Dance With Me

MIKE: Do you want to dance?
ELLE: I don’t know how.
MIKE: I don’t either. Do you want to figure it out?

(Stranger Things 2: Episode 9)

My first dance with a boy was at a Valentine’s Day fair in 4th grade at a marriage booth. I don’t remember how I got myself in it but I have a clear recollection of how fun it was. They made me wear a tiara of flowers, a flowing white dress (over my shirt and shorts) that was too long but beautiful, and a veil. The boy I fake-married was nice and a good dancer. He was a year older and none of the boys in my grade was remotely as charming. 

The 10-year-old me found the boys my age smelly, gross, and uninteresting. I received a rose from one of my classmates one day and I threw it in the garbage without any thought about how that made him feel. Who gives flowers in 4th grade anyway? However, my V-day dance partner was anything but disgusting. He smelled wonderful. And we had such a connection (whatever that meant to 10-year-olds) that we went inside the horror booth together after our “wedding dance”. 

When you’re young, romance is the farthest thing from your mind. In my case, it wasn’t till 6th grade that I felt anything for a boy other than friendship or annoyance (depending on who it was). So that slow dance that we shared was nothing more than a great way to find a friend. A beautiful dance that I have yet to experience again. The few chances I had paled in comparison. They were either with a boss who was a little too drunk, an officemate who I felt bad saying no to, a date who was sweet but was too awkward, a friend who couldn’t stop talking, a friend who hated dancing, or a random stranger at a party who I entertained because it was a party. 

So in celebration of Valentine’s Day, I would like to wish all of you, my dear readers, slow dances with someone in whose arms you can be comfortable with. The kind that doesn’t have to be romantic but sweet. One you will remember with fondness.

Dance with me.