Blast from the Very Distant Past

This short story was actually where one of my monologues in our production, A Series of Summers, was based. The stage production happened way back when I was in college. This draft was just sent to me today by my ex-roommate.I lost my original copies when my Lenny crashed last 2001.:-(

All characters in this story are, of course, fictional. It was originally supposed to be about a 12 year old girl who found love while taking dance lessons. But I couldn't work around that because the storyline seemed so rehashed that I didn't bother and tried to find a twist to the story instead.

It's funny how young I sounded then. I had to physically restrain myself from tweaking the whole piece.

If I ever find the actual script for the monologue, I'll be posting it here.:-) It actually turned out to be more comic than this rendition.

Ballroom Dancing

There is a tune that haunts me.

It is a Juan D'Arienzo piece. I heard it when I was 12.

I heard it the last time we met.

It was the last day of Ms. Danzig's dance lessons. I remember it as being a very long summer. We were all kids then, do you remember? Patsy was the only one who was older; she was 23 and bored. But the rest of the kids were our age. We were all in the seemingly endless pews of twelve-ation.

It was particularly hot that day because it rained the day before. The room was almost as small as this one is, but it was more cluttered. Ballerina slippers and dust motes were having a tea party in one corner and piles of decrepit chairs were stacked all around.

You were leaning against a wall, sipping on a bottle of coke. You were a little on the chubby side then.You approached me and offered me a sip.

Because you were too tall for me, I wasn't assigned to dance with you all summer. I always just kinda watched you put your arm around Gretchen, sway with Patsy, dance with Eunice.

Today, Ms. Danzig asked you to dance with me.

I licked my lips and rubbed my palms against my skirt. I was more nervous than a university riot.

Then there you were. You stared at me while Ms. Danzig put in an old Juan D'Arienzo tape.

Yowza, I thought. I just shut my eyes and shuffled along with the tune. A step here, two steps there. I brushed against your arm once. Immediately, I stepped back, as if I was stung by a thousand bees.

How beautiful you were.

The red ribbon was especially becoming because it made your hair look darker. Your cheeks were tinted pink because of the heat.

I tried to dismiss this awkwardness. I refused to believe that I have exchanged my penchant for Aga Mulach and Devon Sawa for thoughts of you.

I refused to believe that the sensations that these hours give me will not pass.

I refused to believe that I could feel something that may not be normal. Something that could drive my socialite of a mother (who is never home anyway) mad with confusion. Her voice keeps repeating itself in my head: "My little girl, I will not have it."

And I am guilty as sin for loving you, Reanna.

Then you shrieked.

The sound pierced through my romantic meanderings and brought me back to this dusty, unkempt room.

I could not believe, until this day, that in that moment between my pointless dreaming and the maniacal tango music, I managed to kiss you.

I could do nothing but stare at you.Your eyes were more confused than distressed, more surprised than annoyed.

I wanted to say that kissing you on the lips was no big thing. That I did that all the time because i lacked affection in my life . I wanted to lie. To howl. To do anything that would distract you from thinking that I was not the person you thought I was.

I was the last one to step out of Ms. Danzig's dance hall that day. They never told my mother about "the incident."

I never saw you again.

After college, I finally got married and had two kids.My husband, he takes to drinking sometimes. When he doesn't get what he wants, he hits me sometimes. But he is sorry most nights.

I have never danced since that summer.