Ginger Twinkle (gingertwinkle) wrote in thelustdumpster,
Ginger Twinkle

Lindy Hop

Fedoras. And now, cold sweat. A freeway of wind whips past me through the screen of the window I'm leaning against. The music presses up against it in the opposite direction, horn blasts trying to find their way to me--coerce me back onto the floor. I see pencil skirts and bias cuts and a hundred people dancing raucously on the hardwood in the other room. The backs of boys in dance shoes. More fedoras.

Next: I sink into his arm that is already pressed against my back. Skirts swirl around me. Front back front back frontbackpush; then rock step, triple step--don't look at your feet--step step, triple step. Twist. And again. I stare at his shoulders like I was told to. I feel my body move like it hasn't before. My swing-out has improved. He notices.

Then: the song ends. A solo dance competition and I watch limbs fly. I stare and stare and wish I could do what they do, there in the spotlight. They dance and synchronized claps fill the room like mounting thunder, to the beat of the brass band. The big band. The band. Thunder becomes music becomes limbs becomes shouts becomes thunder becomes music. No fedoras, but a bulky purple suit. I turn and say, 'someday. let's do that.' He smiles back at me and chuckles. When he does, I remember he has a wife.

Skip ahead: Bright red jacket. Kitten heels. I turn to leave and the attractive boy from Australia smiles. I realize I've forgotten my glasses.
Out on the street the wind isn't faster than my light feet and body still craving tuck turns and charleston footwork.

I drive home and find it impossible to sleep, thoughts still dancing in my head.
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