The Dance
“Hey hey, what’s this I see? I thought this was a party. Let’s Dance!”-Ren McCormack, “Footloose”
It was only 40 minutes long and was strategically placed at the end of the school day. There were no rides-home to be arranged, no food messes to clean-up and no admission fee.
It was a stroke of pure genius. Welcome to the junior high dance!
Let there be no mistaking; Despite the stripped-down nature of it all, the dance contained all of the essential elements of a classic junior high school dance.
“So I put my hands up, playin my song, butterflies fly away….”
The start of each new song initiated an even louder response than the one before. Some unidentified girl was a true screamer and let-loose with each new selection. It did not matter what the new song was. Apparently the anticipation of what the song might have in-store was too much. I wondered if John Denver’s “Country Roads” would have sent her over the edge too.
“Who’s that chick that’s rockin kicks, gotta be from outta town.”
The crowd magically transformed into a loosely organized conga-line. Devouring two-thirds of the entire crowd, the giant worm pulsed and slithered around the room. It wasn’t meant to be though, soon the conga line dissipated.
“... and the Britney song was on, and the Brittney song was on.”
Suddenly and quite sporadically, a group of ten screaming girls gathered around for a selfie.
Just then one of the boys tripped on-stage while trying to moon walk.
“Heyyyyyyy sexy lady….whuppa Gangnum style.”
The popular science teacher headed across the floor swinging a string of Christmas lights parting the mob of kids like the Red Sea. The strobe lights and twinkling holiday lights made for a magical ambiance. A group of fifteen boys mingled and danced and slapped at each other on the stage.
A sullen girl sat in a corner sucking-in several other sympathizers into her black-hole of self pity. I could almost see a dark cloud forming above them.
“…..if it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eye Joe, I’d been married long time ago, where did you come from, where did you go, Where did you come from Cotton Eye Joe?”
The new song elicited another round of heightened screaming. The screamer girl’s high pitch wail stood-out above all others once again piercing the darkness like a shooting star. The crowd stomped and clapped wildly to Cotton-eye Joe completely oblivious to the fact that no one was particularly on-beat. They were following each others rhythm forsaking the rhythm of the thumping music itself.
I counted four incidents involving aggressive tug-of-war battles between reluctant, seated grumpsters on the outside wall vs. spazzy dancers trying to pull them into the writhing dance pit. The winning move seemed to be dropping the hips with a non-wavering scowl on face.
They were allowed to place song suggestions in a box during the days leading up to the dance. Imagine our surprise when the song “99 red balloons” was fished out of the box to the delight of exactly one person. “I just want to see everyone’s reaction”, he later confessed.
Red Balloons didn’t make the cut, but I’m sure little screamer girl would have been on-board.
