I Was A Dance Choreographer (For A Day)

Tallahasse, Florida 1986

When I answered my apartment door, I immediately thought the girl in the doorway had come to see David, one of my three roommates. He was the one all the girls in and out of our church were crazy about, so it was nothing to see a new face at the apartment from time to time.

That being said, I’m sure you all know that it was a surprise when she told me she was there to see me.  I’ll call her Mona to keep with my tradition of changing names to protect the (not so) innocent. 

Mona was a member of one of the sororities at Florida State University, which was about a half-hour walk from Florida A&M, where I attended.  Our apartment complex sat about a 2-3 minute walk behind Doak Campbell Stadium, where the FSU Seminoles played.  So between neighboring tenants and their many visitors, it was nothing to see a couple dozen new faces in the same week.  

Mona told me that Greek Week was coming up and that her sorority line sisters had tasked her with finding a choreographer to design their routine for the competition.  After asking around, someone suggested that she “talk to Zoot” (yours truly), who lived in one of the apartments above her. 

She had been told that I was a member of the dance routine committee in the FAMU “Marching 100” band and (supposedly) a very good dancer. To this day, I still don’t know who she spoke to.

But it was ok.

I excitedly accepted, thinking about the chance to work intimately with 9 or 10 beautiful women.  If I was lucky, I might even get a chance to go out with 1 or 2 of them.  It being my sophomore year, I was eager to meet more women, especially from the neighboring university. 

I would later be motivated to exceed my absolute best for them because their rival sorority had brought on my band freshman brother to choreograph their routine.  As a result, it had become personal for me; my own, private competition.

When I first met the girls, I stood silently, smitten by the gorgeous ensemble, trying to decide what I would say after my “recruiter” had finished introducing me.  She went around the group, giving me each member’s name as I smiled and nodded with each “hello” and handshake. 

I decided to play it safe and tell everyone how honored I was, having been asked to work with them and that I was eager to begin.  I figured it best not to ask which ones of them were single and who was looking for love.  

Yes, I was capable of saying stupid things like that.

But it was ok.

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The songs they chose to perform to were Janet Jackson’s “When I Think Of You” and “You Be Illin’” by Run DMC.  We spent the duration of the meeting talking about their dancing backgrounds and skills and what they had in mind. One of them meekly confessed that she wasn’t a very good dancer, which I dismissed, confidently promising her and her sorors that by performance time, they’d all look like seasoned pros.

Being Tallahassee, nights were warmer than I had desired, so when I showed up for the first actual rehearsal, I dressed for the “season”.  The majority of them wore shorts or sweat apparel while I wore a white cutoff mesh t-shirt with orange polyester running/swim shorts.  The very same shorts I wore during that incident in my blog post “Good Pranks Gone Wrong (Ep.7): April Pool -aka- Spring Break Him In”.

The first song’s dance routine was easier to teach because it involved many step movements that split them into two sides that performed a bit of a “call and answer” with each other.  I included a lot of expressive arm movement to accentuate the interaction as they wove in and out of each other, eventually ending the edited song in the formation of a symbol, shaped like their logo.  I was particularly proud of this because, unbeknownst to them, I had never choreographed team movement on my own before, and definitely not with such intricacy. 

During this time, I spent a significant amount of time demonstrating each girl’s respective moves, as the group members all sat back and watched, smiling.

Although I hadn’t intended for them to learn both dances in their entirety, I wanted to go through each move so they could try them out and familiarize themselves.  Memorization would come later. This was just an overall runthrough to determine ease and adaptability. 

The second song was where the real challenge existed because it involved dancing with more of an urban feel.  Not only did I spend considerable time showing them how to do the moves, but certain parts had to be illustrated over and over, almost in slow motion, by request. 

I laughed with them as I continued to entertain the “one more time” requests from different angles to show them all parts of the body.  At first, I thought they were being lazy, but I eventually expelled that thought, knowing that in the end, they would still have to perform all of the moves on their own, on stage.

It also didn’t bother me because deep down, I was enjoying being on display in front of them. I knew that I was doing it more for instructional purposes than entertainment, but it  was nice to know that there were beautiful women watching me for something other than my old indecorous antics, like back in high school.

I did my best not to make it obvious that I was sexually attracted to about 6 or 7 of them, which I knew could have been dangerous for me, considering my attire.  It took extra effort to think about everything BUT sex as I often made direct contact with the girls, guiding their arms by the wrist from behind to help enhance the overall precision and elegance of many of the segments. 

Thankfully, the more I worked with them, the more I saw them as nonpaying customers and/or fellow team members, as opposed to a bevy of bootilicious beauties. 

