dance hungry, dance full.

It was about 5 am. i had climbed into my welcoming bed about 3 hours prior. I had to be up and gone in 3 hours. I fought against the awful repetitive sound of a car alarm and tried to go back to sleep. Someone’s car alarm always goes off when there’s a thunder storm. I buried my head under my pillows and tried to sleep for another five minutes. There was yelling outside. Beale Street Music Festival. Everyone in Memphis is wasted the first weekend of May. I wrapped a blanket around my head (turban-style) and tried once again to sleep.

5:15 am. Nothing was quiet. None of my makeshift sound blockades were working. I looked out the window and tried to bring my eyes to focus. It wasn’t one car alarm, it was about 5. It wasn’t drunk people. It was people from the dorms.

It was pouring. The entire back alley and parking lot was flooded. Several cars were in water up to the windshields. I ran outside to see my Baby. He looked so helpless. Half under the flood waters, looking so scared and lonely. I knew he couldn’t handle it. He’s old, and already has so many problems.

2 hours later, the water was going down. Some friends had moved my Baby to higher ground, but he was leaking oil all over the place. Poor little guy.

I am officially done with all my classes. The weight can be lifted off of my shoulders any day now. I still have several projects to do. Not to mention a World Music concert. The rehearsals are taking over my life.

It was 3pm. My New Testament summaries were due in 2 hours. I sat and read, and furiously scribbled notes, all the while cursing my tendency to procrastinate. I had rehearsal at 7pm. I had yet to shower.

5pm. Finished my summaries just in time. Bummed a ride home from a friend (my Baby still has not recovered). Showered. Dressed. Bummed a ride back to the school for rehearsal.

The auditorium’s air conditioner is broken. It’s 90 degrees outside. Miserable inside. I could not function. I could not breath. My shower was a waste of time. Sweat was dripping off of me. Hand drums seem ten times louder when you have a headache. Being at a mandatory 7pm rehearsal is frustrating as hell when you have finals to finish. We were supposed to be done in an hour. Finished at 8:45.

Friday is my night to go dancing.

A zillion thoughts ran through my head. Do I even want to go dancing anymore? It’s hot. I am a sweaty mess. My shoes are too big for me. Everyone else has already been there for two hours. Only the creepy men ask me to dance. I don’t even know how to dance.

Fine. I’ll go.

The bouncer is maybe the hugest man I have ever seen in my life.

No sir, I am not 21 yet.

Yes sir, you can put embarrassingly huge black X’s on my hands.

Cover charge tonight? Sure.

TEN DOLLARS?! Yeah, okay. Fine.

All my friends are dancing. It’s still swing music. Salsa is coming. I better hurry and dance swing before we get to salsa. I’m awful at salsa. My shoes are too big. They fell off about 3 times while I was dancing.

Salsa time. Hate it.

No sir, I will not dance with you. I just saw you practically humping the last woman you danced with out on the dance floor.

A friend asks me. I’m no good. He knows this. He’s patient. He teaches me. He only laughs at me a little. My face is beat red. I never learned how to move my hips growing up. Salsa is sexy. My version of salsa is awkward and repulsive.

The night goes on. Sometimes alcohol makes people dance fearlessly. There are huge X’s on my hand. No fearless dancing for me, I guess.

But sometimes it hits you. Sometimes you get sick of everything. Sometimes even the fear of being awkward and repulsive cannot stop the irresistible urge to dance your heart out.

I am awful. Rhythmically-challenged, if you will.

Sometimes your car floods. Sometimes you have an overwhelming amount of final projects due. Sometimes your shoes are too big. Sometimes it seems like everyone knows the moves except you. Sometimes your faith wears thin. Sometimes everything you depend on falls apart. Sometimes you can’t remember how to breathe. Sometimes your vision blurs and your heart won’t stop hurting. Sometimes you have nothing else to do, but dance your head off.

And for four and a half minutes you escape into a world of thumping latino beats and swirling hip movements. And you forget. You forget that you don’t know all the moves. You forget that your shoes are too big. You forget that everyone everywhere automatically puts X’s on your hands. You forget that your world is falling apart. And you dance. And dance. And dance.

“And she is going to dance; dance hungry, dance full, dance each cold astonishing moment– now when she is young, and again when she is old.”

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