The Dance

Aimee here. Now it’s my turn to tell the other side of the story. At the outset of my post, I will ask that readers are forgiving. My memory is more clouded than David’s so there may be moments of where I exercise dramatic license. Also, there is no need to point out that my posts are far inferior to David’s. What’s amusing is that while I am far less eloquent than my counterpart, I am a writing teacher! All things aside, I will do my best.

I was so excited for the salsa contest.  I was in Mrs. Clemens conversational Spanish class at the time, so I had planned the entire event. I had brought a big bowl of the famous Blau Salsa (which won first prize, of course) and my best friends Nikki Pettinato and Alyssa Hinkle and I were having a great time listening to music, giggling, and eating chips. I probably noticed David the moment he walked in, although I am not even sure why he was there since it was a Spanish Club activity. Anyway, I remember thinking that he was pretty cute so I did what I normally did when I thought a boy was cute: be loud and obnoxious to try and attract his attention. This kind of behavior may seem silly; however, it is a proven mating technique in the animal kingdom, so don’t judge.

I just know how I get when I am surrounded by my girlfriends. I am sure we were dancing and talking loud and telling jokes and being silly. I think I was secretly hoping that he would notice me and come up to me, but I didn’t want to keep waiting for him to get his act together.  I fabricated what I thought was a clever reason to approach him and told him that everyone at the contest had a Spanish name and that he needed one too. I christened him Pedro and tried to chat with him a little. I realize now that he was just nervous around girls, but I just figured he didn’t like me that much. So I rejoined my girlfriends and tried to smile at him when I managed to catch his eye. My friends teased me about this new crush, but I just shrugged and laughed. Alyssa threatened to tell him about my feelings, but instead of begging her to keep it a secret I said, “Go ahead!”

Later that afternoon in choir, Alyssa bounded up to me. She spilled her news, and together the three of us wrote what we thought was the best note ever. Nikki showed me how to fold it in a cute way and Alyssa promised that she’d deliver it.

When I got a reply we all crowded around the note trying to read it at the same time. But it was slow going. David’s hand writing is AWFUL. It was like decoding ancient cuneiform. I guess we eventually figured it out because I wrote another note, and another, and another. For years I kept David’s notes tucked away in a purple-papered notebook…just to look at every few years and remember the sweet memories of awkward crushes.

I am not 100% sure, but I think David may have asked me to the dance in a note…I just can’t imagine him having the guts to ask me in person, and I know that I would have asked my mom for permission first. Getting my mom to let me go to the dance may have been the most difficult period of our relationship. I wanted to go so badly, but I was still two years from being proper dating age.  My most persuasive argument was that if I was allowed to go to the LDS Stake dances at 14 it is only logical that I could go to a school dance too. My parents talked it over and decided that I could go as long as I followed a few rules: that our parents dropped us off and picked us up at the school so that we didn’t arrive “together,” no dinner or activities before or after the dance, no flowers or boutonniere, and I had to promise to dance at least one dance with another guy. I was thrilled that they were being so flexible so I enthusiastically consented to the terms of the contract.

I remember going shopping for my dress the day of the dance. My parents decided to let me go only days before the event itself, so I hadn’t had time to go shopping at all. My mom and I went to store after store looking for anything somewhat modest. No luck. My mom didn’t want me wearing anything too formal and sparkly because she didn’t think the 9^th grade dance was supposed to be like a prom. I just wanted to find something that I thought David might like. I found a lacy sleeveless dress that hugged the non-existent curves of my boyish eighth-grade fame and I thought it was so pretty and grownup. But the problem of covering my shoulders remained. My mom found a nice black cardigan, but she made me swear on pain of death that I would wear it the whole time. I reluctantly agreed.

My parents dropped me off at the school behind the gymnasium and I saw David waiting there for me. He had a corsage in his hand. This was the very first time a boy had ever given me flowers. I can’t recall, but I am sure there was some gawky posing for pictures at some point before we were finally allowed to go into the gym.

We walked around for a bit, watching the already dancing couples, looking at the food, searching for people we knew. I don’t think I ate anything—my stomach was in knots and I was terrified that I’d spill on myself or get something stuck in my teeth. At length David asked me to dance.

But then there was the problem of hand placement. I had been instructed by my careful mother to only dance in the “waltz position” with hands on waist and bicep and clasped at shoulder height. For only the loose girls danced with their arms about a boys’ neck.  But it seemed that everyone on the dance floor was dancing with her arms around her date’s neck and his hands precariously close to her hips. I didn’t want David to think that I didn’t like him. I didn’t want to be a loose woman. I took a deep breath and laced my fingers behind his neck.

So I may have broken some of the rules: I danced a little too close just to smell his cologne. I danced with him all night because I didn’t want to leave his side. I wore his corsage so everyone there would know that I was his date. But I didn’t take off my jacket…so I think my mom will understand.