Hey, I was 19. I offer no explanations or apologies. Hush.

It all paid off in the end because they won the contest, sadly without me cheering them on from the audience.  You see, that same weekend, I had to fly to Indianapolis to play with the marching band at the Circle City Classic, where we beat Central State University 41 to 3, while our band handed it to them at halftime.

And unfortunately I never got to see the video tape of the event, which I was told wasn’t a very good recording because the camera operator spent more time focusing on the curves of the girls than the formations and moves. 

He was probably 19 too.

I knew what the show would look like the moment I put it together in my head, before teaching it to them.  All that was missing was seeing them in their outfits, adding their own touch of elegance and energy to it. After all that hard work, it was disappointing to miss out on the final product.

But that was ok.

Because from what I heard from other attendees, my girls put on one helluva show. Well-deserving of the win. My ladies made me proud.

Upon my return, they gifted me with embraces, kisses, and a ceramic black panther with their sorority name painted on one side and “Zoot” (my nickname) on the other. I was impressed because they somehow knew that my favorite animal was the black panther.

It was a gift I cherished for years before it broke under mysterious circumstances. Oh well.

The other gift was the special relationship I developed with one of the girls, who I’ll call Renetta. She was a graduating senior and, despite her best efforts to avoid it, got closer to me than she intended. She made it clear that she did not want to invest in a relationship, seeing as how she was about to graduate, while I had more years and college adventures ahead of me.

Despite my desires, it made sense, so it was ok.

But nature took its course and she and I got closer than we possibly could have imagined or planned, spending many evenings together. And even though our time together was of the greatest quality, she told me she was terrified of falling for me, which it seemed we had already done with each other. I told her that I understood and would not try to persuade her or force the issue.

We spent time together, off and on, up until she graduated.  It was difficult, but no matter what happened, we stuck to our word.  But there were times when, despite the lack of expression, our feelings won the day.

Like when she caught the flu and called me to come over and cheer her up.  I had a friend drive me to the grocery store and drop me off at her apartment, where I made soup, massaged her throat and aching areas, then carried her to bed before dipping out and walking home as she slept.

Or the day she found out that I had been in a fight and rushed over to my place to tend to me, fighting back tears the entire time.  I can’t remember how she found out. I think two of her sorority sisters, who lived in our complex, discovered it and called her.

What I remember most is one of our final nights together in the spring, where she drove us out to the parking lot of a used tire store, long after closing. 

We parked facing the moonlight, sitting in silence for about 5 minutes before she pulled me down to her lap, where I lay, face up. 

Neither of us said a word for what seemed like an eternity as she softly caressed my face and neck with her fingers tips and the sides of her outer pinky and thumb. I was always at sucker for that.

The longer she stroked, the more she hummed.  It was a beautiful melody, albeit no real tune at all.  She continued as her face descended further, closer to mine before she stopped and kissed me, then a second time, then a third.  She pulled away, looked at me again, and returned to kissing, each tender kiss lasting much longer and frequently, upwards of 10 minutes at a time.

I knew we wouldn’t and couldn’t do anything beyond that, but that was fine.  I wanted her more than anything in the world, but the moment was perfect. I was content.  I was grateful.

She finally pulled back and smiled before telling me, “I’m so glad we met you.  And I’m so glad you took your time, teaching us those moves.”

“I HAD to,” I answered sadly, wishing she hadnt stopped.  “It seemed like some of you were NEVER gonna catch on!”

“Oh, we got it the first time around.  We just liked watching you in those orange shorts!  You never wondered why we had you doing those same moves over and over?”

“Nooooo,” I said in noticeable disbelief.  “I didn’t think you all were looking at me like that.”

“We ALL were looking at you like that.  I just can’t believe that you honestly thought we really needed you to go on and on like that.”

“I honestly did.  I know you all were watching intently, but I believed your were still trying to get things down pat. I wanted to do a good job.”

“Oh, you did a REAL good job.  I’m just wondering when you’re going to wear those shorts for me again.”

We laughed until the kissing resumed, which lasted until about an hour before sunrise, when she finally drove me home. 

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It hurt us both to say goodbye when she finally graduated and moved back home, but we promised to keep in touch, which we did.  Still, we knew that the magic we created was once in a lifetime. 

And we were ok with it.  

I had no regrets, neither did she.

You see, for a short while, I was a real-life, honest-to-goodness dance choreographer. 

But for a period much longer, I was in love.

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You know, for years, women have told me that they found my naivete amusing, charming in some cases. I think it caused me to miss out on several opportunities.

But like I said, sometimes, even though I might have been clueless…

…it was ok.

In fact, it was just fine.

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