I've been on stage as a dancer, actor, and singer my whole life, I even hold two degrees in Modern dance. But that's not even my final form! Follow, like, tip, and share as I bring to you some original content!
How I Ruined My Own Dance Recital!
In the early 2000s, I attended a performing and fine arts middle and high school. I auditioned for its art and animation program due to my interest in visual arts, and my grandmother's advice. Though I got accepted into the program, I was forced to attend the ballet classes because the school still had me registered under "Undeclared" and I needed a major in order to stay at the school. After over a month of tripping over my own feet and everyone else's, I found my way into the animation classes, which I just knew I going to love. I was wrong! My teacher was a pretentious, lunatic with a fetish for all things Disney. He was over critical of my work and did not waste time humiliating me when he got the chance. By the time eighth grade rolled around, I was the latest addition to the dance program and the newest laughing stock of the school as being a male dancer was still deemed emasculating and weak.
The red, digital numbers on the face of the black clock on the nightstand rearrange themselves from 4:24 to 4:25 as the amber rays from the radiant sunset shimmer through the room with its warm and present energy. The acoustic tunes playing from the Bluetooth speaker on the black, wooden dresser in the corner of the bedroom ceased its artful ministry leaving the room in a state of unfiltered silence that has long forgotten the liberating sounds of the strumming guitars and soothing pianos. A warm, yet chilling breeze fills the room from the widely-cracked window breathing life into the blue sun and moon tapestry hanging perpendicular on the, otherwise, bare, white walls. Its blue, clothy body dances through the ripples of air passing through and forcing the papers to float across the desk. Some of them get caught in the small puddle of a tipped-over glass of Merlot. The autumn winds cause goosebumps to rise on our skin as your body is still compressed against mine.
Red Camera Flip Phone
May 27th... We had just arrived home from church. The kids jumped out of the car and start grabbing the horse riding gear. Ruth and Mark packed up their lunches for the day and, within the hour, they were gone. Meanwhile, I stayed home, in my basement apartment and play video games. It was a normal day. College was out for the summer. I started two new jobs in the upcoming week. We were all on great terms. Nothing to have my stomach in knots for. It was 3:49 PM when that changed. I'm sitting on the couch in my living room playing Spider-Man on the Xbox when Mark opens the basement door and calls me to come up the stairs. Still nothing suspicious. I even respond jokingly with "I didn't do it this time!", which was my typical response. God, I wish I knew how inappropriate that was at the time!
When Jake and I met it was during the night of Hurricane Sandy at Rutgers University. My dorm, Demarest, was the oldest building on Bishop Beach and wasn't equipped by code to keep us there through the storm. So the Demarites moved in the middle of the hurricane to Clothier Hall, dorm and home of Res-Life offices, where some of the other dorms took refuge, as well. When we got to Clothier, we took refuge in several different places in this ten-floor building. I started taking refuge in the dark and cold main lounge full of other Sandy-refugees before a couple of us decided to walk around the building for a bit. So we walked around the building and ended up stationing ourselves on the eighth floor, I believe, in this narrow hallway. The others were complaining about having to sleep on the floor of another dorm rather than sleeping in their beds at Demarest or at their homes. I, on the other hand, was down for the adventure and was excited to see how things would go down, but I grew tiresome of hearing a bunch of bitching children complaining. We are knee-deep in our conversation when this tall and slender white guy named Jake found us hanging out in the hallway. As he checked on us to make sure we were okay, I remember seeing the army-camouflage pants and a greenish-brown T-shirt and buzz-cut and thinking to myself, "Here's goes our hero!". Are you guys okay here?", Jake asked catching the tail-end of our conversation. Everyone suggests that they are cool and everything is okay. "You sure? Need extra blankets or anything?", He insists. Everyone, including myself, say that we're okay. Then he sat and hung out with us. It was getting late and we were getting loud while everyone else was trying to sleep. So Jake advised that we go to his room to chill. He even mentioned that his roommate had gone home and he had an extra bed. Of all the bitching and moaning everyone was doing, no one wanted to take the spare bed but me. Or, at least, I didn't really give anyone else a chance to change their mind! It was the beginning of a very good friendship.
As 2020 began, I was already in a healing process from my own brokenness. I drank and rang in the new year with friends, co-workers, and a shattered heart from surviving a two-in-a-half-year depression, of course, I say, tentatively. When I got tired of being in that pain, I started making changes in my life to clear that dark cloud from over my head and that included my music intake. So I went from listening to pop, rock, and alternative, consistently, to indie and acoustic music. I even made a playlist of my own on Spotify that includes a variety of songs and artists from the acoustic playlists that I was listening to and immersed myself in a folk-like trance. I tell you, there is some kind of healing in the soulful, and honest sounds and lyrics of artists such as Imaginary Future, Julien Baker, Ben Howard, and William Fitzsimmons. Trust me, if they're on my top rewind of 2020, the spot was earned.
I watch the red, digital numbers on the face of the black clock on the nightstand rearrange themselves from 4:24 to 4:25 as the amber rays from the autumn sunset fill the room with its warm and present energy. The acoustic tunes that played through my Google speaker sitting on the tan, wooden dresser in the corner of the bedroom, ceased its artful ministry leaving the sounds of us catching our breath to replace the liberating sounds of the strumming guitars and soothing piano play that once played through the black, netted speaker cover. The sweet-smelling breeze fills the room from the widely-cracked window breathing life into the sun and moon tapestry hanging perpendicular on the, otherwise, bare, white walls. Its blue, clothy body dances through the ripples of air passing through and forcing the papers and book pages on my desk to dance. The autumn winds continue to rush across our bodies causing a chill to our wet skin as the goosebumps rise against your body compressing mine to the bed.