How Can I Keep Dancing? [ON HOLD]

How Can I Keep Dancing? ~~~ Chapter 8 ~~~

“Neither do any of us. You’ve just gotta go with it. We’ve gotta get a little closer, though.” And true to his word, he pulls me closer to him, our chests pressed together and his hand tight around my back. “Like this.”

“Ready?” he asks, giving me a cheeky grin.

I nod nervously, holding up my dress slightly so as to move a little more freely, trying very hard not to think about how much of him I could feel against me.

“The trick is to not think,” he laughs and with that, he merges us into the crowd of dancers.

I let out a few squeals as I try and not think like Elijah tells me to, and surprisingly, I realize that it was much easier that I thought. I move along with Elijah, laughing loudly at the idiocy of our movements. I’d never had so much fun before. Dancing was always a part of my life, moving along to music, feeling the exhilaration of hitting every beat with precision. But now, it was just as fun but even more ridiculous. I see a couple more people dancing on stage, laughing loudly and dancing joyously, and more people off to the sidelines clapping along with us and drinking their pints.

Suddenly, as we near the stage, Elijah pulls me up to the platform with the other two dancers, people all around looking up at us as they dance.

“Macka…no, what are you…?” I laugh loudly, but feeling both nervous and thrilled at the prospect of being on stage.

Elijah gives me his familiar cheeky grin and begins to sweep me around again in the Irish quickstep, the musicians now cheering as they egg us on, many of the people dancing around us stop what they’re doing to watch us move, clapping and cheering. It’s not long before Elijah’s swinging me around impressively, earning more cheers from the onlookers.

When the song finishes, Elijah leads me off the stage, and back towards the table we’d been sitting at.

“Hey, who was that girl you were dancing with before?” I ask him curiously, my voice almost out of breath from the dancing. I was trying not to let the jealousy seep through, but I could tell he could hear.

“Oh, her. She’s my cousin, Betty. Lives on the other side of town. The guy she went off dancing with is her brother, Lesley.”

I look surprised. I hadn’t thought about him having relatives living so close. All my relatives live further out in bigger cities where there are more job opportunities, like New York and some as far as London.

Feeling hot and a little flustered, I take a big skull of my pint of beer, downing it in a few seconds and then look up to see Elijah giving me another surprised look.

“What?” I ask him skeptically. “You think a first class girl can’t drink?”

He laughs. “I’d thought you’d be protesting for champagne or something.”

I laugh also, taking another drink, but at that moment, another guy bumps into me, spilling not only my drink but his also all over my dress.

“Hey!” Elijah protests angrily, pushing the guy, “Get the hell out of here,” he says, then turns to me. “You alright?”

I was having too much fun to worry at that point and so I nod to Elijah and turn to the guy.

“So,” I say, as he sways against the table with the rest of his friends. They look at me curiously. “You guys think you’re big tough men?”

Almost instinctively, the guys roll their shoulders as though to loosen their muscles.

“Well, let’s see you do this, then,” I say, and with that, I slip off my shoes and lift my skirt up slightly, giving them to Elijah to hold. He looks at me with a puzzled and confronted expression, but I ignore him. I position my feet into the familiar first position of ballet, knowing I was probably looking like an idiot. I concentrate hard and begin to rise. And rise, and rise. I keep on rising up on my feet until I am well onto my toes, but I keep on going. Feeing my toes protest with pain, I roll right onto the points of my toes allowing my weight to be held by those alone. I hear the gasps of the guys near me and I know that my point is made.