WHEN DOVES CRY

essay about my dancer years

“No, not your body, your mind, you fool.”

I put on my first pair of tap shoes when I was five years old. I did ballet since I was three, but I fell in love with tap. Doing time-steps, buffalo, and double pull-backs, it all spoke to me.

My favorite ever tap dance was the one I did when I was eleven. It was to ‘When Doves Cry’ by Prince. I wore a sequined, purple body suit, similar to the ones Prince wore. My ugly lesbian haircut was slicked back with hairspray and gel. Blush caked up to the gods, truly a beautiful sight. 5,6,7,8 counted in my head as I performed. No longer did I hear the music; I became it.

The thing with dancing is that you can transform into anything you want to be. No longer are you a certified thug; you are a dancer. You become part of the music, part of the rhythm.

I was finally good at something; the flowers that we’re handed to me after every show meant something to me. The ice cream we got afterwards tasted sweeter then it ever tasted. The rush and drama of the pre-show were exhilarating.

The pressure of moving your feet to the rhythm got to some, but it never got to me. I was raised around music, from my mom playing bass to my dad telling me about the countless concerts he went to. Riding around in that rusted van, listening to various artists, and sticking stickers we got from the doctor’s office on the windows. Music was always a big part of my life. It is ingrained in me, I listen to music as I write, as I craft, as I sit there doom-scrolling on Instagram. Music is always in the background.

Sometimes I still dance in my room. I turned on ‘When Doves Cry’ today in my room, reliving the peak of my life. Wearing an oversized Batman sweater, with pajama pants on, and mismatched socks. Sliding around and doing old moves, testing if I had the same ability I once did. Not as flexible as I once was, I used to be able to walk while doing back-bends and do aerial cartwheels, but I lost that talent as soon as I stopped dancing. I imagined today that I was wearing my old tap shoes, ones I constantly broke from tapping so hard, the screws always becoming loose. I thought about searching for them in the house, ransacking the basement, and pulling out my old costumes. Thought about putting on my old leotards and bringing out my old duffle bag, I kept all my dance supplies.

But I lost myself to the music and didn’t think about it. As I shouted at my Alexa to play the song again. So I could relax in the feeling that music brought me.

It’s weird, you’d think for how long I danced for that I would love to dance in front of others. But, I really don’t, to socially awkward and embarrassed for it. It is different when you are on a stage, versus when you are out dancing with friends. I might feel the rhythm, and 5,6,7,8 still counts in my head, but the painful awareness that I feel when I start to lose myself consumes me.

It is only in private that I can return to my natural state. For then I can twist, and move, and do whatever I want without the feeling of shame. I can only truly be myself when I am alone. I can skip and sing to myself and repeat random words all I want when I am alone. I feel too much shame when I am around others, so dancing freely with them is out of the picture. When I do dance with others, I copy their moves, what they are doing, because it seems acceptable. I mean, it would be kinda off-putting if someone started break-dancing in front of you without warning.

“This ain't about the body, it's about the mind”

I am not trying to pat myself on the back too much, but I was a good dancer. My teacher thought I could go competitive. There were talks about it in my family, but we didn’t have the money to. I felt jealous of these two girls who got to do competitions in the studio. I imagined the type of house they lived in must be two stories. The job their parents had to allow them to go to the big leagues.

Anyway, this isn’t about me being an envious person. This is about me being a good dancer. I was, it’s the one thing I am sure of. It came naturally to me, still does when I am alone. I did tap, ballet, lyrical, jazz, hip-hop, and acrobatics. (all paid for by my grandparents, why did y’all stop paying for it??) My favorites were definitely tap, lyrical, and jazz. Also, ballet, I mean, I also liked acrobatics, and hip hop. I guess they were all my favorites. I think I just like to dance.

I like to watch dancers online. I love seeing the talent. Like seeing what I could’ve been. When you do something for so long, you really can spot the talent in others. It gives you a new appreciation for the craft.

I still have dreams about dancing. That I was in dance classes all along, and I missed all of them, so now I must be on stage with no idea of what dance moves I am supposed to do. I still dream about stretching my legs on those bars and doing double pirouettes. I still dream of being on that stage and being handed flowers after my performances.

I wonder what I would have become if I were a dancer for that much longer. I stopped after close to eleven years. Stopped just as the pandemic started. My dance studio shut down a few months prior, unrelated to covid.

As a child, I did want to go somewhere with my dancing; I dreamt of being a part of those professional productions.

I had this book, which I used to check out from the library all the time. It had pictures of beautiful ballerinas in it. I don’t remember the name of the book; all I remember is that it was orange. I loved this book; I would check it out constantly. I think eventually my parents got it for me, but I have gone searching for it in my house, to no avail.

It has been about six years since I last been on that stage. I stopped shortly before I turned fourteen, and I am now nineteen.

It doesn’t matter that I stopped; I will never stop dancing in my room. It is one of my motivations to keep my room clean, so I can dance on the wooden floor. So I can slip and slide, and do buffalo’s on it.

I don’t talk much about my dance years; it makes me sad. Of course, I will mention it; I am proud of it. But knowing I will never go to another class makes me sad. Knowing I will never receive flowers again for my performance will make me sad.

I did choir, theater, and piano, but nothing will compare to dancing. I never felt so complete, so disciplined.

One day, I will find my old tap shoes and pull my dance costumes out of storage. Until then, I will keep dancing in my socks.

Not my image, found it on Pinterest.

SOURCES:
Me.com