I Wanna Dance With Somebody

The music is too loud. No one is dancing, so the gap in the living room echoes the lyrics that blast from the speaker without a person to bounce off of.  Everybody is sitting. Squished into the three seater couch, and crammed on the edge of the floor sectioned into their familiar groups. Everyone but me. Trying to take up as little space as I can, I am standing in the doorway that leads to the kitchen pretending that my phone is more interesting than any possible conversation. Really, I am making a list of all of the reasons I should have said no to Sarah when she asked me to come. 

1. It took all of two minutes for her to find someone else more worthy of her conversation, and since then, no one has felt the same about me. 
2. I hate the sweater I wore. It is drenched in the layers of desperation that came with every outfit I tried and failed to put in its place. I feel like it shows the tears that poured when I realized it was the only thing that didn’t make me feel fat. 
3. I really want to dance, but the likelihood of a full audience is ruining the only perk of a party. 

Jackson, the host, crosses the floor and for a moment his foot tapping steps lead me to believe I’ll get the chance, but as he slides in next to a girl I realize I am wrong. How he avoided the beat's feverish request for him to join is beyond me. How any of them find their monotonous conversations more fun than the mad lines being thrown our way is the true mystery. Sarah promised me dancing. She is good at words, but bad at actions. Currently using her words to slide into the fourth group of people since arriving, I try to work up the courage to join her. I do, crossing the floor I sit awkwardly in the middle of the designated space no one is using. 

“Hey Jazzy there you are.” Sarah greets me like I was playing hide and seek and finally revealed myself. How this open concept space must have created quite the obstacle for her. “This is Alex and Chris, my new friends.” Pointing to each, the hesitation on Chris made her intentions clear. Sliding a little closer to Alex I found my new comrade for the night. 

“Hi, I am Jasmine.” He didn’t look disgusted to be talking to me. So when he grabbed my hand to shake it like something out of a movie, I tried to return the favour. 

“So I saw you on your phone. Memes?” He says. 

“List.” I say, too honest for my own social survival. 

“List?”

“Of all the reasons this party sucks.” His laughter was unexpected. Filled with the thrill of feverish joy when something catches you by surprise. 

“Care to share?” 

“Yes.”

“Come on, tell me at least one thing.”

“Okay. Dancing. I wish people would dance.” Looking around the room our eyes come to rest on each other confirming what I said. 

“So dance.” 

“Dancing alone is awkward.”

“So is standing alone but you did that.” Feeling the smile pull at my lips I catch it with my hand, holding it’s rare appearance for later reflection. 

“I will if you will.”

“I look like a jellyfish when I dance, but sure, if it makes me see what you can do.” He stands, and with it invites me to the place I had craved to go from the beginning.

Moving to the middle of the room he falls into a two-step as his shoulders wave in and out of the beat like he is indeed swimming. Conversations halt as people watch him take the first brave step into the middle of their attention. Part of me wants to leave him out there alone. The cruel part. But I don’t, walking into my own pool of anxiety I tread through their looks with my own rolling arm movements that match the 70’s beat currently playing. Trying to look only at him, I fail, and concede to close my eyes as the music begins to infect me. Feverish with the need to move, I give my body to the song swaying my hips and parting my thighs as I dip it low. I bring it back up, just to throw it into a new set of moves as my feet tap to the drums pulsating the air. 

I have come alive. I am breathing in the belts of the singers falsetto voice and exhaling turns and rolls that groove with the rhythm of the beat. My veins pulse with a heart that has steadied itself to match the slowing pace of the next song, and the next, and the next, until I have spun into the sweaty silence of a playlist coming to an end. There is only quiet. Until the clapping starts. Like an 80’s film it begins with the slow single clap of one individual until it grows to a heavy roar of many hands. Despite my better judgement I open my eyes to find everyone standing, circling me and staring. Alex has abandoned me to join the fray of people who likely spent the better part of the last few moments watching me lose myself to the music. And they liked it. They liked me. 

“Damn you can move!” Jackson shouts from behind me. Sarah finds it in herself to cross the fray of admiring people and stay by my side. I am flush in compliments and shades of red by the time I make it to the kitchen to grab water. Needing to stand alone in the corner again to catch my breath, I use the moment to make another list. This one, about all the reasons this party rocks. 

1. I met Alex 
2. I didn’t embarrass myself 
3. I got to dance. 

By the time I finish, the music has restarted to a volume that is just right. People swarm to fill the space with their bodies taking up room with the large movements. They call to me, eager for me to show them more of what I am capable of. I am taking up space. I am standing in the middle of them all. I am really happy Sarah asked me to come.