The Cypher

The gym was dim.

It was also loud.

People danced in several scattered groups of varying sizes. Two cyphers had formed. One large one in the center of the room, and a smaller one to the left. Anne joined the cypher in the center.

Three guys were doing push-ups in the center of the circle, to the beat of the music. Anne joined in cheering them on. She wasn’t about to tell them that wasn’t real dancing. That would feel elitist.

The cheers grew louder as the guys kept going. One guy dropped off, grinning and mumbling something Anne couldn’t hear. Someone near him laughed, so it must have been a joke. The other two guys kept pushing, falling slightly out of time with the music.

A couple of people had started counting, so Anne joined them.

The guys kept pushing, though they seemed to be struggling.

The song changed.

One of the guys gave up. Then he stood up, stretching his arms.

The last guy did two more push-ups, then stood. The second guy gave him a high five.

Anne watched the last guy for a moment. The sweat on his dress shirt made him look as if he’d just speedran passing the sacrament. She turned her attention to the cypher. Two girls were swing dancing in the middle. A redhead and a blonde. The redhead dipped the blonde. They twirled out of the center, giggling.

Anne stepped slightly into the cypher, looking from side to side to make sure she wasn’t taking anyone else’s moment. A guy on the other side nodded at her in encouragement, and she fully entered the circle.

She stepped to the music for a moment, waving her hand to the timing of the snare, then did a three point turn, shooting her arms down. Her orange skirt twirled up. If Anne hadn’t been wearing a skirt, she’d have done a leg extension, or a firebird, or a cartwheel into the splits. Something jazz to fit the pop music. Instead, she settled for hip hop.

Anne slid back, pushing her arms out, then turned her head sharply to the left. She raised her right arm and twirled it to her chest and then her back. Her left arm joined in the waacking as her right arm met her chest again and returned to her side. It struck her as ironic that she was using moves created in the LA gay clubs at a church run youth dance. Anne did another three point turn out of the circle.

She smiled. It had only felt a little awkward. She probably could have done better, but there was always next time.

A young Black guy with glasses entered the cypher. Anne hated the fact that she’d noticed he was Black. His smile was infectious. His feet moved quickly. Quicker than Anne had ever been able to move. Why were guys always so good at fast footwork?

People cheered. The song changed. He left the circle.

A couple guys started reeling in imaginary fishing rods, and their friends on the other side of the circle started jumping towards them, hands flapping. They made it to the other side.

One girl moon walked across the cypher, one hand holding an imaginary hat brim, the other on her hip.

Two guys leap-frogged over each other, one of them doing a sort of sloppy toe touch.

Then, the familiar chords to You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift started playing.

The cypher collapsed. Anne ended up near a girl with really pretty french braids. She also happened to be on the larger side. Anne shoved this thought away, hating the fact that she’d noticed that. She grabbed an imaginary mic and started serenading the braided beauty.

The braided beauty’s makeup was really well done. Her face sparkled in the dim light from her highlighter. It made Anne a little self conscious. Should she have put more effort into her appearance? It wasn’t like she felt like she needed makeup to be beautiful. She felt beautiful. But she couldn’t deny that other people might see her differently if she wore makeup more often, or did her hair more carefully.

Anne shoved those thoughts away, holding her hand out towards the braided beauty. She took her hand, and Anne twirled her.

The chorus started, and people swarmed the center, jumping up and down to the beat. They maintained reasonable distance from each other. Sadly, real mosh pits weren’t allowed at church dances. Something about injury prevention.

The song ended, and for a moment there was quiet.

A Polynesian man held a microphone, “Let’s have all the young men who are dancing come to the center of the floor. All of the beautiful ladies on the edges.”

The youth complied. Anne watched some of them slip out of the door, towards the hall with the bathrooms.

“Now, all of you young men are going to ask a lady to dance.”

He set down the mic, and a slow song came on. Some guys immediately asked girls to dance. They were probably the ones who had come with their girlfriends. Anne waited, hopeful. Then, a slower, but still quick group asked the girls. Probably the bold, and the ones who knew who they wanted to ask. Anne waited. A more hesitant group came last. Probably the relatively shy, but still brave enough not to hide in the hallway. Anne waited.

She waited until the song was over, chin high, swaying to the music. Anne wasn’t surprised, but it still stung. At least she wasn’t the only one left behind. There were always a few girls. As the quick music came back, she forced a smile, and strode for the center. The smile became real as the dancing continued.

Several songs later, Anne exited the gym. She drank from the taller water fountain, then moved to reenter the dance floor. A tall boy wearing a top hat walked past her.

She smiled at him, “Nice hat.”

He smiled back, “Thank you.”

So, she began to dance once more.

Anne waited through the rest of the slow dance songs. There would only be five songs left in the night. Fast songs. She smiled, grabbing her purse to text her mom to pick her up. She noticed the tophat boy and waved.

He waved back, then walked up to her.

“I still like your hat,” she said.

She’d already said that, but it couldn’t hurt.

He laughed, “Thanks. I like your bag.”

“Thank you.”

“So, have you danced with a lot of people tonight?”

Anne swallowed. It was a simple question. It shouldn’t have stung.

“No, um, I don’t really get asked to dance a lot.”

That sounded conceited. Stupid. Like she was fishing for sympathy.

The boy smiled, then offered her his arm, “Would you like to be?”