Twirling Through Life
By: Kristi Dao
Born in Chicago, Kristi Dao was raised in Florida. She was the former Editor-in-Chief of The Current, and recently attended the YourWord writer’s residency at the Atlantic Center for the Arts. She is currently a student at the University of Central Florida, where she is continuing her education and her experimentation in multiple genres.
Published 1/6/16
Published 1/6/16
As a little girl, you watch classic Disney movies, like Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. You dream about Prince Charming, with his perfect hair and beautiful eyes and the way that he’ll be a little bit taller than you. There’s a fantasy as you dress up in a pretty dress you saw your momma wear and attempt to put on makeup in a way that makes you as pretty as a princess. Your daddy comes in just in time to watch you slip on a pair of heels that are too big for you, and he pulls out a camera and records you as you giggle and glide across the floor with your imaginary prince. You’re hoping that one day you’ll meet someone sweet enough to sweep you off your clumsy feet and carry you to a unicorn that you’ll both ride into the sunset.
In elementary school, your daddy is your prince as he escorts you to your first dance. It’s a father-daughter dance, and you’re nervous. You have never been to a dance before, and you’re not completely sure how. You don’t want to make a mistake, you don’t want to embarrass yourself, you don’t want to embarrass your daddy. He sees you hesitate, with your finger in your mouth, a habit that only returns when you are nervous. Daddy holds out an arm to you, saying how beautiful you are in your dress and asks if you’d like to dance. Your hand falls from your mouth as your hands clasp together in your lap and you look at the way your feet shuffle back and forth in your flats. Mommy had taken you to get flats because you hadn’t accomplished walking in heels yet. Mommy had taken a photo of you and Daddy before you had left the house together. You were too short in your flats to reach up and give him a hug, so you’re hugging his legs instead, his arm on your shoulder. You’re unable to look at him as you confess that you’re not sure how to dance, and your daddy laughs. Not at you, but because he’s your daddy, and he knows. He says it’s okay and holds out his hands to you. You slowly unclasp your hands from your lap and put them into his instead, trusting him, following his instructions to place your feet on top of his. Before you know it, you’re moving with your daddy, floating across the floor, in tune to the music and moving as gracefully as the other girls and their fathers.
Homecoming of freshman year is nearly as nerve wracking. The cute boy from chemistry class asks you--your first date! You’re excited, but nervous at the same time because he’s a little bit older. He comes by on Homecoming night earlier than planned, and you’re in the middle of finishing up your hair. Your dress isn’t even on yet, but your dad answers the door to let him in. As you hurry to finish up, you can hear your dad’s deep voice through the thin walls, saying, “So, you’re the tiny little runt who thinks that he’s good enough to take my daughter to Homecoming. What, exactly, do you think your intentions are? Whatever they are, you better return her in pristine condition, smile intact, by eleven o’clock.” When you walk into the living room, you’re date is calm and collected, but your dad is stunned. As your mom comes into the room with a camera, your dad says that you get more and more beautiful every day and that he wishes he could be there to dance with you like you used to, making you flush from embarrassment as you cast a look at your date, hoping he didn’t hear that. He flashes you a crooked smile, the same smile that he flashes the camera when your mom takes photos of you together. You get a few awkward photos with your parents as well, trying to keep them at arm’s length so that your date doesn’t think that you’re lame. Then you’re leaving for the dinner that he pays for with your friends and their dates, and then it’s here. The Homecoming dance. You dance in a way that you’ve never danced before. It’s not slow and steady like you’re used to with your dad. It’s faster, more… provocative, almost animal in nature. You and your date are holding hands, laughing, kissing, dancing. The heels you are wearing in public cause you to trip despite having practiced in them for hours, and your date catches you as you fall. It’s magical for you, and you hope for something more. Your date does too. But it’s not the same thing. You had hoped for him to catch you and carry you off into the sunset, while your date had hoped to catch you and see what you had on under the dress. The magic of the night vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
