there you go now
The evening today was an eerie autumnal one. There are a few barren trees already, and I can smell the rotting leaves that I've always known was the scent of fall but never associated with the actual rotting leaves until recently. This place has also grown quiet, hushed except for a few lingering bugs. There were gusts of wind - a storm somewhere - but it was quiet and strange here.
A woman was dancing. As soon as one gesture was familiar and - writhing on her back with legs spread - the next was puzzling and strange and wonderful. From wild childbirth imagery to walking. She walked slowly and deliberately, then contracted and spasmed. The spasms turned into recognizable dance. I don't know the names for the movements but I recognized them. Then back into the unrecognizable, the alien, the contradictory.
A woman who dances knows how to use her body. I used to watch my cousin, and the way she curled her toes when we sat on the floor to play boardgames. Or how she walked. And sat up straight. And made necklaces slowly and carefully.
I wanted a thousand snapshots of her to hang in a thousand different rooms, but I knew that it's nothing without the continuing the motion. I know it's nothing without the motion but it's also everything - every pose for a split second filled all the space and was snapshot-beautiful. Hands flinging against a red background, black women moving in white dresses. Legs arching, kicking, shuddering.
You don't know a woman till you've seen her dance. You might not know her even then, but it's part of the criteria.
I tried explaining to some girls at dinner what my Modern I class was like. I struggled with the vocabulary. "We do stuff in first position. And sometimes. We roll around on our stomachs. We, I don't know how to explain it." I shoved my arms above my head and said "WHOOSH! Like that." They gave me funny looks. "We use lots of water imag--" "I think the WHOOSH says it all, Mar" said one of the girls.
The girls in the hall dance merengue. We blast Gypsy Kings and dancing rounds crop up. Shufflings and hip swingings accompany the frisbee tossing in the hall. The girls dance absent mindedly, constantly, with a little bit of flair.
My father and I used to dance. In the evenings, in our old living room, to his old jazz records. I was always too short a partner, I always got lifted off the ground during the Around the Worlds.
I can smell the rotting leaves if I lean up against the screen. It pulls things in me that I don't know how to take. Autumns have always been saddest. I itched and grew restless with school (I always liked the first day and then bucked at any work then on.) There are other sad things too. I sometimes wonder if I'm dreaming, because I can't believe that my life works like this. This autumn is so wonderful, but it brings all the autumns past. Things never go away, they just coexist and are brought back with familiar scents.
Everything is cluttered right now. Life is good, but it's also very cluttered.
2000-10-07, There you go now
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