Question diaries #1 – how you learned to dance
Louis :
Being forced to write a certain account down is a lot like having to take a mathematics exam, lots of thinking, and hair pulling. Wracking my brain for the facts, and certainties all the while trying to keep a coherent stream of writing. What sort of requirement is it to be writing about where you first learned to dance?
Well, I suppose I should start off by saying I've been dancing for as long as I can remember. By dancing I mean crack dancing of course- random bouts of spastic wiggles & shimmies. So the question could be fairly easy to answer, yet I feel that they're asking me to go more in to it. I first learned to "dance" as you would call it with Harry. He'll probably want to kill me for writing this- but it's true. He thought it was pitiable not being able to dance like a proper adult. I giggle at that term because I'm the exact opposite of adult, and I would even go as far as to say that I'm quite far from proper as well.
It was in our apartment one evening when neither of us had anything going on. Rain had been drizzling down the windows all afternoon and carried on well in to the night so we'd planned to laze around the flat. It's a little embarrassing that I remember this so well, but again- it could be equally ace since I can tell it so well to my adoring audience… haha. (That's sarcasm.)
I'd been watching a program on the telly for the past hour; I believe it was a contest where contestants competed to win a trophy for their dancing skills. At first I had found myself falling in and out of a sleep until the smell of macaroni & cheese wafted in to the living room and I must have hopped up on to my knees, and turned around on the couch to face Harry in five seconds flat.
He'd cook me meals often, but tonight I was particularly pleased because the day had seemed to put a damper on my mood. I could see that he made slight eye contact before turning away to snicker quietly to himself. I pouted childishly before rolling off the sofa and proceeding to slide across the slick hardwood floor to where Harry stood at the stove.
"You're like a starving puppy."
I gave my body a swift shove, and stuck my jaw out, barring my teeth before chomping down on Harry's bare leg. He screeched, and shook his leg in an attempt to detach me. I glared up at him and he seemed to sigh in defeat, dropping the metal spoon he was using to stir the cheesy mixture.
"I am starved. You haven't fed me all day!"
Harry screwed up his face, and stepped back a bit, so he could lean on the counter and face me.
"So now it's my job to feed you?"
I nodded, giving an honest laugh before hopping up and gravitating towards the steaming pot of noodles. My fingers were about to pick at the gooey pot of macaroni but I was thrust out of the way by a blow to the hip. Harry had slid me to the side, and smirked evilly. I swear- he's evil more than half of the time, but he just likes to hide it to impress the ladies.
"Not until you show me your dancing skills."
I let my lower lip slip out slightly more, showing him my disappointment. Obviously, it didn't work because he stood there silently expecting. I huffed in annoyance, he was acting like he'd never seen me dance before. Quickly, I face my palm straight to him, and used the other hand to usher in the other direction in a 'come here' manner. I gave him a façade of excitement and he simply shook his head at me.
"What?"
I hopped up on to the counter, and proceeded to stare dreamily at the meal that was awaiting me. Harry spun me so that I faced the telly. I raised my eyebrows in confusion, and then pointed my finger in its direction.
"Like that? There's no way I can do that!"
Harry picked up the pan of macaroni by the handle and headed towards the rubbish. I hopped up, grabbing at the air, pretending there was another person with me, and clumsily waltzed around the flat's dining room by myself. I could hear him laughing uproariously & and felt my cheeks heat up in utter embarrassment. This entire situation was more nerve wracking than performing in front of thousands of screaming teenage girls.
I refused to face him, I had dropped my hands to my sides, and was about to ask if I could have my dinner, when I was turned to face him abruptly. It was hard to swallow at first, and a small lump had formed in my throat. I mumbled some incoherence and harry smiled.
"That was dreadful. Let me show you."
It was that sort of moment that would have been life altering for a woman, but for me…it was awkward, and my heart refused to stop pounding. It's funny because now that I look back on it, I was afraid he would be able to hear it. I swore my hands were shaking as he brought them to his shoulders, and rested his own on my hips. A small tremor ran its course through my body, and I couldn't help but wiggle a little in shock.
"Stop being a baby, and follow what I'm doing. Otherwise you'll fall on your face."
I whined softly as if to protest, yet tried to follow suit. His feet weren't moving very fast, but it was still another world of difficulties when it came to moving my body in unison with his. He would gracefully spin us around the flat, and every time my eyes left his shirt, I'd feel dizzy or sick- or both. I would trip and tumble, nearly bringing us both to the ground several times. My chest was heaving in exhaustion with all the effort I'd been exerting trying to keep up with the curls.
"You're such a baby Louis."
He whispered in my ear, and moved his right hand lower down on my hip. I inched to my left slightly, but he followed. I wasn't able to meet his gaze, but I knew it was intently fixated on to me. The heat was unmistakable; it felt like I was stuck under a heat lamp.
Though, I suppose I should stop my story here. THAT was my first dance lesson, and yes I did get my dinner in the end.
Louis.
