Michael D. Davis

Alright, I have a confession. I am about to tell you something that no one in my life knows. I’ve kept it secret for years, but here it goes. I secretly dance. Yes, you heard that right.

Okay, let me be clear about this, there is only one type of dancing I understand. Line dancing, tap dancing, backup dancing, I don’t like it, and It doesn’t make sense to me. All of those types of dances, choreography, and dance shows, I think, take away from the one thing that makes dancing great, the freedom.

In my opinion, you should dance when the music hits you. You should dance when you feel the rhythm in your bones and the rock and roll in your feet. Dancing should be spontaneous unabashed freedom of movement.

With that being said, I have never danced in public. If I’m in a store or somewhere, and a song comes on that makes me want to move, I tap my foot or maybe shake my head a little, but no more. My insecurities and anxieties keep me from doing anything more than the slightest of movements. No, I push it all down in a little jar and put the lid on tight, for I know a time will come.

That time is midnight or later. The sun is down, everyone in the house is asleep. I have my headphones on, the music I’m listening to could be anything from big band to heavy metal to 80’s pop, it doesn’t matter, and I’ll get a feeling. A twitch. I get up, the tune is blaring in my skull, and I dance.

If anyone was to see this event, they may have mixed feelings of horror and amusement, but in that moment, I have no care. I drop it like it’s hot and pick it up like it’s lukewarm. I move, I groove, I flap, I fizzle. I throw my hair back and forth like a headbanger, and I point my index fingers like I’m a dad in an old sitcom showing he’s still got it. My body shakes, my fat jiggles, and I feel the music pounding in my chest.

It’s easier for me to dance in the dark when no one is watching, rather than at any other time of the day. I don’t know why. I have a few theories, but that’s it.

This event isn’t nightly, but it has gone on for years. To paint a picture, that you’ll hate me for, several years ago, around two am I was dancing in the kitchen in my underwear. The music was moving through me, I was rockin’ out with some move that involved my head, my arms, and the entirety of my torso.

I don’t know what you’d call it, other than maybe the fat man flail. Anyways, I was strutting my stuff like an old-time tom cat, when my Ma walks in on her way to the bathroom. I immediately stop and attempt to look nonchalant. She didn’t say anything, but the neighbors could hear her eyes roll.