One
“O oh la la,” I say as Amala holds a silky turquoise mermaid skirt up to her waist. The girls in the dance troupe laugh.
“Exactly. We’ll wear them at the festival, with mirrored hip scarves over them and colored lace tops. You girls will look so elegant!” Amala smiles broadly as she speaks, and the girls in the room shimmer with happiness. She lifts an orange hip scarf from a pile at her feet and wraps it around the skirt. Fingernail-sized mirrors in the scarf sparkle in the lights.
“It’s awesome,” Angela says. She takes the skirt and scarf from Amala, holds them to her body and twirls. The panels flare out around her feet, and the rest of us clap.
“Let’s go through the choreography one more time, and then we’ll break for the day,” Amala says. “Try the skirt on for size sometime during the week and decide on a color, and I’ll put in the orders on Friday.”
We strike our starting pose: arms up, palms facing out, head down and away from the audience, body turned slightly to the left. I glance at Angela behind me and roll my shoulders back and down. She copies me, and her posture straightens. I nod and settle back into pose.
Amala moves the pile of scarves and the skirt to the side of the studio and takes her place in front of us. She presses the remote, and the drums start.
We hold the pose for eight beats, then turn slowly, snaking our arms around our bodies so we make a wave of motion on the stage. The music gathers speed as the violin and cello sing out a rhythm over the beat of the drums, and we slip into a traveling step layered with hip shimmies and chest lifts. With a roll of drums, we twirl. Oh, I can already imagine the burst of color a line of girls in mermaid skirts and mirrored scarves will make when we’re crossing the stage. The accordion picks up the melody, and we follow along with some classic belly-dance moves. I’m grinning, because I can see how the mirrored scarves are going to sparkle as we drop our right hips and kick, and the lace tops will show off our chest circles.
We all gather in pairs, and Angela and I dance into the center of the room. This is the part I love, when Angela and I dance next to each other. The music takes over as all the instruments fall into one melody, and it becomes one with my body. The scarf mirrors are going to dazzle the audience during this sequence of slow turns and undulations, and the skirts will swirl around us. The audience will go crazy. We’ll be the stars of the show. It’ll be my first step on the way to becoming a professional belly dancer.
There’s a pause of one count in the music, and I close my eyes to feel it, then raise my arms above my head and sink into a hip drop. The music builds from slow to fast, and we pick up a shimmy starting at our hips and working up to our shoulders so that our bodies quiver.
The sound of the violin fills the room, and our arms catch the mood and snake around our bodies again for a count of eight. Energy radiates from our fingertips as we swirl one last time, lift our arms and finish.
My fingers tingle, and I whirl around and pull Angela into a hug.
“Well done, girls. We’re getting there,” Amala says. She opens the studio door, and early spring air from the lobby wafts in. We all head to the edges of the studio for our water bottles, which Angela and I always leave by the door so we can be the first ones into the lobby after class. Everyone is laughing and smiling at each other. That was a great class.
“You looked fantastic, as always,” I say to Angela.
“I felt okay, but I still want to work on that sequence with the hips. I get the right half of the figure eight, but my left hip never wants to do it properly,” Angela says.
She’s wearing a blue tank top and deep-purple pants with a gathered fringe around her ankles. With her long dark hair and thick eyelashes, she looks like a belly dancer even without costume or makeup.
Angela and I have been friends since our
“O oh la la,” I say as Amala holds a silky turquoise mermaid skirt up to her waist. The girls in the dance troupe laugh.
“Exactly. We’ll wear them at the festival, with mirrored hip scarves over them and colored lace tops. You girls will look so elegant!” Amala smiles broadly as she speaks, and the girls in the room shimmer with happiness. She lifts an orange hip scarf from a pile at her feet and wraps it around the skirt. Fingernail-sized mirrors in the scarf sparkle in the lights.
“It’s awesome,” Angela says. She takes the skirt and scarf from Amala, holds them to her body and twirls. The panels flare out around her feet, and the rest of us clap.
“Let’s go through the choreography one more time, and then we’ll break for the day,” Amala says. “Try the skirt on for size sometime during the week and decide on a color, and I’ll put in the orders on Friday.”
We strike our starting pose: arms up, palms facing out, head down and away from the audience, body turned slightly to the left. I glance at Angela behind me and roll my shoulders back and down. She copies me, and her posture straightens. I nod and settle back into pose.
Amala moves the pile of scarves and the skirt to the side of the studio and takes her place in front of us. She presses the remote, and the drums start.
We hold the pose for eight beats, then turn slowly, snaking our arms around our bodies so we make a wave of motion on the stage. The music gathers speed as the violin and cello sing out a rhythm over the beat of the drums, and we slip into a traveling step layered with hip shimmies and chest lifts. With a roll of drums, we twirl. Oh, I can already imagine the burst of color a line of girls in mermaid skirts and mirrored scarves will make when we’re crossing the stage. The accordion picks up the melody, and we follow along with some classic belly-dance moves. I’m grinning, because I can see how the mirrored scarves are going to sparkle as we drop our right hips and kick, and the lace tops will show off our chest circles.
We all gather in pairs, and Angela and I dance into the center of the room. This is the part I love, when Angela and I dance next to each other. The music takes over as all the instruments fall into one melody, and it becomes one with my body. The scarf mirrors are going to dazzle the audience during this sequence of slow turns and undulations, and the skirts will swirl around us. The audience will go crazy. We’ll be the stars of the show. It’ll be my first step on the way to becoming a professional belly dancer.
There’s a pause of one count in the music, and I close my eyes to feel it, then raise my arms above my head and sink into a hip drop. The music builds from slow to fast, and we pick up a shimmy starting at our hips and working up to our shoulders so that our bodies quiver.
The sound of the violin fills the room, and our arms catch the mood and snake around our bodies again for a count of eight. Energy radiates from our fingertips as we swirl one last time, lift our arms and finish.
My fingers tingle, and I whirl around and pull Angela into a hug.
“Well done, girls. We’re getting there,” Amala says. She opens the studio door, and early spring air from the lobby wafts in. We all head to the edges of the studio for our water bottles, which Angela and I always leave by the door so we can be the first ones into the lobby after class. Everyone is laughing and smiling at each other. That was a great class.
“You looked fantastic, as always,” I say to Angela.
“I felt okay, but I still want to work on that sequence with the hips. I get the right half of the figure eight, but my left hip never wants to do it properly,” Angela says.
She’s wearing a blue tank top and deep-purple pants with a gathered fringe around her ankles. With her long dark hair and thick eyelashes, she looks like a belly dancer even without costume or makeup.
Angela and I have been friends since our
Similar Books
