January 26th, 2010 by The Barefoot Blogger: Laura Kleinbaum
Meryll was the shy twin, short and chubby enough that her mom watched her snack intake. She just loved trail-mix with a little too much fervor. She liked to play with magic cards, and read Time Magazine, and look for tiny elves in bushes and under stones in the back yard.
Lucy was the outgoing twin. She wore the same pigtails, but they hung so nicely, just a little nicer. She could eat all the trail mix she wanted, not that she even liked it that much, because she was always dancing. She took some time to play house with the neighborhood girls. Meryll had the time, but not the invitation and that was a shame. And why would she want to play with Lucy anyway, for Lucy was god awful mean. Meryll could not understand why the neighborhood girls wanted to play house with Lucy anyway, for she lacked imagination. Nothing happened when Lucy played house. Feed the baby, put it to bed, smoke a crayon cigarette, wake the baby, and so on and so on and so on.
One day Lucy had to go to dance class and mom had to go to the doctor. Meryll, she said, you’ll have to watch Lucy’s class. There’s no one to take care of you and no one to play with you. And Meryll nearly died of dread for fear of having to take a dance class herself. I’m not a mover or a shaker, she told her mother. And no one thinks you are, dear, her mother promptly replied. And then they went, off to Fancy Feet Dance School, Meryll fighting the urge to jump out of the moving station wagon all the way.
Fancy Feet Dance School was just as Meryll could have suspected, bright white walls and hot pink everywhere, dazzling gold trophies, shiny wood floors. Everyone up and greeted Lucy as she arrived. She seemed to be their golden child. What a change from home, Meryll thought and rolled her eyes. No one noticed. You’re to sit on this bench and watch, Lucy pointed and Meryll sat. Class started, and the girls began to dance, and Meryll pulled out a Time Magazine and baggie full of trail mix. You there, the teacher called out and Meryll looked up to observe the commotion. Yes you, on the bench, it’s not a watching class. Meryll’s chest tightened. I don’t dance, she said, surprised she’d found her voice so quick. Well ya do now, said the teacher. It’s a new routine and you’ll learn it with us. And she bent to fasten her tap shoe. But I really don’t dance, Meryll called back. Well ya will or you’ll leave, now get up here.
Well, Meryll had no choice and she knew she was doomed, but no alternative was available. She stood and brushed the peanuts from her lap. Not there! Come on over here and follow the steps with me, the teacher pointed out a spot and Meryll followed. The routine started and something happened. The music was so lively, the steps so uplifting. Meryll couldn’t help but dance. She couldn’t help but dance extremely well. Flap ball change, wings, a double time step! By the end of the hour, she couldn’t help being the best student in the class.
And that’s how it’s done ladies. The teacher held her hand out to Meryll. I’d like you to join my national team. Your smile’s adorable, your pigtails are just a little out of place, and you got some quality. You’re my golden child. Meryll shook teacher’s hand and promised to return next week, and she knew she really would. Lucy pouted , and Meryll knew she probably had to fight the urge to jump out of the moving station wagon all the way. Now she was only the silver child.
The Dance by All Black, $59
