i signed up for gym class when
i was a junior in high school. i was
from out of town
and out of place
and out of shape. i figured that intermediate dance would be
an easy A.
the first day of gym class
i couldn’t help but look at you and laugh
you wore spandex shorts that were tight in all the wrong places
hairy legs coupled with hairy arms and hairy eyebrows
your height made your stature bend like a broken sunflower stem
your mounds of dark curls with your thick indian accent
made you the laughing stock of the class
so of course, you would be assigned to be my dance partner.
naturally.
when we first clasped hands to practice the waltz
your palms were dripping with sweat
you were so nervous and you kept stepping on my feet
we were a black and brown trainwreck
barishikov must have been rolling in his grave
but i ended up leading you around the gym floor
prompting you to smile and bow gracefully when needed
we were a disaster at disco,
there was nothing sexy about our salsa
and your cha cha slide was cha cha sad.
by the time we started the ballet unit, i had given up
but out of nowhere, God blessed you with the gift of grace
your petite jete` was better than mine
you twirled me out of my fouette and i fell back into your arms
we spun around the gym like two brown and black tops
scuffed slippers leaving our marks behind
you graduated that year.
you went to school and we kept in touch. jokes on facebook
about the time you dropped me on my face and we tried
to tell our teacher it was part of our routine. it never got old.
after a few months, the messages decreased.
one day i clicked on your page
and your friend said you were in the hospital
diagnosed with brain cancer.
my roommate picked me off the floor after i passed out.
i signed up to take a dance class here. i walked in the
door.
everyone was properly dressed.
they all looked limber and relaxed and trained.
no eyebrows that needed to be plucked.
no inappropriate jokes. no one broke out into a pseudo split.
no one was like you. so i left.
i sent you messages.
when you felt well enough to read them, you responded.
you said you were losing alot of your hair due to the chemo.
and that when we danced again, your forcefield of fur
wouldn’t get in the way. only you could make chemo funny.
i laughed. for you.
last summer, you went into remission. i couldn’t have been happier.
this summer, the cancer spread to your lungs. i couldn’t believe it.
this monday morning, you died.
you danced on to a different dimension
a place that your partner can’t find you.
where your crooked smile and spandex shorts
don’t matter.
i prayed you’d save the last dance for me
but you’ve gone backstage, around the corner
and on to the final show
performing for an audience that will applaud for an eternity
after i heard the news that you passed
i went downstairs to a mirrored room with bars.
i danced.
moves i hadn’t done in years i performed fluidly
i spun like a top, fouette after fouette
dancing with myself
only one half of our pair
leaving marks on the linoleum floor
like we had done 5 years before
your swan song was beautiful.
and i’m begging for an encore
i’m begging for an encore
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