Dance and Divorce

Choreography for the End of a Marriage

Before I was married, I danced. I worked hard to be a perfect dancer. I would take several dance classes per day when I could. It made me happy. But then he replaced dance. My world became him. We were married in June.

We had a wedding dance. We practiced it for weeks. All of it was carefully choreographed for the big finish, the final dip, where we would be facing the guests. But when he dipped me at the end, we were facing the wrong direction. If only I had known how portentous that would turn out to be.

Before I left my husband, I started dancing again. I was weak and unstable without his hand on my back to lead my every move. I stumbled. I tripped. I was a total spazz. The other dancers would move away from me so I didn’t knock into them as I tried to get my feet underneath me. I was Bambi on the ice pond. But in the big dance mirror in front of me, I saw the face of a girl I’d forgotten. She was clumsy, and a bit out of shape. But she had a glint of determination in her red face that bore a faint resemblance to someone I used to know.

When my marriage ended, I danced even more. It was what kept me off the bathroom floor; a place where I would sit and contemplate things I’d rather not discuss. Dance class was the only place I could be myself. I would sob as we stretched in child’s pose during the warmup. My tears dripped up to my forehead and puddled on the black wooden floor beneath me.

Get up, Jamie. Put your feet underneath you. Move.

I had to move, so I could remember that I was still alive. I was still breathing…panting, but breathing.

One day, I saw the girl in the big dance mirror change. She extended her arms, welcoming me back. Her sweaty hair stuck to her face. She had made a heap of mistakes but she had the audacity to raise her arms up. She was fierce. I recognized her. I smiled. For the first time in months, I smiled…at her. She smiled back. We danced together…spastic, playful, making all of our mistakes tangle and untangle through the air in a pattern that only made sense to the two of us. We didn’t need his hand on our back to point us in any direction. We spun around like a rogue compass. We forgave each other. And at that moment, we nailed the f*#k out of that choreography.

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