Seattle 80, or Whirligig

"Allemand left. Now ladies' chain. Left-hand star. Back to the right. Actives down and back. Cast off. Everybody swing!"

Couples turned in circles, skirts rippling. Brent stared. It was a human whirligig, set in motion by music instead of wind. He sank into a chair and watched dance after dance. Suddenly, a young woman rushed up to him.

"We need one more couple." She held out her hands.

To his great amazement, he agreed. A few people clapped when he got to his feet. As before, the caller walked them through the dance slowly, without any music. Brent now recognized some of the steps. Knowing hands turned him left instead of right and pointed him toward the proper partner. Then the music started up at full speed and the dancers, like clock parts, began to turn. Arms reached for his. Faces whizzed past. He was instantly enmeshed with the others. Wordlessly, they corrected him, adjusted his grip, smiled at him. He'd always been gawky. this hadn't changed. But the pattern of steps, repeated over and over, slowly began to sink in. the galloping tune had an Irish feel. It was exalting to be part of the twining and twirling, and strangely thrilling to touch other hands an to feel them grasping his. He felt like a bee returning to the hive, greeted and accepted by all."

~excerpt from Whirligig, a novel by Paul Fleischman

Tonight, I went dancing for the first time in a very long time. I was needing contact, needing to feel the familiar steps, the comfort of that hive of motion. And it just so happened that my favorite dance band was playing in town. My knee, completely healed, did not complain once.

Here's why I love contra: it's restrictive, prescribed movements leave so much room for variation. You can tell everything about a dancer by what they do in the moments between movements. Do they wait? Bounce their knees rhythmically? Fit in an extra twirl or two? (That's my standard.) Your personal variations in the dance become your mode of communication - does your hand sink a little lower than the standard spot on your partner's back? If so, you're probably flirting, or just really short. Do you twirl your partner when your partner is expected to twirl you? You're flirting, or showing off, or both. Mastering the dance to the point where you can play between the lines is like learning to write poetry in a foreign language - you make it your own, despite the fact that a guy with a microphone is calling out each next step.

It was a good dance, full of experienced contra folks who had come out to see the special traveling band. As I passed through dozens of bodies, skirt whirling, I grinned like an idiot, showing off and flirting for all I was worth - an extra beat of eye contact, grabbing another woman's hand to twirl her in a spare moment, taking an unexpected lead with a male partner, switching places - all of these things, to show belonging. Contra dances are the same everywhere - Greenfield, Massachusetts, Seattle, Washington. Hell, they're probably the same in Nebraska.

The last bus left before the dance was over, but I wasn't worried - I know dance folks, and they're kind and generous. I wasn't disappointed - two women offered me, the new girl with the nice skirt, a ride home. They didn't even know how far they'd have to drive me, and they offered. My dancing told them everything they needed to know - I might come from somewhere else, but I'm a dancer. I'm one of them.

Now, everybody, swing.