cheek to cheek

Last week we went to a small blues show at the local public library (please don't judge me for the overt nerdiness of that statement). It was an odd place for a concert. I'm a girl bound by rules, so it was hard for me to adjust to being noisy without fearing the librarian hush, finger to mouth, eyes scowling at me.

The crowd didn't seem to struggle with any of the same challenges. The demographics trended a bit older and funkier than me. We could have easily been mistaken for a convention of awful winter hats and ill-fitting jeans. But they all bopped and swayed to the music, unaware and without precept.

I noticed an awkward pre-teen girl on the other side of the room, her long legs stretching beyond her jeans, trying desperately to fit in her father's lap. Her head nestled against his shoulder while her gangly limbs failed to find a suitable landing. Two much smaller girls, maybe three years old danced at the back of the room with their dad, twirling, screeching, arms flailing. If the music paused, they stopped immediately in their tracks, confused and dismayed.

Suddenly I remember dancing with my dad, cheek-to-cheek in the living room to old blues and country western songs. We could cover any mistake in our steps with a spin to the other side of the room.

In the moment, it is so hard to notice how or when we evolve from these tiny girls, flitting around, to awkward, nervous things, to reserved appropriate adults and back to carefree, ugly hat-wearing fools.