Throwing Moves
Marion Clarke
Down at the youth club a single mirror ball sends flashes of silver shards around the almost empty dancefloor. I blink when I am blinded for a second and upon opening my eyes, find tiny stars dancing in front of me. I feel dizzy and the Bee Gees explain that this is Night Fever. I gasp and try to capture the moment, thinking that this experience, on this particular evening at the disco in my hometown will stay with me forever. I must therefore remember every detail.
fairy tale
a single drop of blood
on the snowdrop
Four girls are curled together in the centre of the roller-skate-scuffed floor. Through the soles of my feet I feel them making the floorboards bounce in time to the throb of a bass speaker at the side of the stage. They huddle, giggling, then shuffle apart as one girl gets braver and dares to dance her best disco moves, looking over her shoulder every now and then. As usual, the guys are slouched against the peeling walls, trying to look sullen and interesting. They do not dance with any of them…nor with any of us.
We leave, two hours later, with hairdos fallen and our forbidden lipstick long gone, its cherry-flavoured stains erased by Club Orange sipped from thick-rimmed bottles.
We swear to each other that we will never return to that particular ballroom of romance – but secretly we know we will.
sunset on the lough
a periwinkle chiffon
of twilight