There was sensuous Arabesque
music playing in the background as I watched. Her tiny torso was supported by
perfectly formed hips; the ideal combination for a belly dancer. My eyes followed the line in the middle of
her back downward. Her sumptuous hips
moved in slow rhythmic lifts while her arms slithered up and down like a snake.
I watched her with bated anticipation that my body would move like hers some
day. I instantly became envious because
no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t get my body to move the way that the
teacher’s did. I look like a pumpkin.
I desperately needed my life to
change directions. More than anything, I wanted and needed to meet new people. How does one move on after a divorce? I
asked myself. My existence revolved around my husband and I didn’t know where
to turn when he left. I felt like a non-person. I no longer had value because I
didn’t have anyone to fuss over. My life needed validation.
Many nights I came home and laid on the sofa
until it was time for bed. The energy to
do anything physical or mental eluded me. I couldn’t concentrate on the words
that I read, so, reading a book was out of the question. Often I would read a
paragraph only to go back and read it again and again until I eventually gave
up.
I took antidepressants for about
six months. I didn’t like the way they made me feel. The
pills made me sleepy, lethargic, and dizzy. The constant battle with suicidal
thoughts and wanting to kill my soon-to-be-ex-husband was exhausting. But what
can I do to get out of this rut?
One day I was looking through the
Fun Times booklet that the Community Center sends through the mail. I noticed that belly dance classes were being
offered. I always wanted to learn how to
dance like those exotic women from the East. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself
seductively contort my body in sensuously wanton movements. I was thrilled at
the thought of it. Besides, the exercise will do me good and maybe help to raise
my spirit out of the funk that I was in. So, I enrolled in the class.
We met on Wednesday evenings at
5:30. I had to rush straight from work to
get there and sometimes I was late. As I
walked through the door, I noticed that there were all kinds of shapes, sizes,
and ages of women in the class, which was a relief to me. I never tried dancing
before, well, not in a class setting. As a girl I would dance around my room
while no one was watching and never ventured out lest someone would see me and
make fun.
The teacher was a young woman in
her early twenties. Her pale white
porcelain face was framed with thick fawn colored hair. She wore a small bolero
top to accentuate her breasts, and tight low cut black pants that drew
attention to her generous hips. Her bare midriff exposed a tiny waist that
Scarlett O’Hara would be envious of. She was sexy and I wanted to be.
The first night of class I
arrived in my work clothes. I pulled off my shoes and socks. We began stretching
every muscle of our bodies before we danced. Then we
learned the most important thing for a belly dancer. We had to learn to dance
with soft knees. Otherwise there would be trouble for the lower regions of our
body. “With knees bent, arms out, chest
up, lift your right hip,” the teacher said, “Next, raise the left hip. Now,
walk forward and do a hip lift on each side while you are walking.” Our eyes
were focused on the backside of the teacher for guidance. With arms extended
and toes pointed, I strutted my stuff across the gym floor and felt like a
beauty queen. The only thing that was missing was a long flowing veil.
I was slow at learning the moves.
There were times that I would be off dancing by myself while the class moved to
the other side of the gym. I really didn’t care. I was having fun and making new friends.
By the summer, a few of the
ladies from class decided to put together a troupe for the new dancers and then
perform at a Halloween show they have every autumn. We practiced at Barbara’s house for nearly two
months until we had the routine down pat.
Each week I forgot the routine
and then had to re-learn it all over again.
I was still having memory issues.
But I pressed on until I was able to keep the dance steps in my head.
Then we had to work on our
costumes. Barbara was the seamstress and she coordinated our wardrobe. We
decided on gold lame genii pants with wide legs and elastic at the ankles, they
reminded me of MC Hammer in the video, You
can’t touch this. There were gold
bras to match with a bolero top and a black sheer skirt placed on top of the
pants. I looked like a pumpkin in my
outfit. My belly is much too large to be seen in front of a group of people. When
I noticed that the audience was mostly women, I quickly got over my fear of over exposure.
The night of the performance I
was very nervous. It is one thing to
dance in a small room at someone’s home. But to make a mistake in front of an
audience is a whole different ballgame. I practiced nearly every night when I
got home until I could do the routine without having to look at my cheat sheet.
Our routine lasted only two minutes, which seemed like an hour to me. I made a small mistake at the very beginning
and quickly got back in line with the other dancers. I sailed through like a
ship on calm seas the rest of the performance.
As soon as I was backstage I covered myself up, never to expose myself again. I often dreamt of
going forward with my dancing career, but who really wants to see a middle aged
pumpkin dance?
