Learning To Dance

Whatever happened to the swimming pool monster

Going into fifth grade, I'd always felt ugly and isolated. Mostly because I was. In the fifth grade, my body began to change. My arms, my back, and my shoulders all started to pop out.

We had weights at home. I took to them. I also went to the YMCA off Capitol Street with my dad on Saturdays. They had a really well-developed weight room. I began to run with my dad, although it was really more like an amble. Our runs were like two cows moving from pasture to pasture. I began to get long of bone.

My favorite games started to become dangerous. At the skating rink, I broke a boy’s arm playing “crack the whip.” At camp Strong River, a month before school, the kids found out I could throw them a long way in the pool. My counselor, then his mom, told me how dangerous it was. At the end of camp, they gave me the “swimming pool monster” award. I think they made it up for me.

In fifth grade, people started talking about girlfriends. What for? Rumors about who was, and who was not, starting to wear training bras were rampant. I'm not sure why there were rumors. It was pretty easy to tell by the lumps on their back.

One day, they took the boys to the gym and the girls to the library and showed us a movie. “Any questions?”. I had plenty, but I wasn't gonna ask the guy who made us play dodgeball. Most of what was in the movie was happening to me. It was slower for the other boys, but the swimming pool monster was becoming furry.

To encourage this boyfriend/girlfriend thing, parents started having dances in their home. They hated me.

“Can I say I'm sick?”

“No.”

“Can I say I fell and hurt my leg?”

“These are your friends, you should go.”

“Do I have to dance?”

“That's up to you.”

I found my loophole.

The house where they had the dance we'd spend hours trying to save from the Easter flood in a few years, but that night it was filled with potato chips, Coke, pretzels, and M&Ms. An older boy brought his stereo and records. He'd be in charge of music for dances at St Andrews for a while.

Boys and girls danced. Some of us bounced a basketball, and Indian wrestled in the yard. Some girls wore pink lipstick and blush, and some boys used hairspray. I stuck to the shadows.

One of the prettiest girls in school was a coffee color creation. Her dad coached basketball at Tougaloo. Our science teacher paid particular attention to her. Not from here, he came to Mississippi for a reason. He was aware that Tougaloo played an important part in what was happening here. He hoped to make these Mississippi kids kinder. I think he did.

“Why doesn't Boyd dance?” She asked. I think she wanted me to ask her. There were rumors.

“Uh! Boyd neeeever dances!” One of the girls said and laughed. Soon, everybody was laughing. She wasn't wrong. Soon everybody was dancing and throwing M&MS at each other's open mouths. I sat on the stairs, in the shadows. Halfway up, and halfway down.

Everybody thought I liked a girl named “Kate.” I did, but I didn't; she was super pretty, and I did need a blonde for my Super eight millimeter version of King Kong with mostly clay puppets I made myself, but I didn’t really understand what this “liking” business was about. There were lots of pretty girls. They were, well—girls, and you can't play swimming pool monster with girls without getting in trouble.

Soon, the dancing public forgot about my non-dancing ass, just as I had planned.

I won't say her name. I won't describe her either because some of you are smart and will figure it out. She came to me in the shadows. I looked up and saw her eyes.

“You should dance.”

“I don't know how to dance.”

“I’ve had lessons, just watch me.”

I had watched her. Quite a lot. This was so embarrassing. I really liked talking to her, but I wished she'd go away.

“What songs do you like?”

“I like Southern nights and. Um, Boogie Wonderland.”

“I like that one!” and we both sang the tagline of Boogie Wonderland.

“You should dance with me,”

“I can't.”

“I'm your friend,”

“I can't.”

“I won't leave you alone until you do.”

I'd been looking away. Looking anywhere but her. Her eyes. It's always been her eyes.

“You mean it don't you?” I looked at her eyes. I was caught.

“Come on.” She pulled my hand for three seconds or a million years. I have no idea what the song was, or where we were, or if I was alive or dead. The night sky was filled with a million universes. I could smell her peach shampoo. Her tiny hands moved with the music. She watched me to make sure I didn't freeze or bolt. We danced from the beginning of time until the end. I was a dancing swimming pool monster. She became something I'd never seen before or ever would again.

And lo, the beast looked upon the face of Beauty

And from that day forward, he was as one dead.