Beetle. My heart is a Ferrari Testarossa.

Jimmy Seals and Dash Crofts roll into the chorus of 'Get Closer'. 

No! No closer! For God's sake, no closer!

The song fades. I drop Cheryl's hand, turn, and make a bee-line towards the men's room. I walk briskly to the back of the bathroom, swing the door open, close and lock it. Standing there, ensconced in the stall, I wait for the pillar of stone underneath my denim to return to putty.

'Damn slow songs!' 

- - The above excerpt is from "REZs EDGE - Destruction & Redemption".  Check it out here:

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rez-s-edge                                       Thanks - B.C. Jensen