Dances and Rhythms

It's been a little over three years since I lost my son.  He was the one who created this blog as a forum for my writing.  Today I will begin that journey with anyone who wants to come along...

Dances and Rhythms

     To break away from the tedium of graduate school studies in mid-life, I joined an African Dance Aerobics class at my local fitness center; however, I was taken back by the sensual dance moves we were asked to make.  They involved parts of me that I didn't know existed, and a mind-body connection that barely passed eleventh-grade sports.  But, I was prepared to challenge myself as the drums began, hoping to loosen up my aging body.

     "Is this how?" I gestured to the woman next to me.

     "You're doing great!" she said.

     For weeks, with the grace of a sack-race runner, I committed my body to the fast-paced tempo of surround sound drumbeats.  Unlike our instructor, who arched and gyrated effortlessly across the floor, my strides were stiff and forced.  Elena was all charm with brown sugar skin and an English accent.  She was a hummingbird.  She was a willow tree, her arms limb-like flowing around and across her thin body.  Mystified by her grace, I let go of awkwardness, turned once and caught an image of myself in the mirror.  Staring out was a thin-lipped, middle-aged, white woman.  She was a painful reminder of the fact that I'd never exercised regularly or played sports, and that my greatest ambition in life had been to visit the nearest library.

     "Come on, don't be inhibited," Elena called back, laughing.  I worked harder with no visible improvement.