when you lead friends through the steps for their first time, you tell them that it’ll become more natural, this step-step-rockstep rhythm, until it’s like a heartbeat and they can’t scratch it out of their veins. you’ve seen it over and over, that fire light in people’s eyes as they stumble through the charleston for the first time, as they are spun and dipped and twirled, and you know what it feels like. it slipped into your bloodstream one frigid january night and you’ve been dreaming of worn wood floors and big bands ever since.
when the opening beats of sing sing sing swell and you feel the drums in your throat, swear your heart is trying to mimic the rhythm – well, that’s how you know you’re too far gone. it’s ten pm and the seattle skyline is on fire and you might as well dance because you were made for it, you think, because it feels like breathing and being present in your own skin, for once. and so you dance.
if you’re lucky, you’ll find the right partner — one who’s tall enough to dip you until you see stars, who makes dancing feel like falling and turns the floor into a clock measured by toe-taps and three-steps. he’ll ask you to dance, again and again, beckoning with eyes so bright, smile quirking like he already hears the yes waiting in your throat.
and if the night fades into a whirlwind of skirts and kicks and claps, if you find yourself doing the lazy charleston in the violet lights at midnight, laughing and alive and maybe a little in love on the dim dance floor, well.
it’s just swing dancing.
I’ve been really missing my favorite ballroom and my favorite dance partner. this is what happened.
(also, I’ve been playing around with second-person lately and would love to hear your guys’ thoughts)
thanks as always,