Educational Experience

Chapter Five

The Educational Experience soundtrack is here:

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8aXxdSi9kurEdSlp-nexGySMXNDg1f8T

5.

Now, let me be honest about this dance business. I had sort of decided to check it out ‘way before they sent me over there. First, because I just wanted to see if the kids were really all into it like LeeAnn said. And second, because I have to admit, I am a dancin’ fool. I mean, I’ll dance to a ring tone, right? And I’m pretty fly for a white guy--my redneck relatives used to tease me that I danced “just like a nigger,” back when I was still having anything to do with their dumb asses. Which…sort of explains why I don’t have hardly anything to do with them anymore. Stupid fucks.

Anyway, it turned out LeeAnn was right too. They’d gone all out. The gym was decorated like it was Prom Night, except it was tinsel, ornaments, lights, wreathes and all those big, gaudy Mexican ornament things they make out of construction and crepe paper and whatnot. I mean, to be honest it looked like the Walgreens Christmas tchotchke aisle had exploded in there. And while the teachers all stood up in the bleachers glaring down at the kids like stormtroopers ready to swarm the dance floor at the slightest provocation, all these chubby, chirpy little moms were still setting out chips and cookies on these long tables they’d also covered with red and green crepe paper and tinsel and Christmas candy.

Kind of elementary school, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

And they were straight jammin’, no lie. It was wall to wall boogie down on the hardwood and the dj was definitely doing his thing—Old School jams mixed in, too, which is where I live. Born too late, me. I mean, I intellectually understand Arcade Fire and They Might Be Giants and all that, and I salute them just for being there actually, given the sorry state music’s in right now. But if the bass ain’t bumpin’, it’s just not going to hold my attention for long.

When I walked in, the walls were literally vibrating from that Timberlake Let the Groove Get In joint. He’s Old School from the New School, that guy. And big old crazy Lakesha came dancing up and said, “I know I got this dance!”

We put on a show for real—I didn’t forget about the teachers up in the bleachers, though. I made sure to keep my distance no matter how far she backed that thang up. Course, it was a wide load to be sure. And the fact that she wasn’t alone didn’t give me a lot of room to work with. All her girls and then all these other girls made their way over  and kept bumping and yanking each other out of the way—I was sure somebody was gonna lose some weave over me before the song ended.

But I know how to handle that. I just do a slow 360, so that I wind up dancing with all the girls closest to me, but no one girl in particular. It was a little hard to keep up with all of ‘em, because they kept coming at me in little BFF posses, but if you’re real smooth about it, everybody’s happy.

I kept an eye on the guys, too. Over that way men are pretty strict about their women in general, not just about how they act around other men. I started seeing that nonsense in middle school already. I mean, one day this high school guy showed up one day and grabbed his little 8th grader girlfriend by the neck for talking to some dude or something. And the way he just snatched her up and held her against the wall was totally psycho. Me and some other kids finally started throwing rocks ‘til he got off her and started chasing and cussing at us. But she wore his hand print for a necklace for about a week or two even so.

And that damned girl thought it was love, right? That’s not love. That’s how a lotta women get killed, mistaking slavery for dedication.