Tonight we dance. It is energetic and frantic and not at all beautiful. Tonight is not about the music but the rhythm inside of ourselves, the beat of frustration and anger. We cannot hear the drums but our hearts pound in unison as we throw ourselves across the ground. Our boots kick patterns in the dust and tonight, underneath the starry sky, we are protesting to the gods. As the song ends and the energy inside us wanes, we turn back to the truck and lift our groaning bodies inside. There we sit, sweat dripping off our foreheads, our breath short and ragged. I move to put the key in the ignition to drive home but she stops me,
“Don’t. Lets just stay a while.”
And so we sit and stare at the stars in silence as we ponder what went wrong. There is no denying that we can dance. The regional judges told us that we had the potential to make it big, that finding a talent like ours and a partner in each other is a one in a million chance. And yet to dance is to defy every rule, and with each step I take in time with her I put cracks in the delicate glass that is my family. I play football and I play it well, and so did my father and his father before that. Football gets scholarships to all the right colleges, not dance. Football is a sport for men, not dance. And now that it is senior year there is only time for one thing, and that is not a decision I get to make. My partner in a million has been left partner less and our dreams of the national championships have been crushed.