By Terry Martin, Rumford, ME

It is in part a way of re-inventing myself.
I wanted to dance. 

I remember dancing lessons as a child.  Rushing from school at the end of the day to attend a crowded dance class.  The smell of all those shoes thrown under the bleaches; sweaty, hot and tired from running to class yet, energrized to start over again and dance.
This class reminded me of that time.  But, everyone was older.  They were all characters in the workshop of life.  They were on track doing things that they had chosen to do or had been directed to do.
Their heads were white.  They had worked all day and arrived yawning because their partners had somehow talked them into being there.  It is, after all, beginner Ballroom Dancing.  It could be a fun experience.

The lights were turned on, it was dark outside.  The old ballroom had seen better days.  Sort of like the group that we were, having seen better days ourselves. The dance instructor spoke with a Russian accent.  Imagine coming all the way from Russia to end up teaching dance to this group of Maine dancing wanna be's.......  Somehow, I find that inspiring.  Exciting in a creative thinking kind of way. If I had imagined this scene, I couldn't have dreamt for a better setting.

The lights were yellow as they bounced from the old tin ceiling.  The rococo design that surrounded the gaslight chandelier took me to another time in history when this ballroom was truly alive.  The instructor spoke of another era.  Although he was young, he dressed like an old man.  He danced like  a young man but smelled like another century.  His steps were confident and his smile reassurring.

I was alone so I tried to blend into the wall.  I never was a wallflower.  Is that where I would end up?

I could listen. 

"My apartment has fleas" one recruit said to his dance partner.
I made a mental note not to dance with him.

"I think the closing will be on Friday", said another.

"I missed you all day" as yet another couple kissed in the soft shadows of the room.

"Do you have a partner, Miss?"   I knew that his name was Bill because the shirt that he had on said so.
He was a throwback from the BigBand Era.

I returned to the present and said...."no I don't".

"Then, since we are the only two singles, could I dance with you?"

Surely, I said.

The sound of the music was flat and tinney....I didn't recognize all the tunes.  Perhaps they came from Russia.
I didn't care.  I had come to dance.  I had driven in the dark from my home town to this old ballroom filled with people I had never seen before.  My partner was Hardware Store Bill.  The dance instructor was identified by his tie which read "Polka" as he taught the basics of the dance movement.   The flea man danced on the opposite side of the room as everyone tried their best to swirl and keep up.

I closed my eyes and took it all in.
I was trying to move on in life.
This is part of my new beginning.
 

As I start feeling better about what I need to do, I've taken to expressing my feelings in this format.
Here is another.....October 2001