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Dance Like Fred Astaire By T.D. Boisvert 1/30/2005 I'm riding in an elevator, going up, to the third floor of the building where we have church. We stop on the second and let someone off, then we arrive at my floor and I step off. The elevator continues going up, to the fourth, fifth, and even the sixth, carrying old men and young church-goers. I have made up my mind while standing in the elevator that before I turn left to go to the room where we have church, I'll go right and hit the men's room first. I take a step in that direction, and then I see, there in front of the men's room, blocking the way, one of those huge floor buffers, the kind I've seen the Mexicans pushing around at night when the lights are dim, waxing the floors to a perfect shine, blocking the entrance to the men's room. There's no normal way to get around it. I could climb over it, take my nice suitcoat off and climb over the buffer, maybe if no one is watching they'll never know that I was in there. Or I could just go to another floor. I'll just go later, I think. In front of the buffer, at the beginning of the little hallway, further blocking the path, are two long pieces of several-inch-wide masking tape, fashioned in the shape of a big X and stuck to the walls. In the middle, at the crux, the center of the X, is a hand-written sign on a standard sheet of white paper. The words: (unless you want to wade around in 6 inches of water) Truth be told, I do want to wade around in water! I want to sing and play and make a wild mess of myself! I burst through the tape and leap over the buffer, and when I'm behind it I push it out into the big entryway, leaving plenty of room for others to come in and join me. I walk in and see that it's true: there's a solid layer of water, not quite six inches, obviously an exaggeration on the part of he (or she) who had written that note, unless of course some effort had already been made to drain some of the water away. I put my books on the little rack next to the towel dispenser and remove my jacket. There is no coat rack. Is there a coat rack anywhere? I want to hang it up somewhere so that it doesn't get wet. I'll fling it over the top of one of the stalls. FLING! It slides back down and into my arms, where I catch it and this time I whip it back up there. WHIP! It stays still this time, and I finally look around the bathroom at this, my playground. I'm excited, I'm so excited, I was bored all morning and yesterday and now I'm going to dance like I've always wished to. I lean down and cuff my pantlegs up – the water doesn't quite reach them, it's almost to the top of my shoes. I make my cuffs look like I'm a sailor, all ready to clean up the deck after a nasty spill, just like a seaman doing his thing in the water, only not many Navy men dance around like I do. I sing the intro to the song, It's a happy song, a quick eight beats before the movement begins. I swing to my left, and then spiiiiiiiiiiiin, and I kick and I jump and touch my feet with my hands. And I run across the room, kicking the water on purpose, with my fists clenched and my forearms up, pumping in sync with my kicking. And I sing, TONIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT, you will be MIIIIIIIIIIIIINE. And then I get to the best part, the slow part, the romantic part. I extend my left hand out and I put my right hand behind her waist, and we dance a timid 16 beats, while I look into her eyes and dream of the day when she'll finally be mine. And then I spin her and she she spins herself back, and then, here comes the hot part, the Latin part! I turn my head and kick my leg up, and I walk around in circles like I'm hunting down the bull, like I'm preparing to pique it in the back with my fiery darts, and then end it with one SWING! of my sword. And then the bull is dead. The song slows down. The music comes to a halt. And from the back of the men's room, in the back stall, I hear that one sweet note, the great clarinet, singing to me, and then the drums come in, and I'm wearing a tuxedo, and I take a few steps to my left and then some back to my right, and I do a graceful tap, I tap-tap-tickity-tick-a-tap, like Fred Astaire, in love with the world, in love with you, sweet beautiful woman, and I snap my fingers while I tickity-tick-a-tap, and then I run to the end of the room and I finish it all, the whole thing, the whole routine, I run a few steps and then fall to my knees and I sliiiiiiiiiiiide to the other end of the room, flipping up the water with my palms as I skim across the floor. And then the music is done. The song is over. I wash my hands and dry them, and then I grab my jacket and put it on, straighten my tie, fix my pants, and leave the men's room. Back to Tim's Short Stories |