"And you can dance...For inspiration...
Come on...
I'm waiting…"
I finally got up the courage to get up on one of the raised blocks above the dance floor and tear it up. I stood next to them with my friends, dancing a little and waiting for one to free up.
Then, just as “There's Always Something There To Remind Me” ended, some girls jumped down and my friend Dina and I jumped up. Woo hoo! We got ‘em!
My favorite Madonna song started thumping through the sound system, and there I was with my teased hair, my black lace tank top layered over white and pink tanks, fingerless lace gloves, my pink star earring dangling from my ear, and every awesome move I could pull out for my big debut up on the blocks. The strobe was pulsing and I was working it. I was in my 8th grade glory.
“Get into the groove, boy you’ve got to prove your love to meeeee…”
I couldn’t really even see the kids down below me. The lights were flashing in my eyes, and I just pretended I was in my room dancing, the way I would when I used to sing into my hairbrush to my Pat Benetar album. A lot of things made me nervous at that age, but I knew I could dance.
And then… what luck! Another favorite song started pulsing through the speakers… “I said you wanna be startin’ somethin', you got to be startin' somethin’…”
Suddenly, there was a sharp tug at my arm.
“Get the hell off there!” my brother barked. “All the guys are looking at you!”
My big brother smelled like beer. I jumped down off the block and stormed away. He would probably get into a fight later too, because he was so stupid when he was drunk.
********
When my brother and I were kids, my mother used to drive us to the roller rink every weekend. On Friday nights they had a DJ and dancing, and on Saturdays it was roller skating.
And my mother would always say to whomever would listen, "It's so great that they have someplace for the kids to go, to keep them off the street." She would proudly drive us and all of our friends there, and then she’d pick us all up at 11 o'clock and bring everyone home.
From 5th grade until 8th grade the roller rink was the place to be, every single weekend.
It was many, many years later that I enlightened my mother as to how crazy it was there. Kids would sneak out the back door to drink and smoke in the woods behind the building. Not to mention the kissing and whatever else was going on down the many trails that lead into the darkness of the trees.
And there were huge brawls that would happen both inside the club and outside in the parking lot between kids from our town and those from the neighboring town.
Of course I stayed out of trouble, but my brother never did.
Fights? Check.
Beer? Check.
Cigarettes? Well, he never became a smoker, but I know he tried them. Check.
I recall having my very first brush with peer-pressure behind the roller rink. Everyone was creeping out the back door. I usually never did, because I was completely entertained by the music, the dancing, and the sodas and fries from the snack bar.
Besides, I didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, and didn’t have a boyfriend. What was I going to do out there? Probably just get swarmed by mosquitoes. I’ve always been very sweet.
I found it a little intimidating too. I was never really popular. Who would be out there?
Usually, even though a bunch of kids would be outside, there would always be someone inside for me to hang out with. So I generally remained in the safety zone.
But on this particular night, it was absolutely dead on the dance floor. The red and orange booths around the snack bar were vacant. There weren’t even any girls crying in the corner over the boys that didn’t like them or pay attention to them or ask them out or whatever. None of the usual fun or drama of a teenage hot spot.
Everyone was outside.
My friend Dina kept begging me to go out there with her. I was convinced she only needed me with her just long enough to find Jay, the boy she had a crush on. Then I would be standing out there by myself like a loser. I was right.
Find Jay? Check.
Ditched by Dina? Check.
Standing there like a loser? Oh yeah, totally. Big ol’ check.
And to make matters worse, the only kids standing right there by the back door, within the radius of light whose edge I would not exceed, well, who else? Some popular girls from my grade. Girls who never spoke to me before. Girls who looked like they could kick my @ss.
But then the most unexpected thing happened.
“You wanna drink?” Sarah offered me a swig from the bottle of vodka she had most likely smuggled from her parents’ liquor cabinet. Sarah, who had never spoken to me before. Sarah, who could probably kick my @ss.
“No thanks.” I had hoped that was audible. I thought it was audible. I wasn’t really sure though.
“Wanna cigarette?” Woah. Vanessa had offered me a smoke. Vanessa could definitely kick my @ss. No question.
“No thanks. I don’t smoke.” I was pretty sure, with that seemingly innocuous declaration, that I had eternally cemented my loser status. Don’t drink, don’t smoke – what do you do? (to quote another classic 80’s tune).
“That’s cool,” Sarah said. “I’m trying to quit.” Geez, this chick was in 8th grade and she had already been smoking long enough to want to quit.
“Really? When did you start smoking?”
And so I was standing outside the back door of the roller rink, chatting casually with Sarah and Vanessa. They probably wouldn’t even speak to me at school on Monday. It would probably go right back to the well-rehearsed, school-girl dirty looks I was used to seeing from these two cooler-than-thou chicks. But for that moment, I was hanging with the cool kids. It was almost like I was a cool kid. Cool.
My brother showed up a few minutes later with a bloody lip from the latest parking-lot skirmish. “Mom’s here. We gotta go.”
Poor Mom. The things she didn't know... although she was probably better off.