Senior year, and Prom season is in full swing. You have a boyfriend who’s not the guy that took you to homecoming, and he asks you in the most unexpected way. He had snuck into your room while you were out and when you came back, there was a giant stuffed bear and flowers with a sign that says, “Could you BEAR going to Prom with me?” It brought shock to your face, but you’re also so happy that it passed and you’re leaping into his arms, murmuring “yes” over and over again. Thinking about it just brings a smile to your lips. Lips that are painted with a rose petal pink on Prom night to go along with your extravagant gown. This time, your dad and your boyfriend are talking comfortably in the living room when you walk in. Both your dad and your boyfriend have mirrored faces of wide eyes and slack jaws the moment they see you. Your mom bustles into the room laughing and takes a photo of them both, before turning and saying how beautiful you look. You smile at her and say that you both should take a photo together first, and your father complies. You get photos with your parents before you get some with your boyfriend, because this one understands how much your parents mean to you. This time, you’re finally able to reach your dad’s shoulder and give him a hug and also a kiss on the cheek as the camera snaps away. When you get next to your boyfriend for photos, he says that you look as radiant as the sun, and you respond by saying that you love a man in a tux. That elicits a laugh from his beautiful mouth, and you kiss him as your parents take another photo. When you pull away, his face is faintly pink, maybe from your lipstick, or maybe it’s a natural flush, and he leans in to give you a peck on the cheek that brings the same pink to your face. Your parents take a photo of that too, before they send you out into the nice Suburban that your boyfriend had saved to rent for the night. It wasn’t the pumpkin carriage that everyone else would have, but for you it was more than enough. Dinner, then dancing. Not just with your boyfriend, but with your friends too. This was going to be one of your last memories together before graduation, after all. You want to make the most of it. But it all passes by so fast. It isn’t long before it’s time for the final dance, a slow dance, the one that’s promised specifically for your date. And your boyfriend appears at your side, seemingly out of nowhere, and his arm is around your waist, and your hands go to his shoulders. And you’re swaying together, slowly but happily. Despite the big ballgown, you don’t trip in your heels, but you know your heart has fallen. And you slowly whisper in his ear that you love him for the first time.
It’s years before you dance again. This time, it’s your wedding. It’s not the boyfriend from Prom, though. No. That relationship had ended with mutual agreement after two years, because despite loving each other endlessly, a long distance relationship was too much to handle. No, this boy that you’re marrying had loved you from afar before accidentally spilling hot coffee on you one day. You had laughed it off, said that it was okay, but he insisted that he had to make up for destroying your white sundress--and he did, years later, you think as you spin around in your ivory white wedding dress, looking at your reflection in the mirror as your dress hugs all the right places, and flares out where it should. Then your dad knocks on the door, and tears form in his eyes when he catches a glimpse of you. A small smile forms on your lips as you tentatively ask, “Do you like it, Daddy?” He has to take a moment to swallow before he answers, “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” And he offers out his arm, because he doesn’t have the will to say more. You take it, and all too fast, it’s over. You’re down the aisle, saying “I do,” and then you’re at your wedding reception, taking a photo with your husband and your parents, all together in a pretty photo. There’s food, there’s music, there’s laughter. Your family is there, his family is there, and all of your friends. Then the announcement comes on for the father-daughter dance, and your dad finds you easily. Your hands reach for the arm that he offers to you, and you’re swaying back and forth, and the look of pride on his face brings tears to your eyes. He says how beautiful you are, how proud of you he is, and how you will always be his little princess. You’re crying by the time your new husband asks if he can cut in, and your dad passes your hand to your husband’s. Your husband bows his head out of respect to your dad before taking it, thanking him, and you wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head on his shoulder as he holds you in his arms. You whisper about him being a stranger all day and make small talk as you glide across the floor, and he whispers how much he loves you as you stroke the white lily that’s on his boutineer. You know it, you’ve always known it, but knowing it never takes the impact of the the words away and before you know it, you’re full out crying. You’ve found your Prince Charming, and you love him unconditionally.
