Dance: For The Woman and Her Daughter from Costa Rica

I danced last night, in a local tavern with a tiny dance floor. But they were playing good rap/hip hop now and then. I didn't care what anyone thought, but other people, after enough drinks, did get onto the floor. Some guy was commenting about my "Shakira" moves and I was trying to hear the music and feel it. I noticed a woman at the bar, who stood out a little. Everyone there was wearing casual clothing, and not of the most expensive brand, but this woman had short highlighted hair, manicured nails, a rust-colored shearling vest with a grey fur collar, bronze silk turtleneck, trousers, and cute shoes. She had dinner and was drinking white wine. I noticed she was watching me dance with interest and a sometimes far-away expression. I came up to the bar for my own drink, which was water, and she approached me. She said she was watching me because I had reminded her of her daughter, who loves to dance, and shehad to give me a hug and embraced me warmly. This woman was about 50-60 years old, beautiful, and beautiful to the touch--all fur, shearling, and thick silk. The warm colors offset her brown-amber eyes, which seemed so sad. She said thank you (to me!) for being free to dance, and she told me to keep dancing, no matter what anyone thinks. I asked her where she was from and she said she's from Costa Rica. She and her daughter love dancing with a passion and just finished a trip to Cancun, Mexico. She told me she is sad for her daughter sometimes, because her daughter is going to a University in Canada, and the other women are so straight and more uptight and don't want to dance like her daughter does. She tells her daughter to dance anyway.

This woman told me she was going through a difficult time too, and didn't tell me her problems, and she wasn't at all intoxicated, but she found, in me, a kindred spirit. I will never forget her, or that night. It is the first time I've been out dancing since I became pregnant with my son. After he was born, I slept by his side every night. Last night, I danced, not with other men, but just on my own, in a group on the floor, even though I am sad...and I could feel the music. I know my spirit is strong and my son is strong. Most people may not understand me, but a few do, even in passing. To be read by a stranger is a curious thing. How did she know?

We always have a choice to be free.