Page 28 of Knights Like These
Keri wasn’t bad. The date wasn’t wrong. She just wasn’t the one for me.
Chapter Nine
New Beginnings
Sydney
The twins have preschool on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, nine to one, which means three days a week I have four hours of silence and absolutely no idea what to do with it.
The first week I cleaned. I scrubbed the bathrooms, reorganized the pantry, and went through the fridge to throw out everything that had expired. The second week I went for long runs and explored the neighborhood, which is gorgeous in that way New York neighborhoods are when the people who live in them make more money than I’ll ever see. Brownstones with window boxes. Coffee shops where a latte costs eight dollars and comes with a lecture about the bean’s origin.
By the third week, I’m crawling out of my skin.
I’ve never been good at empty time. Lauren says I have the inability to sit still, the compulsive need to be useful. She’s probably right. The few times in my life when I haven’t had something to do with my hands or my body, I’ve made bad decisions. I followed a musician on tour once. I ate my feelings in carbs for a month once. I cut my own bangs, which Lauren still brings up at every available opportunity.
So when I pass the Greenwood Community Center on my morning run and notice a flyer in the window advertising open programming slots for their senior activities room, I stop.
I stand on the sidewalk in my running clothes, breathing hard, reading the flyer twice. They’re looking for instructors. Flexible schedule. Small stipend. “Bring your talent and your patience,” it says at the bottom, which is either charming or a warning depending on how you read it.
I walk inside before I can talk myself out of it.
The director is a woman named Pat who has reading glasses on a chain around her neck and a desk covered in so many papers I can’t see the surface. She looks up when I knock on her open office door and gives me the once-over—sweaty, ponytail half-collapsed, leggings, running shoes.
“Can I help you?”
“I saw the flyer about programming slots. I’m, uh—I’m a dance instructor. I have a BFA from UNC and seven years of teaching experience, and I was wondering if you had any interest in a dance class for seniors.”
Pat takes her glasses off and lets them hang on the chain. “What kind of dance?”
That is a very good question. Senior citizens and ballet don’t exactly mix. I’d need something fun. Easy. Gender-neutral. I think about dancing in the living room with Lily and Luke.
“Hip-hop,” I say before I can overthink it.
Pat blinks at me.
“I know how it sounds. But hip-hop is fun. It’s about rhythm, and attitude, it’s about moving your body to a beat and feeling good doing it. The steps can be modified for any mobility level, the music is fun, and honestly—” I realize I’m talking too fast and force myself to slow down. “Honestly, I think they’d love it.”
Pat glances at me. Then she puts her glasses on, shuffles through one of her paper mountains, and pulls out a schedule.
“Mondays and Wednesdays. Ten to eleven. The room is yours if you want it.” She slides the schedule across the desk. “Fair warning, though. These are not easygoing people. Dolores will challenge everything you say, Gerald will go right when you say left, and Maryann will try to make every move sexual.”
“I can handle that.”
“Everyone says that. Then they meet Dolores.”
The first class has twelve people.
Twelve seniors in various states of athletic wear, standing in a fluorescent-lit activity room with scuffed linoleum floors and a wall of mirrors that haven’t been cleaned since the Clinton administration. They look at me. I look at them. A woman in the front row—Dolores, I’m guessing, based on the way she’s standing with her arms crossed and her chin tilted like she’s daring me to impress her—adjusts her velour tracksuit and waits.
I set my speaker on the folding chair, connect my phone, and face the room.
“Morning, everyone. I’m Sydney. I’m going to teach you hip-hop.”
Silence.
“Any questions before we start?”
A man in the back row raises his hand. “What’s hip-hop?”
