I stopped dead. “Why didn't you say so?”
She sighed and halted on the cliff, facing the sea with her hands on her hips. “I didn't want to be the heavy-handed authority figure forbidding you from doing things. That's how my parents acted with me. Overprotective. I figured it would just encourage you to rebel.” She dropped her arms to her sides and looked at me. “I'm sorry if I let you down.”
“It's okay. You didn't really.”
Someday, I might tell her more about what happened with Kevin. For now, I'd rather put it behind me. Maybe I'll date someone else this year, someone my own age. But, frankly, I'm more interested in dance.
Wednesday, October 6th
We taught our Intro to Dance class in PE today. It wasn't easy to win over the jocks, especially the guys. They rolled their eyes when the teacher introduced us. “C'mon, man, it's soccer season. If we have to do a lame dance unit, can't it wait till winter, when the weather sucks anyway?” A rugby player pointed an index finger to the top of his head, tucked his free hand into his armpit, and twirled on the spot.
But when Claire marched to the front of the room in her yellow t-back top and black bike shorts, they quieted down. I tagged behind like a younger sister. How was I ever going to make it through the class?
Sara, the red-haired girl I'd whacked in the shins with my grass-hockey stick, was shifting from one foot to the other at the side of the room. She plucked the sides of her sweat pants as if they were too tight around the thigh. She rounded her shoulders and kept her eyes on the floor. It looked like she wanted to disappear. It dawned on me that I was
not
the most uncomfortable person in the room. Everything changed: I had something to give.
Claire said, “Listen up. We're not here to make dancers out of you. That would take a lot longer than one class. And, guys, we're not here to threaten your masculinity, either. All we want to do today is raise your level of body awareness.”
She nodded at me. I took a breath and pitched in. “Body awareness will improve your performance in any sport.” I forced myself to make eye contact with the jocks in the back row. “And it's the number one way to prevent injury. Most people spend hours every day ignoring their bodies, even when they're playing sports, but especially when they're sitting at a desk.” I listed potential injuries. “If you increase your body awareness, you'll be alert to any discomfort or pain long before it becomes a problem.”
We rolled out the DVD player to show a clip of modern dance soloist Margie Gillis. “Just look at how much physical control she has. Imagine what that would be like.” The dancer articulated every square inch of her body. Her limbs moved so fluidly, they appeared to have lives of their own. When I turned from the screen, the class was absorbed, for the most part. I caught Claire's eye.
It's working!
With the video as inspiration, Claire and I took turns leading movement from the front. The other circulated and made comments one-on-one. By the end of the lesson, the whole class did stag leaps on a diagonal, front knee bent, arms in a V. Some of the guys sprang to fabulous heights. Even Sara made it across. She didn't lift her head or open her chest, but her feet left the ground. She cracked a smile.
Afterwards, everyone clapped. The teacher took us aside and congratulated us. “I'm very impressed. It wasn't just your command of the material, it was your command over the class,” she said. “It's almost as if you've been teaching for years.”
By the time we locked up the sound system and stacked the mats, the change room was deserted. I squealed, “We did it!”
“Woo-hoo!” Claire stamped on the spot, pumping her arms back and forth, and I joined her. We pounded tension out the soles of our feet. “If we can make it through that, we can make it through anything,” Claire said at last. “I have to get stuff from my locker. Meet you outside in five?”
“Sure.”
When I left the change room, Sara was waiting in the hall. I still felt sick when I saw her, as if I'd just smashed my hockey stick into her leg. Her face looked tight, like she was holding something in. Did she want to talk about the bruise I'd given her? Maybe it hadn't healed. Maybe I'd fractured a bone. No, she couldn't have jumped across the room like that with an injury. “How's your leg?”
“It's fine.”
I hesitated. “Did you like the class?”
She looked at the floor. “It was okay.”
Her short replies could sure stop a conversation. I couldn't think of anything else to say. “Well, so long.” I turned on my heel, but she fell into step beside me. The end of the hall beckoned, a long way off. I walked on, conscious of her keeping pace beside me.
As soon as the exit to the parking lot came into view, I said, “Have a good weekend.” I pushed on the bar and walked out.
“Natalie!”
I turned around. Sara was holding the door and twisting her mouth. She seemed to be struggling for words. Watching her, I remembered how it felt to be painfully shy. The simplest interactions took colossal effort. Outgoing people had no clue.
At last, she said, “I was wondering if you might know where I could take another dance class.”
I was so relieved that I almost laughed. “You scared me for a minute!”
She smiled. “It was hard to get up the nerve to ask.” She joined me outside and let the door swing shut behind her. “I know I suck, but it was fun.”
“You don't suck!” I said. “You did the stag leapsâI saw you. That's a pretty advanced step. And you were brave enough to cross the floor with the guys.”
