When I was in the 6th grade my best friend's name was Melanie. She was crazy. Bold. A bit on the wild side. Teased blond hair and a definite way with the boys. But she had at least one claim to fame (that I can blog about..ahem...) that set her apart.
Melanie could like dance like nobody's business.
Sometimes my grandfather would take us down in the country to a Friday night High School dance. Musty gym floor. Dimmed lights. The gym doors wide open and an older crowd. We were barely 13. "Older" was sixteen and forbidden, at least while Papa was around. They had a decent band we loved called "Rascal And The ??? (I forgot that part) but anyway, they always played Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Bad Moon Rising" and a lot of Beatles music. We were too young to "date" at the time but he knew we loved to dance. I had a crush on the drummer (Papa didn't know that part) and even though I knew he'd keep a close watch on both of us -Melanie hated that part - I could usually talk him into taking us to the dance.
In those days girls danced with girls on the dance floor just to have fun and nobody thought anything of it. One summer Friday night the school held a competition. We were crazy enough to enter. Before I knew it, there I was spinning around in my bare feet in the middle of the gym floor with a crowd of people cheering for"the little girls" forgetting that I'd totally just lost my coolness with drummer boy. We didn't care. We just loved to dance. Anywhere. Anytime. It never occurred to us that we would win but that's exactly what happened. Keep in mind, this was not Dancing With The Stars!
But we didn't have enough sense yet to be self-conscious about anything.
I got lost in the music and forgot all about what's-his-name.
I kind of miss that feeling.
Some of my best memories are of the two of us barefoot in her living room dancing to the Beatles with the stereo blasting.
I can still feel the carpet between my toes and peeking out the window to see if her parents were pulling in the driveway. Melanie's older brother - our "babysitter" - liked to sneak his dates in the window while said parents were away. We were his "lookout" and never told in exchange for him leaving us alone with her father's prized albums and uninterrupted time on the phone with our friends.
We always popped a huge bowl of popcorn (sprinkled with garlic and melted butter), consumed a few bottles of Coke and talked about boys boys and more boys.
Those were the days.
Those were the days.
I think I'll pop some kernels now and take my shoes off.
Do you mind?
This is my favorite Beatles song from back in the day.