Squares

I have not done any salsa dancing since I've been back in the US, and I've been a bit restless. The urge to dance, combined with my quest to explore the Twin Cities as a repat, made my friend Erinn's invitation to a square dance very appealing. This despite having a great and professed inclination to stay home. Jackie's birthday celebration the night before had taken a small toll. I was also a bit concerned because my square dancing skills were limited to what I'd learned in 8th grade PE. But Erinn didn't seem too bothered by her own inexperience with dancing in squares, so I decided I shouldn't be, either.



We arrived at the Bedlam Theater just as a new dance was about to begin, and we initially partnered up to form one side of a square. But our square-mates decided it would be better to disperse us around the figure so as to minimise the damage we could inflict. That was a wise decision. From the beginning, my square dance experience was filled with rather exhilarating confusion. The caller walked us very slowly through the applicable calls before each dance, explaining to us what "allemand left" or "dig for oysters" meant in terms of motion.


I thought I had the hang of it until the band started playing and the calls came at full speed. I suddenly felt very inadequately prepared to face the mysterious ways of the square. For one thing, I hadn't thought to enquire about the step to use. I began with a fairly normal stride but quickly noticed that everyone around me was doing something else. I shifted into a small variation on skipping, which seemed to work well. I never did find out if there was a universally accepted step. After that, I was able to remember what the calls meant and execute them properly. And if not, I managed to get out of the way before I caused irreparable harm to the figure.


The dizziness that soon followed added another layer of complexity to the procedure. The second square proved to be particularly nausea-inducing. One of the calls, which was repeated four times throughout the dance, dictated, "Ladies in the centre, back-to-back, gents go around the outside track. You elbow-swing the one you swung and swing the next one on the run." That's a lot of swinging. And swinging is a lot of spinning around with your partner in one spot. Perhaps it was the vertigo, but that dance seemed particularly exhilarating.

After we took a break for some beer, Erinn and I felt confident enough in our new found square dance abilities to be partners. We made it all the way through the dance without causing any sort of breakdown, though there were a few narrow escapes. By this point I was able to start focusing some attention on my fellow dancers. They represented a wide range of ages, styles and experience levels. Some looked the (stereotypical) part in cowboy boots and plaid shirts. Some wore skirts. Some weren't wearing any shoes. Some men had a great and wild profusion of facial hair. Some were bald. But nearly everyone was smiling. One person I'm not sure about; his mouth was buried in his beard.


The last square of the night got me very dizzy again. It used the same "Ladies in the centre" call that had threatened my balance earlier in the evening. But it also incorporated a more complex motion where one couple split a second, made an arch with their arms over the guy, went slightly over to the right and, walking backwards, made an arch over the lady. It was called Peekaboo something or other. So after being spun like crazy, you were actually required to recover yourself enough to make or go under arches without smacking anyone in the head. This square was, understandably, the most chaotic of the evening. And the most fun, in my opinion.


After the hectic square was complete, the square dance finished with a waltz. My partner initially said, "I'm not going to show you what to do" when it became obvious I didn't know. But he quickly conceded a bit under the looming threat of me stepping on his feet (or worse). He counted the steps for me and pointed out how the dancers were meant to progress around the room in a large circle. I managed to catch hold of it by the end of the song. My satisfaction in this was short-lived, because I then erroneously referred to the Minneapolis Eagles club as a VFW. He then explained the difference between that and a community centre, adding in a slightly embarrassed fashion that noting the distinction was "an old man thing."

I think the excessive spinning jarred something in me and helped to reawaken my hibernating adventurous side. It was the first time since coming home that I'd entered into a situation where I didn't know what I was doing and didn't know many/any of the people who were interacting with me. I'm glad I made the attempt. And I'm glad Erinn goaded me into it. I'd gone so far as to send her a lame backing-out email on the day of the dance. A few hours later she sent me a text enquiring as to whether I'd changed my mind about dancing in squares. In fact, I did. And I've no regrets. Where's the daring in sitting home?