Not too many years later, and there’s a baby in your arms, and she’s crying. She’s crying, and you’re not sure what’s wrong because you’ve bathed her, changed her, fed her, but you’re not sure what’s wrong. You start to rock back and forth, singing a soothing song, taking small steps around the room. One step forward, one step back. Two steps to the left, and one to the right. Your mind wanders off for a little, thinking that this was how your father might have rocked you when you were a baby. The thought sends a pang through your heart, and your eyes sting a little. Your father would’ve loved to know his granddaughter, would’ve loved to see his eyes on her face. Before you know it, the baby’s cries slowly dwindle and her big eyes look at you. You continue to sing, returning the gaze, a small smile on your face. This is your first born. She was created from love, and you loved her unconditionally. It isn’t long before she is falling asleep from the gentle dance around the room in your arms, and as you’re putting her into her crib, your husband’s presence surprises you as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your shoulder and says, “My beautiful, loving family.”
You can see the sun setting from where you’re sitting on your back porch. It’s beautiful and warm. The diminishing sunlight manages to warm the wrinkles on your face as a breeze brushes against your closing eyelids. “You shouldn’t fall asleep back here. It’s not safe,” a familiar voice full of infatuation wakes you some time later. Your eyelids flutter open and land on the love of your life, the man who has stayed with you for better or for worse. “A lot of things aren’t safe. You’re not enjoying life to the fullest if you aren’t risking something,” you answer with a smile, getting up anyway. He rolls his eyes, and you laugh as you follow him inside. You’re surprised to see that the house has been decorated with white Christmas lights. The dinner table is set with lit candles and flowers, with flower petals dancing across the floor, the counter, the walkway. There is a romantic atmosphere in the air that makes you look at him, an eyebrow raised. “It’s our forty-year anniversary,” he says, answering your unspoken question. You stare, suppressing the urge to smack your forehead. “I’m sorry, love. I forgot. Time has been slipping away from me,” you say, trying to justify yourself, but knowing that there is no real way to justify forgetting such a special day. He smiles a forgiving smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead and saying, “It’s okay,” and escorting you over to the dining room. He puts a lily in your hair and turns to a nearby radio. A second later, he’s holding an arm out to you as soft classical music fills the room. He asks, “May I have this dance?” You can’t risk the urge to smile and say, “yes,” and take his arm. You don’t move the way you used to, but it somehow seems that you do. You’re moving slower, but this seems sweeter and better somehow, if not nostalgic. It’s bittersweet, and you revel in it, unaware, and yet at peace with the idea that this will be the last time music plays for two. This will be your happily ever after, your last dance, the final twirl.
In elementary school, your daddy is your prince as he escorts you to your first dance. It’s a father-daughter dance, and you’re nervous. You have never been to a dance before, and you’re not completely sure how. You don’t want to make a mistake, you don’t want to embarrass yourself, you don’t want to embarrass your daddy. He sees you hesitate, with your finger in your mouth, a habit that only returns when you are nervous. Daddy holds out an arm to you, saying how beautiful you are in your dress and asks if you’d like to dance. Your hand falls from your mouth as your hands clasp together in your lap and you look at the way your feet shuffle back and forth in your flats. Mommy had taken you to get flats because you hadn’t accomplished walking in heels yet. Mommy had taken a photo of you and Daddy before you had left the house together. You were too short in your flats to reach up and give him a hug, so you’re hugging his legs instead, his arm on your shoulder. You’re unable to look at him as you confess that you’re not sure how to dance, and your daddy laughs. Not at you, but because he’s your daddy, and he knows. He says it’s okay and holds out his hands to you. You slowly unclasp your hands from your lap and put them into his instead, trusting him, following his instructions to place your feet on top of his. Before you know it, you’re moving with your daddy, floating across the floor, in tune to the music and moving as gracefully as the other girls and their fathers.
