Dancing in the ‘burbs

Her feet went tap, tap, tap, tap, tapity tap along the street as she walked. Everywhere she stepped, she heard music, and she had long since learnt to hide it, to keep the groove inside. But sometimes, it was too much. She took a moment to glance up and down the street, and then let herself go.

She’d never been a dancer, never learned the moves, just did what felt right. Now, alone and not bothering to check the windows of the houses she passed, she tripped along the gutter, taking quick steps across the grass. She took her hands out of her pockets where she placed them to control them, to stop them from fidgeting, from patting out the syncopated rhythm of the music pounding through her veins, to stop them betraying her secret. Her hands flittered around, touching the fences and trees and telephone poles, her hips rocked and her shoulders shook. A wide smile came across her face. She led with one hip, then the other. She clicked and tapped and flung her fingers out in bursts of happy music. Suddenly she stopped. A pause; two beats, three beats. And then back – her butt wobbled, her hips swayed she spun once, twice, three times and bang!

She ran straight into him. She looked up, this man was not familiar, not a local that she’d seen before. She quietly apologised and walked past him. He grabbed her hand and spun her into him. She looked up at him shocked.

“No need to apologise for dancing.”

He spun her back out and walked away. A slow smile crossed her face and she walked on, shuffling to the beat.


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