The Ones Dancing

Last night we had an editorial meeting at a friend's apartment to discuss lit mag business and brainstorm ideas for promotion. Maybe brainstorming wasn't on the agenda, but it happened anyway and we came up with some great stuff. Afterward, a few more people came over and we played silly games and fully utilized the huge chalkboard wall in the apartment. Eventually we ended up downstairs in what is referred to as "the traditional courtyard." The apartments are in an old brick building, pretty sizable and very southern. In the center is an enormous lawn spotted with old trees and some winding sidewalks. The courtyard has been the setting for numerous croquet matches among the writers and our friends, and it's one of the most perfect spots that could ever exist for lazing.

One of my poet friends used to be a dancer, and whenever she drinks the dancing comes out. Usually in the form of plies, spins, and ballet leaps. It is one of my most favorite things to see. The best time ever was when "Brand New Key" came on when a bunch of us were at her house and all of my friends started silly dancing in her living room. Last night, she grabbed me while we were on the lawn and started doing the box step. I haven't done a box step probably since high school choir, but there was something wonderful about being on the grass in bare feet dancing a huge box step with one of my good friends. And it made me happy especially because it's not something I usually do. I'm very self-conscious about dancing. I wasn't always but sometime after high school, I became uncomfortable with it. It's also about the time that I became really uncomfortable with my body. Because of this, it's actually one of the items on my bucket list. "Be the one dancing." And it's not really something I plan to cross off, but more a challenge to myself on the daily. Now when I'm at weddings or parties, I try to make myself dance. When my friend grabs my hand and pulls me onto the lawn in the middle of a June night, I follow her.

One of the things I admire most about my mother is her willingness to be silly. My mom will always shake her ass, clap, move when she's listening to music that she likes. Usually blues. My dad will make a complete fool of himself if, say, Baby Got Back comes on at a wedding, waving his arms above his head, stepping back and forth and singing. This is something that used to embarrass the hell out of me. But now I'm proud. I'm glad that my parents aren't sticks in the mud.

I aspire to be ridiculous. I like it when people are shameless, can enjoy themselves without worrying what others think. I watched my friends doing cartwheels across the lawn last night and thought, Who needs to be a kid? Look at them. Look at us, having fun, being adults but not old. I laid down on the sidewalk and looked up at the trees and night above me. I remembered that one of the other things on my bucket list is to sleep under the stars, like I used to as a kid. A friend and I would take cots and sleeping bags out into the front yard of my house in the country. And we'd lie there, listening to the coyotes, the owls, looking at the perfectly clear stars. The heat from the sun would wake us the next morning.