Homecoming of freshman year is nearly as nerve wracking. The cute boy from chemistry class asks you--your first date! You’re excited, but nervous at the same time because he’s a little bit older. He comes by on Homecoming night earlier than planned, and you’re in the middle of finishing up your hair. Your dress isn’t even on yet, but your dad answers the door to let him in. As you hurry to finish up, you can hear your dad’s deep voice through the thin walls, saying, “So, you’re the tiny little runt who thinks that he’s good enough to take my daughter to Homecoming. What, exactly, do you think your intentions are? Whatever they are, you better return her in pristine condition, smile intact, by eleven o’clock.” When you walk into the living room, you’re date is calm and collected, but your dad is stunned. As your mom comes into the room with a camera, your dad says that you get more and more beautiful every day and that he wishes he could be there to dance with you like you used to, making you flush from embarrassment as you cast a look at your date, hoping he didn’t hear that. He flashes you a crooked smile, the same smile that he flashes the camera when your mom takes photos of you together. You get a few awkward photos with your parents as well, trying to keep them at arm’s length so that your date doesn’t think that you’re lame. Then you’re leaving for the dinner that he pays for with your friends and their dates, and then it’s here. The Homecoming dance. You dance in a way that you’ve never danced before. It’s not slow and steady like you’re used to with your dad. It’s faster, more… provocative, almost animal in nature. You and your date are holding hands, laughing, kissing, dancing. The heels you are wearing in public cause you to trip despite having practiced in them for hours, and your date catches you as you fall. It’s magical for you, and you hope for something more. Your date does too. But it’s not the same thing. You had hoped for him to catch you and carry you off into the sunset, while your date had hoped to catch you and see what you had on under the dress. The magic of the night vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
Senior year, and Prom season is in full swing. You have a boyfriend who’s not the guy that took you to homecoming, and he asks you in the most unexpected way. He had snuck into your room while you were out and when you came back, there was a giant stuffed bear and flowers with a sign that says, “Could you BEAR going to Prom with me?” It brought shock to your face, but you’re also so happy that it passed and you’re leaping into his arms, murmuring “yes” over and over again. Thinking about it just brings a smile to your lips. Lips that are painted with a rose petal pink on Prom night to go along with your extravagant gown. This time, your dad and your boyfriend are talking comfortably in the living room when you walk in. Both your dad and your boyfriend have mirrored faces of wide eyes and slack jaws the moment they see you. Your mom bustles into the room laughing and takes a photo of them both, before turning and saying how beautiful you look. You smile at her and say that you both should take a photo together first, and your father complies. You get photos with your parents before you get some with your boyfriend, because this one understands how much your parents mean to you. This time, you’re finally able to reach your dad’s shoulder and give him a hug and also a kiss on the cheek as the camera snaps away. When you get next to your boyfriend for photos, he says that you look as radiant as the sun, and you respond by saying that you love a man in a tux. That elicits a laugh from his beautiful mouth, and you kiss him as your parents take another photo. When you pull away, his face is faintly pink, maybe from your lipstick, or maybe it’s a natural flush, and he leans in to give you a peck on the cheek that brings the same pink to your face. Your parents take a photo of that too, before they send you out into the nice Suburban that your boyfriend had saved to rent for the night. It wasn’t the pumpkin carriage that everyone else would have, but for you it was more than enough. Dinner, then dancing. Not just with your boyfriend, but with your friends too. This was going to be one of your last memories together before graduation, after all. You want to make the most of it. But it all passes by so fast. It isn’t long before it’s time for the final dance, a slow dance, the one that’s promised specifically for your date. And your boyfriend appears at your side, seemingly out of nowhere, and his arm is around your waist, and your hands go to his shoulders. And you’re swaying together, slowly but happily. Despite the big ballgown, you don’t trip in your heels, but you know your heart has fallen. And you slowly whisper in his ear that you love him for the first time.
