I never did tell you about Friday night, did I?
Oh, my lovelies, it was wonderful!
Now, you have to understand. Participating in the Spotlight Dance was really important for me, because just before the last time I was supposed to do such a thing, I was cruelly felled by that bastard Jack Frost, and ended up encased in fibreglass for the next eight months. So this? This was something I needed to do, if only for a sense of completion.
Funny thing... you know, I've wanted to choreograph a cha cha to Santana's Smooth ever since I heard Rob Thomas' smoky tones telling me to give him my heart, make it real, or else forget about it. The music was important to me. I adore the song, and it brings out all the natural rhythm in my body, making me feel alive, leaving me no choice but to dance even in the most undanceable places. Like video stores. And offices. And once, in one sorry display of show-offy-ness... in a dance club. Can you imagine?
So, anyway, when I had my last private lesson on Tuesday, Sergei laughingly reminded me not to forget the music on Friday. And I laughed, and said, "Ha! Can you imagine! As if I would forget, though!"
Yeah, you know where this is going, don't you? Halfway to the studio on Friday night, we had to turn back because I left the CD on my dresser.
All is well though, because now I've got the music in my hands, my shoes are polished to high sheen, and I'm happily garbed in all my finery. My hair is a mass of curl and wave and pseudo-Spanish flair. My dress is... oh, poppets, I received the best compliment at the studio, when one of the teachers looked at me approvingly and said, "That is a very Mare Ingenii dress!"
I get to the studio, along with Sleye, Teacher, my brother and my mother, who have all come to cheer me on. And we wait. We wait, and we watch, and we wait some more. A lot of dancers have performed at this point, and still my name hasn't been called. And finally, at a quarter after ten, we hear, "Our next performer is Mare Ingenii, dancing a cha cha with her teacher Sergei" ring out through the room.
Only at that point did I realise that I had been placed in the save-the-best-for-last group. I was ranked alongside the better dancers in the studio. How awesome is THAT?!
And it was, poppets. It really was. The opening sounds of Carlos Santana's guitar rang through the studio, and Sergei and I flowed into position. I didn't have to remember to smile, I didn't have to remember to turn my head on that underarm turn I always had trouble with. I didn't hesitate on the particularly fast syncopation near the end, which is what I was really afraid of. My feet flew - flew through the steps and figures, and... oh Lord... and it was like coming home, my beauties.
It was like coming home, because there is no sound I love more, no sound more welcoming to me, than the thunder of applause.
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