The First Dance

Short Story. Narration

     The First Dance
As a twelve-year-old, I was about to experience my first real dance where I held a partner close to my own body and  attempted to move as one across the floor without crushing toes or toppling over into a pile of youthful folly. I was going to dance!  

Now the problem was I didn’t know how to dance. There were so many moves that had to be followed, so much to remember. Right hand around the waist, left hand held high supporting your partner’s hand. Not too tight, not too close. Trying to listen and lead your dance partner to the rhythm of the music. But move! How? I got the stance part - right hand around waist, left hand holding her’s, not too tight, not too close. Yeah, I got that. But moving, and to the pace of the music. I’ve got work to do. 

I found a 10-cent book in the magazine section of our local newsstand. I remember the cover had an outline of 4 feet with arrows seemingly giving the direction one should move. Written above the cartoon like images were the words “The Two Step”.  Seemed reasonable to me. Two steps I could manage, three or more and I’m a complete failure. 

Of course I didn’t have ten cents. I was like the young man when the teacher asked if you have a nickel in one pocket and five pennies in the other pocket, what would you have? My answer was “someone else’s pants on.”  

Not all was lost. My usual employment, when I needed some quick cash, was to use my skill at finding empty bottles that would bring a bounty for their return at the local grocery. Usually a couple of cents per bottle. I would ride my bicycle along country roads searching the ditches for the 2-cent prize that someone discarded. Must have been some rich person. Just to throw 2-cents away, WOW! 

I have a confession to make. That “Two Step” dance book was not going to stay on the shelf long and I needed $.10 now. Didn’t have time to cruise my regular hunting grounds. 

Grocers that sold soft drinks in glass bottles, would also collect the empties and return to the bottler. Not sure, but they probably got 3-cents per bottle. Anyway, the store clerk would often stack the empties just outside their back door for pick up. Now, I didn’t make a habit of doing this but I was a little desperate. A short trip behind the store, grab 5 empties and make my way to front counter to redeem my cache. Yep, came to ten-cents. I did thank them before leaving. 

Next stop, the newsstand. It was still there, that book that was going to teach me how to dance. I handed over my dime and took possession of that piece of literature that was going to make my life a lot more interesting. 

I went straight home and started my first step (no pun intended) in becoming an experienced dancer. The first part of the book explained positions and etiquette when holding one’s partner. The last part was how to move your feet in order to maintain a constant rhythm of one-two, one-two. The back of the book had a large piece of paper that could be unfolded with a life sized image of two feet.  One could actually stand on the images and follow the arrows - one-two, one-two, one-two. The very last section explained how the Two-Step could evolve into the Box Step. 

The old garage behind our house became my dance studio. I spread the folded sheet with the diagram of two feet on the floor and began my first sashay into the world of rhythm and dance. 

I didn’t have a source of music nor any real need.  That would come later. For now, I would step from cartoonish foot to cartoonish foot while voicing one-two, one-two, one-two. 

I seemed to be getting the hang of it when I realized I had to do this while holding a partner. Now what?  At first I only moved my feet from step to step, the I began guiding an imaginary partner across the paper floor. One hand around her imaginary waist, other hand in the air holding her invisible hand. I practiced on that paper until nothing remained except a pile of confetti. 

The day finally arrived that would test all my hours of practice and devotion to one-two, one-two, one-two. This is it. 

The event was a Junior High after-school dance held in an all purpose room with a line of chairs on one wall and another set of chairs on the opposite wall. As I entered the area, it was clear boys were sitting along one wall with the girls sitting opposite along the other wall. I didn’t have a clue what to do from that point on. I did find an empty chair with the boys and settled in. 

Miss Thompson, the English teacher, welcomed everyone and wished us a good time. She also made it clear that certain behaviors were expected during the event. Mr. Jones, the shop teacher, played the records and made comments about the music. A few parents sat near-by as chaperones. 

The dance floor was mostly empty during the first few tunes. I found myself observing how the older boys would walk across the floor, approach one of the girls and ask her dance. Sometimes he would take here hand and lead her onto the floor, others would walk ahead of the girl and wait for her to meet him on the floor. I had to figure this all out. Nothing in my $.10 Two Step Book that explains this situation. 

After few false starts and a case of the jitters, I finally got the courage to take that short walk to the other side of the room occupied by the girls. That walk was only about 30 feet but was like walking through a dangerous , mud covered, swamp. My feet seemed to weigh a ton as I got closer to the row of chairs filled with some girls I recognized,  others unknown to me. I had not selected a possible partner prior to making that treacherous walk. Instead, I headed straight for a girl with a wide smile and exposed dimples. I loved a sweet smile, still do. Dance? I asked, almost apologetic. If she answered with a positive, I don’t recall. I do remember her standing up and moving toward me. Silently we made our way to the dance floor. I neither took her hand nor did I walk in front of her. I waited a moment to make sure she was going to be my dance partner before I started the journey to the middle of the room. I walked by her side thinking more about what to do once we were in position than actually the person I was about to experience my first dance with. 

She stood in front of me as I moved to put my arm around her waist she stepped closer and raised her right hand. I placed my  right hand around her waist and my left hand holding her’s above our heads. The same position recommended in my Two Step Book and the hold I had practiced on my imaginary garage partner. The music started and my mind was racing, one-two, one-two, one-two. Awkward as I was, I did manage to step the Two Step around that floor with a real girl as a partner. Not sure who led. I think we may have shared the task of guiding the other. Didn’t make much difference, we were dancing and only a couple of stepped on toes. 

I did hold her hand as we walked
back to her chair. I also thanked her for dancing with me. I felt such an excitement rush over me. I did it! I smiled such a broad smile back to my seat. I didn’t dance another dance that day. I sat through the rest of the party reminiscing over that first dance. 

I still remember the girl I first danced with and the song that we danced to. Her name was Joanne and the song was “Moon River.”  I never danced with Joanne again, although we continued through senior high school and college together. She became a language teacher and still had al sweet smile and two cute dimples. “Moon River” by Henry Mancini has been a very special song that I have since danced many times. Still, when the music starts, my mind goes back to that very first dance. 

I have since danced many times over the years and with different partners. Some I remember, some are only vague images of long, long ago. Some are very precious. That one dance, that first dance will always have that  place in my heart that is reserved for moments so special, so sweet, they are never to be forgotten. 

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to ask a cute young freshman with a sweet smile and a couple of dimples to dance. One-two, one-two, one-two. 

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

The boy in this tale is a lot like I was, and I know just how he felt and acted. My first romantic encounter with a girl was also at age twelve, and I sold pop bottles for cash. (I don't recall ever selling a grocery store owner his own bottles back, but knew of some kids who did) When young, we felt things with more intensity, and you reveal that exceedingly well in this well written story. You don't know me, but this kind of stuff is right up my alley.