Geometric Dance

Of course I would say that of all the geometric dances, oh you know: square, line, and so on, I like the square the best.  "But how about contra?" you ask.  My freshman roommate asked me the same thing,  and I didn't know a thing about it, except to think that maybe it was some sort of choreographed fight, and since I was still in those early college days when I was eager for all sorts of life experiences I agreed to go.

So it was me, Olivia, Andrew Boston, David, (who went to the same all boys school in Chattanooga as Andrew and liked Olivia, even though she actually liked Andrew), some other boy, and then Max, who was trying to bring about the contra dancing revolution at Harvard and who was later well known for sitting in a tree in the Yard and making bird noises, and we got on a bus in the lower level of the Harvard Square T station bound for the Cambridge V.F.W.

As it turns out, contra dancing is one of those old time folk dances, the sort that you'd expect Hendrick Hudson and company to enjoy--if they ever had a chance to meet any women-- wherein the dancing partners meet, bow, take hands, promenade, and spin all at the bequest of the caller, who is also the band leader.  It's like square dancing, but without corners: the men stay in one line and the women stay in the other and then they dance up and down the line, handing off partners and grabbing hold of the next ones in somewhat of a controlled frenzy.  And this was quite a bit of fun for a time, and of course we were all excited to dance with Andrew Boston, though it didn't turn out to be that great, actually, because he is so big, you know, and at the point where you were supposed to put your right hip against your partner's right hip and then spin about the axis of your joined hips using your left feet to propel you in a circle, my hip was hitting him in the knee cap and his hip was digging into my arm pit and it was all very uncomfortable, as I'm sure you can imagine. 

Now, in addition to this adventure serving as my first taste of contra dancing, it was also my first real taste of Cambridge, and though I've mostly grown accustomed to the quirks of the vicinity, at the time I was very alarmed by the number of men in skirts.  Truly I had no idea how to process this encounter.  There I was, very shortly removed from the farm, and there they were, grown men with pigtail braids, dirty bare feet, and long flowing skirts.  Adding to my predicament, though they were very clearly men,  they were insisting on dancing in the women's line--which meant that though I had just barely gained adequate knowledge of my own gender's step, I was moved to the men's side to puzzle over the convention of leading.

Fortunately, the caller was quite articulate, a good number of the women who were women were confident in leading the leader, and before I knew it I was locking hips and twirling with all the ladies.  Dance, step, do this and that, toe in toe out, and spin around.  I grabbed the next old woman in line and while she gestured excitedly, shouting "My pin!  My pin!" I smiled, nodded, and spun and spun and spun.

Finally, the band leader called a break and she turned the button that was pinned to her sweater to my face.  "Don't Spin Me!" it read, "I have vertigo."

And after all that, things were never quite the same between Andrew Boston and me.  How could they be?  And what the heck was that old lady doing at a contra dance?  For months afterward, I received mass emailings from Max, encouraging me to attend the next contra dance event at MIT, but it was all a bit too much; perhaps even for him, because shortly after that he started spending a lot of time in that tree.