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Universe Will Dance

In my childhood home, I have a single memory of dancing. One memory.

I was in 7th grade. I was setting the table while my mother and grandmother were preparing dinner in the kitchen. While plates were set down and hamburger simmered away, we were carrying on a conversation through the walls.

A school dance was approaching. Not just “a school dance” but the first school dance I would ever attend. My words or tone must have revealed some of the anxiety I felt about it. Without a word, my grandmother came to me in the dining room, took me by the hand, and taught me to waltz. It was my first dance.

I also have a memory from my college home. A single memory.

At the time, I lived in a small house on the edge of campus with four other guys. While we each had a bedroom, we shared a kitchen and common area. One evening, everyone was away, a college musician (maybe Peter Strom?) was playing on the living room boom box, and something strange overtook me. I took the cheap, free standing, fluorescent floor lamp from Target as my partner and I danced. I held her tight, I dipped her, I twirled her, I looked into her non existent glowing eyes and crooned along to the music. I wasn’t imagining she was some woman I was pining for, and I wasn’t hearing the inner critics comments about people who dance with lamps. I was in the music, it was in me, and we were in motion.

During one dip, I raised my eyes above the lamp shade to see Chelsea, my roommate’s girlfriend. She was standing stock still, hand over her mouth, suppressing her laughter. The dam burst when our eyes met, we both laughed, and I put the lamp back in the corner. We never spoke of it again.

These memories crossed my mind this past Thursday. At the time, I was on empty. I had had a very trying week of work. And, I had hit a very low energy point for my non-work pursuits, particularly writing. The day was halfway over. I had no sense of anything interesting or wondrous or curious to write about, and I had little confidence anything would come. I didn’t have the energy or will to excavate some cornerstone moment from my past. And, most relevant to this day, my son had been an absolute shit. He’s 12–he gets to be a shit somedays. (Maybe we all do?) On this day, his refusal to do school work, his attitude toward his tutor and myself, his rejection of food that I had prepared, and his demands for toys was just too much for me. I love him dearly, but I was grateful that he would be returning to his mother’s house the next morning.

That’s when he turned on Alexa and grabbed Roger, a life-size skeleton who’s been living with us since Halloween. Now Roger typically doesn’t do much. He’s very good at occupying free chairs in our living room and witnessing our lives without judgment or comment. His glowing red LEDs may deter break-ins, but that’s it. Had my son not treated him like a friend, I would have tossed him months ago.

But, Roger can dance! He can breakdance, he can twerk, he can move in ways that only plastic bones can move. That’s what my son showed me as he called out song requests to Alexa. When he grew tired of animating Roger’s dancing, my son remarked, “Roger is naked” and began carrying him upstairs to get dressed. It was a slow affair. As they climbed the steps, Roger would clang against the wall and the metal railing. Each time, my son would stop, apologize to Roger, and ask if he was ok. He returned to the living room with Roger, now dressed identically to my son. He was so proud, he was willing to pose for pictures.

Some afternoons, the universe won’t speak to us. But it will dance.