Boogie Baby

"I swear I can dance longer than I can fuck."      

                                                          — Jane Leiby

        Before she knew it hands were on her hips, shoulders and arms, and someone with a headset was talking into Zuri's ear. Out of instinct she almost whirled around, ready to throw down and take lives with her powerful and quick hands, but Zuri with wide eyes was smiling and pointed over Ariana. She turned around and saw a blank space towards the back of the club, with special swiveling lights around it and small stairs leading to it, like a stage. It was elevated maybe fifteen feet off the ground, looked like a 12x12 circle. Ariana turned to looked at the men, some had headsets, bouncers, some were just excited patrons.

        She asked over the music to Zuri. “WHAT?!”

        She leaned in as Zuri explained, “It's an extreme hona to go up to the platform, they see you for a spirited danca. You must go!” She laughed hard and pattered her shoulders giving The Chosen One a cheek kiss, “GO BOOGIE BABY!”

       Ariana turned, cursed and shook her head yes to the men and they lead the way. The crowd parted for them as they cut a line of passage through the dancing, tittering sea. They all screamed and yelled with joy and satisfaction for The Chosen One: “EYEyeyaaAA!” they all yelled in rich, vibrant African tongues.

       She reached the platform steps and slowly looked up the lit circular stage, looked back to the crowd and the bouncers with grins as they all pointed for her to rise to her mountainous throne. The DJ switched up his beat and threw in a different song with a steady rise, just a small synthesizer line with light bass adding a weight that grew heavier and heavier.

        Rising. . . 

        After a beat of apprehension she placed a foot on the first step and soon after found her self on top her mountain. Still the beat's synth line rose with tension you couldn’t cut with a bandsaw.

        “EYEyeyaaAA!” From the club as Ariana ran her hands over her body and stepped lightly with her feet, preparing for the beat's drop.

        Still the beat rose. . . “OOOOOoooooooOOOO!” In spirited African vocals in anticipation of the beat. She pushed forward and explored her circle mountain with pep in her dancing step.

         Then the beat finally dropped, the bass and synth pounding and blasting; the speakers releasing a howling creature from the deepest part of hell's circles. Ariana cut it loose, twirled and threw herself back into her intoxicating groove. The blaring musical techno melody was taking control of her as she lost bodily functions, it was all over for her decision making and the beginning of totally letting go. Sweat was dripping, blood was pumping and endorphins were spiking. The DJ said something near incoherently and the crowd rose even louder, all crying and yelling as the musical beat pulsed forward.

        “EYEyeyaaAA!” She heard once more from the ecstatic club.

     Ariana was foot stomping, body twisting, hip turning, heel stepping and arm swinging. She was a grooving, living-out-loud, electric fucking live-wire on that platform; a wild fire blazing up the forest like something out of Bambi's worst nightmare, woodland critters had no chance. Turning her head this way and that, hair wafting like a brunette silk towel in high wind, there was no tomorrow for Ariana on her platform. There was no yesterday or this morning, there was no closing time for that club, there was no future contracts, no horrific childhood and parentless teachings, no enormous checks and pristine bank accounts. Right now, in the moment, Ariana Mae was letting the demons free and cleaning out  her  closet  chock  full  of  nightmares  by  doing  exactly what  young  gorgeous  women  with  terrific coordination do—dancing her fucking ass off.

        The local populous was still impressed with the power she possessed to dance the way she was, they all kept up with their cheers and praise, screeching and crying out, yelling and cat-calling. “EYEyeyaaAA!” The crowd, through their supporting and championing of her up there, started to throw up another form of praise, eventually it could be heard: “. . .F iya daNCA! . . .FIYA DANCA!”

        Fire Dancer paid no attention to the cries of the crowd, this was about her, not attention or fame. Even Zuri caught on and joined the club's calls, together as a collective mass they all watched the dancer spread her fire atop her mountain; and together they cried, “FIYA DANCA! FIYA DANCA!”

        Zuri watched as the layout of the lights, always switching and swerving around the club, now had her silhouetted on the platform; she was a black figure dancing very hard and dancing very well bathed in a deep rich blue glow. The blue lights blinked on and off, strobing her moments. Ariana was just a black shadow in the bluest light on top of her stage, her little platform. She was at home with herself and one with the music.

        Again the club called her name, “FIYA DANCA! FIYA DANCA!”

        Fire Dancer was earning that namesake by hopping, poppin n' lockin', head-bangin' and heel-toein'; bobbing and weaving, turning and gliding to the powerful pounding beat. She was dancing from the inside out—people could see her soul up there.

        Zuri inwardly smiled as she remembered what Ariana told her about not dancing; because now she watched the unyielding woman as a black dancing figure, blinking on and off in the blue light (who had evidently very much yielded). And the figure looked as if her pants were electrocuting her and she was being shot at by thirty sub-machine guns—loving every second of it.