Are you coming?

Yesterday was finally the day. I’ve been with this cast for a month in performance now, and once, even twice, a weekend, they’ve shed their wigs and sweat-soaked costumes and gone out to the bar.

I haven’t been. Partly because I don’t drink, partly because it gets so late, and partly because I’ve just been kinda shy about it. And last night, when the venue was gonna be a gay bar to dance, I decided it was time.

Sure, it’s a Friday night, I’d worked all day, rehearsed and performed all evening, and I had to be up this morning to sit for a portrait artist at 10am. … but you know what? Yesterday was a good day, and I felt invigorated.

I found out that I got cast in another production at the theater where I’m currently running. I got the large important work project done, with a few hiccups at the end of the day. And I finally felt like I beat the solo song that’s been beating me all run.

It was a good day. And dancing sounded perfect. I dance like a white girl, but I have fun doing it. Though, granted, there were other white girls there who definitely don’t fit into that “white girls can’t dance” model! But just the vitality and joy and jumping and ear-wide smile and circle of friends who are together only for a brief period. It was awesome.

I used to go dancing once or twice a month. Then maybe every other month. And now, I’m lucky to go once or twice a year. I would never listen to the music in real life. I know maybe one of the dozen songs that gets played. But it doesn’t matter.

I toss my growing-in hair around, I bounce on the balls of my feet, and I pump my fist in the air when it feels like time.

And it does.