Page Two, Part Two, Belly Dance Dropout
Yazmin gave us a vigorous workout the fourth week. She had us double-bumping now. It was also the point in her curriculum to add hand and arm movements to our repertoire. We lined up in front of the warped mirrors with palms close to the surface, spreading our fingers and rotating hands in various directions, always leading with the wrist. I focused on extending my fingers while pondering how important this could possibly be to the dance. If I ever managed to put all this together, I would expect my husband’s attention to be anyplace but on my hands.
However, when Yazmin added sweeping arm movements, it helped the total effect of what this finger-hand-wrist thing was about. Those expressive hands framed the picture. I never realized how complicated these dances were. Bend the knees, tuck the pelvis, point the index finger, lead arm movements with the wrist, isolate muscle groups (the diaphragm, sides, belly, arms, back, neck and whatever else was left over) all at the same time. My brain just isn’t wired that way.
I haven't developed an ear for the music yet. Yazmin’s music collection tended to all sound alike to me. So I returned to the bookstore to search for my own belly dance music. Each student needed to choreograph a 2-minute dance to perform during the final class. Fortunately, I found one song with a slower pace, rather than the usual fast-paced rhythm. I suppose it is intended to be seductive. Slow appeals to me for the simple fact that I don't believe I can remember what to do and the more time I have to think the better.
I double-bumped at home while vacuuming the carpet in the days that followed. I practiced undulating belly rolls as I brushed my teeth (not attractive, by the way). My hips moved in figure-8 patterns as my hands seductively folded clean underwear. I burned enough calories to lose three pounds. Motivated now, I measured my hips to make alterations to my skirt pattern, redrawing the cutting line for an older, voluptuous figure.
I sewed both layers of the skirt and attached them together. That left the band around the hips. I had to face the moment of truth; would my inexperience as a seamstress hamper my success with the alterations?
It was perfect! I had even allowed for an easy method to shorten the elastic inside the band, just in case I continued to tone up and lose weight. It doesn’t hurt to dream.
Attaching the band to the skirt was a bit more typical of my needlework skills. The top fabric stretched and slid across the satiny bottom material. The underside folded over and twisted along the seam. The tedious chore of picking the stitches carefully apart began. I tried not to be discouraged, but the reality was I’d be wearing that dowdy, secondhand broomstick skirt another week.
I visualized the final costume glimmering with golden coins jingling with every bump and roll. Fringe would sway and the skirt would swirl in a wash of spectacular eggplant. I reasoned that the more sequins, tassels and sparkle — the more it would cover the fact I didn't know what I was doing on the dance floor. The instructor was going to need sunglasses.
Sometimes life happens and plans get changed. The night of the fifth class, instead of learning how to use finger cymbals, I was at home packing my suitcase for an exciting last minute trip. It wasn’t a difficult choice to make; I actually viewed the reprieve as part of a special vacation. I was scheduled to return the day before the sixth class. However, my husband’s outpatient surgery appointment, 75-miles away from home, was unexpectedly moved up to the same day as class.
I decided attending the seventh week didn’t make much sense, because the last class would be when our routines would be performed. Missing two classes would leave me with very few things I could do to fill up two minutes of a solo dance.
So, I opted to drop out. My unfinished eggplant skirt is still draped over the dusty treadmill in my sewing room. This is the same treadmill that also serves as a place for my yoga equipment waiting to be utilized.
Someday the newspaper will announce the next belly dance class sessions and I will sign up again. This time, I’ll be a little ahead of the other students, at least for the first four weeks. I can see myself making it all the way through to the final performance. If I pass, I’ll actually get a certificate stating to the world that I am an official Beginner Belly Dancer. Hmm … I wonder what that makes me right now?
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