It’s years before you dance again. This time, it’s your wedding. It’s not the boyfriend from Prom, though. No. That relationship had ended with mutual agreement after two years, because despite loving each other endlessly, a long distance relationship was too much to handle. No, this boy that you’re marrying had loved you from afar before accidentally spilling hot coffee on you one day. You had laughed it off, said that it was okay, but he insisted that he had to make up for destroying your white sundress--and he did, years later, you think as you spin around in your ivory white wedding dress, looking at your reflection in the mirror as your dress hugs all the right places, and flares out where it should. Then your dad knocks on the door, and tears form in his eyes when he catches a glimpse of you. A small smile forms on your lips as you tentatively ask, “Do you like it, Daddy?” He has to take a moment to swallow before he answers, “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” And he offers out his arm, because he doesn’t have the will to say more. You take it, and all too fast, it’s over. You’re down the aisle, saying “I do,” and then you’re at your wedding reception, taking a photo with your husband and your parents, all together in a pretty photo. There’s food, there’s music, there’s laughter. Your family is there, his family is there, and all of your friends. Then the announcement comes on for the father-daughter dance, and your dad finds you easily. Your hands reach for the arm that he offers to you, and you’re swaying back and forth, and the look of pride on his face brings tears to your eyes. He says how beautiful you are, how proud of you he is, and how you will always be his little princess. You’re crying by the time your new husband asks if he can cut in, and your dad passes your hand to your husband’s. Your husband bows his head out of respect to your dad before taking it, thanking him, and you wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head on his shoulder as he holds you in his arms. You whisper about him being a stranger all day and make small talk as you glide across the floor, and he whispers how much he loves you as you stroke the white lily that’s on his boutineer. You know it, you’ve always known it, but knowing it never takes the impact of the the words away and before you know it, you’re full out crying. You’ve found your Prince Charming, and you love him unconditionally.
Not too many years later, and there’s a baby in your arms, and she’s crying. She’s crying, and you’re not sure what’s wrong because you’ve bathed her, changed her, fed her, but you’re not sure what’s wrong. You start to rock back and forth, singing a soothing song, taking small steps around the room. One step forward, one step back. Two steps to the left, and one to the right. Your mind wanders off for a little, thinking that this was how your father might have rocked you when you were a baby. The thought sends a pang through your heart, and your eyes sting a little. Your father would’ve loved to know his granddaughter, would’ve loved to see his eyes on her face. Before you know it, the baby’s cries slowly dwindle and her big eyes look at you. You continue to sing, returning the gaze, a small smile on your face. This is your first born. She was created from love, and you loved her unconditionally. It isn’t long before she is falling asleep from the gentle dance around the room in your arms, and as you’re putting her into her crib, your husband’s presence surprises you as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your shoulder and says, “My beautiful, loving family.”
You can see the sun setting from where you’re sitting on your back porch. It’s beautiful and warm. The diminishing sunlight manages to warm the wrinkles on your face as a breeze brushes against your closing eyelids. “You shouldn’t fall asleep back here. It’s not safe,” a familiar voice full of infatuation wakes you some time later. Your eyelids flutter open and land on the love of your life, the man who has stayed with you for better or for worse. “A lot of things aren’t safe. You’re not enjoying life to the fullest if you aren’t risking something,” you answer with a smile, getting up anyway. He rolls his eyes, and you laugh as you follow him inside. You’re surprised to see that the house has been decorated with white Christmas lights. The dinner table is set with lit candles and flowers, with flower petals dancing across the floor, the counter, the walkway. There is a romantic atmosphere in the air that makes you look at him, an eyebrow raised. “It’s our forty-year anniversary,” he says, answering your unspoken question. You stare, suppressing the urge to smack your forehead. “I’m sorry, love. I forgot. Time has been slipping away from me,” you say, trying to justify yourself, but knowing that there is no real way to justify forgetting such a special day. He smiles a forgiving smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead and saying, “It’s okay,” and escorting you over to the dining room. He puts a lily in your hair and turns to a nearby radio. A second later, he’s holding an arm out to you as soft classical music fills the room. He asks, “May I have this dance?” You can’t risk the urge to smile and say, “yes,” and take his arm. You don’t move the way you used to, but it somehow seems that you do. You’re moving slower, but this seems sweeter and better somehow, if not nostalgic. It’s bittersweet, and you revel in it, unaware, and yet at peace with the idea that this will be the last time music plays for two. This will be your happily ever after, your last dance, the final twirl.