Dances with Wheels
It’s been a week since I took off for one of my favorite times of year: DragonCon. Once, only a time to earn extra bucks working the dealers’ room, being a roadie for the band, or acting as escort and “My Girl Friday” to the likes of DeAnna Troi or the chick from “MythBusters, it has since morphed into a combination college class reunion and vital away time from “mom” duties. Sure I still bartend a bit or watch a booth from time to time, but after 26 years, it is mostly this girl’s time to R &R.
Time to let my hair down, literally. Being in rehearsal, dance class and the gym so much, my hair pretty much lives piled on top of my head. Con is the place to nurture my inner “pretty girl” with fancy dress, make up and real hair styles. It is also the season for dancing; club style, Irish gig, slow couple sway. I’d been shy to show my moves outside the Company, plush carpets and crowds with unguarded toes made it difficult to be inconspicuous on the dance floor. . I had already wasted the first night on the sidelines, nursing the old feelings of lost. However, my apprenticeship had taught me control in small spaces and built muscle in my arms to cope with tough terrain The music called to my heart, wine and friends made my bold. I took a deep breath, and spun out to the middle of it all.
I ignored the shocked looks and cell phones capturing what to them was an unusual sight. I focused on the beat, the smile of my partner, the feel of the floor. Soon the karaoke singers drew the focus, and I relaxed. The following night, at the Mechanical Masquerade, dressed in our steampunk finery, I danced alone, swung between two handsome men, and even the “time warp” with my gang. Resting between sets, well wishers whisked away by my entourage as their admiration was about to turn “inspirational”, I looked back out at the crowd. Ok, so now, “Dances with Wheels” might be a novelty, but repetition can breed acceptance, or at least a level of mutual comfort. That’s a good thing, cause I got my dancin’ shoes back on, high heeled and wheels pumped. My place on the bench is gonna be empty, and who knows, next year I hope to be joined by others who, not matter what life dishes out, are gonna dance anyway.