My First Dance

I couldn't sleep a few nights ago. It was too quiet and I couldn't settle down. When I was young and this problem came about, I'd ask my mom to tell me stories from her childhood. I loved imagining her as a little girl, in the dresses that I saw her wearing in the black and white photos, acting out whatever story she shared.

So on this night, I asked Kevin to tell me a story to help me settle down. He couldn't think of anything to say since I put him on the spot, so I told him to tell me about his first dance and he spent some time reminiscing about all of the dances he went to until his last dance... the prom that I asked him to go to out of desperation... okay, and because I top secretly had a crush on him even though I hardly knew him.

Hearing his stories took me back to my first dance. I don't remember it in full, but I have flashes of memories. I'll get the embarrassing part out of the way right now. I was in sixth grade and had recently turned 11-years-old. I wasn't much for trends... um, or for fashion in general and though I liked boys, I dressed for myself. So my ensemble for the evening included black pinstripe pants, a red t-shirt, and I topped it off with a vest covered with Mickey Mouse's face. That vest was a favorite that year.

My school was just down the block, so I walked to the dance. I met with some friends whom I had known from fifth grade when I got there. We weren't allowed in the building, yet, so we eagerly waited out in the crisp fall air. Finally, they threw the doors open and we piled into the school gym where I'm sure they played 1993's greatest hits, like WHOOMP there it is! and Dreamlover by Mariah Carey and Cryin' by Aerosmith.

I wasn't really sure how the whole dance thing was supposed to go down, so I spent the first half as a wallflower, watching the grown up 8th grade girls towering over the boys who had asked them to dance. Then I saw one of my newer friends rush into the locker room in tears. Three girls followed her and I wanted to know what was wrong. When I got there, she was going on and on about her boyfriend who had just broken up with her and danced with another girl. One of the 7th graders wiped her tears away and sighed, "Well, that's what you can expect from men." And I rolled my eyes and said, "Uh, you mean boys." Meaning that only an immature boy would do something so hurtful. A mature man would know how to treat a lady. However, the 7th grader didn't get what I meant and turned to me and said, "Honey, in middle school, we call them men."

She certainly thought she taught me something. But I knew what I meant.

When our friend collected herself, we went back to the dance. This is when something interesting happened. Some song, we'll say Baby Got Back, started rockin' the gym and the DJ put strobe lights on. First, I thought it was really cool. Who doesn't like strobe lights? Everything looks all silly. But then, I started to feel really weird. Totally disconnected from my body and like I might faint or something. It's really hard to describe and I didn't know what was happening back then. Ten years later, I figured out that it was a seizure.

Because I felt so strange, I stepped out of the gym, grabbed some water and sat down on a chair in the hallway, next to the concession stand. I stayed there for a long time. Long enough to notice that a boy from my class in a polo shirt tucked too tightly in his jeans (like I had room to talk about fashion) kept buying suckers and wandering the hall. I guess he didn't really know what to do at dances, either.

I didn't think I should go back to the dance after the sensations that I felt, so I just stayed in the hall and listened to music when I tiny little girl sat next to me. She was excited because a family friend was going to adopt a baby soon. So we spent the rest of the dance becoming friends while we talked in the hallway. We left the dancing up to the tall 8th grade girls and their tiny 8th grade boy dance partners.