Why I No Longer Dance Fight – Curse #405

Posted on June 18, 2011


Hold on. You are pretty and all, but just, hey. HEY! Wait a second. I’m sorry. Let me tell you a story real fast, and I think you’ll understand why I can’t do this.

The day was hot. The shopping center’s asphalt threatened to stick to the bottoms of shoes. And it was that day, in the heat and lonely chaos of the parking lot, that I learned to no longer dance fight.

On this day I had one song lodged in my head. It had been playing on the top forty station nonstop. To be honest, it was catchy as hell. With lyrics in mind, I shambled towards the book store.

As I came around a parked truck, humming, I collided with a gray haired woman my mother’s age. She had been carrying a collection of Kafka books, but our collision sent them sprawling onto the asphalt. I immediately noted my luck; she had not fallen over or broken a hip. My second thought was the rudeness of her first sentence.

“I’m going to make you scream!” she said, her mouth twisting into a circle and her eyes mixed with a fire that matched the heat. I knew I was in trouble. My super senses told me so.

I did the first thing that seemed natural.

“What you goin’ to do with all that junk?” I straightened my body and cocked my head to the side. It was my patented ‘I’m gonna mess you up’ look.

I was in deep now, because the whole situation was probably my fault to begin with. The heat had invaded my mind, and I had decided that it was time; it was time for a dance fight.

Her eyes seemed to glaze over and her face, full of wrinkles, seemed to stretch smooth as her jaw dropped at my insult. This kid was challenging her to a dance fight? Didn’t I realize how old she was? How experienced?

I’m sure you wouldn’t have done the same, even as fit as you probably are, having won as many dance fights as you surely have. But don’t judge me. This was not a normal kind of day.

“I keep on taking,” she yelled. Straightening her own body she tilted her head so that her pony tail of white hair spun from one shoulder to rest on the other. She crossed her front legs and twirled once for effect.

“I keep on demonstrating,” I retorted, my lips tightly pressed together and puffy, a show of being unimpressed. I faced her and shot a hand into the air and twirled a finger. Then I let out a, “umph.”

“I do it on the daily, I drive these brothers crazy,” she exclaimed and a crowd of pedestrians slowly began to form around us.

I’m not sure where her agility came from, but she did a split. She rose back up in an instant and held her hand up in a stop sign fashion.

The small crowd gasped.

I forced a scoff, hesitated slightly and then moved with intent.

“They say I’m really sexy,” I said, clutching my groin. With my other arm in the air I thrust my hips upwardly. Then I turned to the side and threw up a hand and threw it back down — a gesture of spanking the monkey.

“My humps, my humps, my lovely lady lumps,” she said defiantly. Oh she almost had me then, but as she tried to do the Popsicle stick, a move of which I will not go into detail, she tripped and fell onto the asphalt.

I thought I had her then, but I became distracted. I should have kicked her repeatedly while she was down, but I caught a glimpse of my ex girlfriend in the crowd of spectators. I turned to smirk at her so that she might have time to think about what she had lost out on.

Also, I thought maybe she might realize she didn’t need as much space anymore after seeing my victory.

While I was smirking, my opponent rolled and then spun on her back in a turtle like fashion. I snapped to attention; it was my move.

“If you touch I’m going to start some drama, I’m going to start some drama!” I declared.

I threw my hands into the air and thrust my pelvis in a wild storm of pure dance fury. Some might say it was almost religious.

The lady burst from the ground in a rage. Her body moved back and forth and she utterly became a dancing snake goddess throwing hips and limbs into a kamikaze of movement.

“Don’t pull on my hand boy, I’m just trying to dance boy, I’m going to make you SCREAM,” she roared.

Everything began to move in a slow motion.

“In the back and in the front, my lovely lumps,” she declared and brushed two fingers across her forehead and eyes. Her legs seemed to melt together in the movement.

I gasped with awe. My hand died in mid flail. My legs became jelly and I fell to my knees.

I could admit it. I was defeated.

“My.. my… lady lumps?” I tried to muster a kick or hump. I failed.

She knew she had me. A smile broke out across her wrinkled face — a satisfied smile like the kind after good sex.

She bent down and gathered her books and walked off towards her Buick.

I sat in defeat, as you must imagine, humiliated. The crowd began to disperse.

I was utterly ruined. Wouldn’t you feel the same? Defeated in a high stakes dance fight by someone much older than you? She made me eat asphalt and ever since I can’t dance.

And so, I hope you understand, I must refuse your invitation to leave this wall and dance.

Posted in: Year 1: Curse