“It just happened that way,” she said. “I waited so long to join in that the only people left were guys.” She laughed. “We were all hoping that you wouldn't make us do it if we hung back long enough.”
“But aren't you glad we did?”
“Yeah.” She eyed the grass. “I wish I could give it another try.”
“Why not?” The schoolyard was empty except for a bunch of kids waiting by the road.
She hid her face in her hands. “I can't.”
I dropped my bag and pointed to a narrow strip of grass that bordered one wing of the school. “I'll do it with you. Follow me.” I sprang into a series of stag leaps. The grass was the width of a swimming lane. When I finished my “lap,” I turned around. Sara stood at the far end, unmoving. I walked back to her. “Okay. Let's try this again. First, let's get the arms.”
I lifted my arms into a V and lowered them back down. “Join in when you're ready.”
After about five solo Vs, I was ready to quit. Just then, Sara raised her arms. I slowed down to sync up with her. “Sara, that's great! Chin up. Chest wide. And up, and down. And up and down. That's it. Beautiful!”
She dropped her arms to her sides, face flushed. “I can't believe I just did that!”
“You're a natural. Do you want to try jumping now?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“I'm embarrassed. I suck. People will see us.”
“But you said you wanted to do it. Right?”
A dreamy expression flashed over her face. “Yeah.”
“Then let yourself. It's okay to suck. It's okay to be embarrassed. It's okay if people see you.”
She scrunched up her face.
“What's the worst that could happen?” I asked.
“I'll look like an idiot.”
“Then, so will I. I'm doing it with you. I'm willing to risk it if you are. Shake on it?”
She giggled but extended her hand, and we shook. We lined up. “Ready, set, go!” I matched my height and pace to hers, and soon we moved as one. We leapt up and down the narrow strip of grass next to the school. When we landed our final jump, she grinned wide enough to show her teeth. “That's so much fun.”
“I know. And let me warn you: it's addictive.” Thank goodness I was taking class soon. “But you asked about classes. I think I've got a schedule in my bag.”
I knelt down, unzipped my backpack, and searched the pockets. I was breathing hard from all the jumping, and satisfaction bloomed in my chest. I stood up and held out a flyer.
“Will you be teaching the class?” Sara's eyes were round and serious.
I smiled at her. “Not yet.”
Acknowledgments
I deeply appreciate the support of the following people and organizations: Thompson Rivers University (formerly University College of the Cariboo) gave me a two-year Writer-in-Residence position during which I completed the first draft of this novel. Thanks especially to George Johnson. Carolyn Allen, my Ph.D. dissertation advisor, needed a house-sitter when I needed a place to write. My classmates in Lisa Moore's fiction workshop, part of the University of British Columbia's Booming Ground program, were the first to hear me read aloud from the manuscript, and I'm very grateful for their positive reactions. Later on, Booming Ground's Mentorship program allowed me to rework the entire manuscript with Gayle Friesen, and she gave me invaluable guidance and encouragement. Susan Juby was an inspiration in her role as Writer-in-Residence at the Greater Victoria Public Library, and she set me back on course at a crucial stage in the process. Professional Development Funds from Thompson Rivers University, Open Learning allowed for a retreat to Hornby Island, where I completed final revisions on the book. Thanks to Alison Kooistra who, with insight and grace, made the editing process a joyful collaboration.
I would like to express heartfelt thanks, as well, to all the dance teachers and choreographers I have worked with or admired over the years. To name a few: Wendy Green, Maureen Eastick, Lynda Raino, Connie Cooke, David Earle, Lori Hamar, Hannah Wiley, Shannon Hobbs, Crystal Pite, Andrea Nann, Nicole McSkimming, Ali Denham, Joanne Winstanley. And my deepest gratitude to all the women with whom I've shared a passion for dance and who became dear friends, like Sue Lundgren McDonald, Melissa Walter, Ruth Kampen, Aletha Banner-Ennis, Lucinda Johnston Lawrence, Courtney Ryan, Christine Schieberle, and Jane Griffith. Dance is the only activity I've found that providesâall at onceâa physical, artistic, social, and spiritual outlet, and I'm grateful for the communities that gather to practice and celebrate it in all its myriad forms.
About the Author
Jodi Lundgren
grew up in Victoria dancing and writing. Later on, she trained and performed as a dancer while pursuing a Ph.D. in English in Seattle. The winner of a Canada Council Emerging Writer's grant, she has published one other novel,
Touched
, and her short stories and creative non-fiction have appeared in
Dropped Threads
,
Adbusters
,
Room of One's Own
,
Capilano Review
,
sub-Terrain
, and others. After two years as Writer-in-Residence at Thompson Rivers University in Kamloops, she returned to live in Victoria, where she teaches English and Creative Writing at Camosun College.