The Absurd and Amazing Adventures of Cafe Girl: Dancing At The Cicada Club

June 4, 2008

Dancing At The Cicada Club

I threw caution to the wind and went swing dancing at The Cicada Club late Sunday night.

Situated in the Art Deco Oviatt building in downtown Los Angeles, The Cicada Club harkens back to the golden era of Hollywood nightclubs. The dining room has dark wood columns and gold leaf ceilings. There are sweeping staircases and a mezzanine that overlooks the dance floor. Patrons dress in evening or vintage attire for a night of dinner and dancing to music from the 20s, 30s and 40s. True to the spirit, my buddies and I put on evening attire and went out for an elegant evening of swing dancing.

Dancing is all about the push-pull between men and women. In dancing, men must lead and women must follow. The job of the man in a dance is to make a woman look good. The job of a woman is to know her part but be able to go with whatever the lead is doing. If the man can not lead or the woman can not follow, the dance breaks down and both parties looks clumsy. If done right, the dance is smooth and elegant. The man looks strong, the woman beautiful.

I love to dance because I love the elegance of that push-pull. In dancing, I learn to consider the pleasure of partnership and following. In dancing, I get to be held and touched in a healthy way – something a single person doesn’t always have a chance to experience in day-to-day life. The feminine in me wells up when I dance. Every time I get taken onto the dance floor, I feel free to be a girl, to glow and shine, to be beautiful.

That’s why I jumped at the chance to go dancing. I’ve realized that recently I haven’t felt the pleasure of being a girl. I have not glowed. I have not shined. I have not felt beautiful. I have not been touched. My feminine soul has been wilting.

Walking into The Cicada Club I felt a thrill go down my spine. The floor was filled with couples, of every age, race and form, each in a beautiful back and forth that was the dance. Everyone looked like they were having fun. Everyone looked so confident and happy. As I watched these couples on the dance floor I could feel my own joy and excitement begin to bubble up. The past weeks of sorrow, dryness, confusion and weariness faded just that little bit more. My feet started tapping, my body started swaying. I was ready to get on the dance floor.

That was when I heard a still small voice say, “These are going to be the best years of your life.”

As my dance partner twirled me onto the dance floor, my spirit lifted. I felt feminine. I felt beautiful. I felt free.

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