GET UP AND DANCE!
by
Cindy Rosmus
Like musical chairs, but in reverse. Each
time a good song comes on . . .
Get up and dance!
Like a party, but not really. You
can’t remember when you got here. Not sure where you are. All you know is,
you’ve got to . . .
Get up and dance!
Outside, the sky is charcoal-gray. Like
it’s going to storm but never does. Inside, it’s bright, and disco-y, but with
no sequined ball. A guy who looks familiar weaves in and out of the crowd of
maniacal dancers. People of all ages who you don’t know. All you know, is
they’ve got to . . .
Get up and dance!
“Judy in Disguise” plays the most
often. That ‘60s tune by John Fred and those geeky Playboys. Judy and those
stupid glasses. It came out when you were a kid. But, were you ever a kid? All
you remember is dancing to it.
Vaguely, you recall mean nun teachers. Drinking
a foul soda called Tab.
But now, all you know is this jumping up, and twisting around, like you’ve got
so much energy, as old as you are. But maybe you’re really still a kid.
The “Dancing Plague,” back in the
Middle Ages, was a real thing! People just couldn’t stop. Sometimes, they
collapsed. And sometimes, you try not to think, they . . . died.
“Born . . .” As the familiar-looking
guy walks past you, the next song starts. “Born . . . to be alive!” A classic
disco masterpiece.
As you jump up, you wonder if you’re dead.
He half-smiles.
How else could you keep this up? All
the pain you’re in, with no memory of how it started. A car accident? A leap
off a building? Your head feels like your neck is twisted at an impossible
angle.
Did you hang yourself?
“Judy,” again! In that disguise, with
those glasses. You haven’t sat down,
since you were born . . . “to be alive!”
A dance marathon, you recall, in the ‘70s,
back at Liberty State College. When
there was a sequined ball. Thirty-six hours, but . . . “I couldn’t last
thirty-six minutes,” you told the sponsors.
Till now.
In They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?,
people danced for their lives. Desperate
Gloria half-carried Sailor on her back during the derby. His heart gave out.
When will yours?
The song stops, suddenly. As you sink down, you
recall an ER bed, behind a
curtain. A gown that barely covered your ass. A guy with a familiar face pulling
a blankie over yours. No!, you screamed, but no one heard you. No!, you
screamed, louder, as he shoved you, head first, into that drawer.
And “Judy” starts again! Still in
disguise, but without glasses, this time.
‘Cos they were never Judy’s.
They’re yours.
It’s always been you in disguise.
Smiling, Familiar Face gets closer. Around you,
it’s even grayer and darker
than outside.
Though they’re all still dancing, the others
watch. Your chest swells, and
swells, till you can’t bear it anymore. You go down.
And, just like in the song . . .
He takes your glasses.
THE END
