Have This Dance
PostPosted: Mon Mar 03, 2008 2:05 am
The director’s chair sagged, but remained comfortable even after all the abuse Clancy had invested into it. In the seven years since he’d stolen it from a vacant back lot and ran, the chair had been the closest thing to a companion he’d had in recent memory. Clancy liked furniture that reminded him strongly of himself, which he considered an important attribute in all of his home decoration, such as it could be passed off as; if the world could tell a man by his furniture, he believed, there would truly be fewer problems in it.
That he touted such an idea said more about his character than a coffee table ever could.
"Step with your right foot, then draw your left after it, then left and right.”
But when he wasn’t stealing used chairs and making philosophic excuses for increasingly bad metaphors, Clancy was the director of the dance department, some cosmic attempt to suggest he knew what culture was. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the building, for a myriad of reasons he couldn’t be bothered to remember except at the convenience of the tell-tale tap of the staff head’s expensive shoes approaching, and in close pursuit, the staff head himself. He didn’t have an ash tray, but his OUT box was strangely circular and hazy.
“No, in time with your partner. Watch your partner. Move with him.”
He extinguished his cigarette into the newspaper, which he usually left in the IN box, and stood up, straightening his neck. The students paused ominously. Clancy navigated around his desk, combing his hair with his fingers. “We’re not running a one man show here. This is your basic waltz. And when you waltz, you do it with a partner. And when I say ‘With,’ I mean it. That ‘With’ is crucial.” Clancy stepped back and leaned against his desk. The students continued their wayward dance. In the back, though…
“You two. Why aren’t you dancing?”
Clancy was a traditionalist. And the waltz was a dance between a boy and a girl, no excuses. So when the class roster had listed the same number of boy and girl students, he accepted it as a divine sign and the mood was set. He sauntered over towards the pair. “Scensen. Dance with the girl.”
“She’s not dancing.”
The immortal pause.
“…I can see that, Scensen. There is a feasibly painless way to rectify this situation.”
“No, I mean, she won’t dance.”
“You mean she won’t dance with you.”
“I traded with Scott, and he traded with Bruce. She wouldn’t take them either.”
The girl remained silent, a certain nervous seriousness apparent on her face. Her name was Rachel. Clancy hunched down next to her. “And what seems to be our dilemma, young lady?” Rachel said nothing. Clancy took note. He motioned at Scensen, drawing his thumb across his throat.
“But who am I going to dance with?”
“First rule of ballroom dancing, Scensen: real men cut in.”
That dealt with, Clancy returned to the girl. “So what’s the deal?”
“I can do it alone.”
“You can’t waltz alone. It’s against God’s teachings.”
“I can dance alone.”
“Rest of the year, fine, but today we’re dancing in pairs.”
“I,” Rachel stared determinedly at the floor. Her attitude told him she wasn’t someone used to embarrassment, and that half her nervousness was inherently because she was nervous. “They’re all looking at me.” It was a simple sentence, but sometimes, that's all people need. Clancy stood up, arching his back, and the two watched the class go through the motions for the next five minutes. Then...
"Alright people." All attention was his. "I'm feeling charitable today, so you can all have off for lunch early." A muffled cheer, dwarfed by the scuffling of shoes across the floorboards. The dim noon light filled the empty room. "But not you." Clancy extended his rolled up sleeve towards Rachel, arm attached. She moved towards him through a sea of tension. He took her hands in his. "You're alone now. Dance."
"I'm not comfortable."
"Nobody's looking at you."
"You are."
"Then I'll close my eyes. Dance."
Rachel shot him a very strange look, but his eyes were clasped shut. Warily, she took the first move, and he filled the gap. She moved again, and he matched her stride. It was a slow process, but the anxiety took its leave.
And she danced.
That he touted such an idea said more about his character than a coffee table ever could.
"Step with your right foot, then draw your left after it, then left and right.”
But when he wasn’t stealing used chairs and making philosophic excuses for increasingly bad metaphors, Clancy was the director of the dance department, some cosmic attempt to suggest he knew what culture was. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the building, for a myriad of reasons he couldn’t be bothered to remember except at the convenience of the tell-tale tap of the staff head’s expensive shoes approaching, and in close pursuit, the staff head himself. He didn’t have an ash tray, but his OUT box was strangely circular and hazy.
“No, in time with your partner. Watch your partner. Move with him.”
He extinguished his cigarette into the newspaper, which he usually left in the IN box, and stood up, straightening his neck. The students paused ominously. Clancy navigated around his desk, combing his hair with his fingers. “We’re not running a one man show here. This is your basic waltz. And when you waltz, you do it with a partner. And when I say ‘With,’ I mean it. That ‘With’ is crucial.” Clancy stepped back and leaned against his desk. The students continued their wayward dance. In the back, though…
“You two. Why aren’t you dancing?”
Clancy was a traditionalist. And the waltz was a dance between a boy and a girl, no excuses. So when the class roster had listed the same number of boy and girl students, he accepted it as a divine sign and the mood was set. He sauntered over towards the pair. “Scensen. Dance with the girl.”
“She’s not dancing.”
The immortal pause.
“…I can see that, Scensen. There is a feasibly painless way to rectify this situation.”
“No, I mean, she won’t dance.”
“You mean she won’t dance with you.”
“I traded with Scott, and he traded with Bruce. She wouldn’t take them either.”
The girl remained silent, a certain nervous seriousness apparent on her face. Her name was Rachel. Clancy hunched down next to her. “And what seems to be our dilemma, young lady?” Rachel said nothing. Clancy took note. He motioned at Scensen, drawing his thumb across his throat.
“But who am I going to dance with?”
“First rule of ballroom dancing, Scensen: real men cut in.”
That dealt with, Clancy returned to the girl. “So what’s the deal?”
“I can do it alone.”
“You can’t waltz alone. It’s against God’s teachings.”
“I can dance alone.”
“Rest of the year, fine, but today we’re dancing in pairs.”
“I,” Rachel stared determinedly at the floor. Her attitude told him she wasn’t someone used to embarrassment, and that half her nervousness was inherently because she was nervous. “They’re all looking at me.” It was a simple sentence, but sometimes, that's all people need. Clancy stood up, arching his back, and the two watched the class go through the motions for the next five minutes. Then...
"Alright people." All attention was his. "I'm feeling charitable today, so you can all have off for lunch early." A muffled cheer, dwarfed by the scuffling of shoes across the floorboards. The dim noon light filled the empty room. "But not you." Clancy extended his rolled up sleeve towards Rachel, arm attached. She moved towards him through a sea of tension. He took her hands in his. "You're alone now. Dance."
"I'm not comfortable."
"Nobody's looking at you."
"You are."
"Then I'll close my eyes. Dance."
Rachel shot him a very strange look, but his eyes were clasped shut. Warily, she took the first move, and he filled the gap. She moved again, and he matched her stride. It was a slow process, but the anxiety took its leave.
And she danced.