“Teacher Marianne has the same sort of rare power and grace as my grandmother-no one shouts or shoves in a room either of them inhabits.” Both anchor my childhood in a rare, peaceful way. Both types of songs, in the hills and in dance class, provide comfort. She points out plants, telling me what they do, how they grow, how they’re helpers, naming them and singing her songs and doing more naming. My grandmother mostly hums melodies but sometimes breaks into what I recognize as words, but not words in English. I think of the music Marianne plays in the same way I think of the songs my grandmother sings as we walk the hills around her farm-songs without words. Teacher Marianne has the same sort of rare power and grace as my grandmother-no one shouts or shoves in a room either of them inhabits.
It holds worn linoleum floors and teacher Marianne, who points her own toes with precision, who delivers her directions to us in a steady, strong voice.
The wide, almost square room holds big windows that frame the door. The building housing the dance studio sits two stories tall with the studio on the second floor, tucked around back. To be clear, there’s no trauma story here, in this moment-my father’s guns this day remain tucked away at home, way up on the high shelf. To be clear, at four years old, I know already my father is the sort of drinker who brings home either a jovial self or a monster. To be clear, my father is at this bar most afternoons or early evenings whether it’s dance class day or not. My mother is working, so my father is assigned the task of fetching and driving me home. My family lives a few miles down Highway 71, still in Brayton. Exira, Iowa, is a no-stoplight town, holding fewer than a thousand people but more than one bar. The dance class building abuts the bar where my father has a favorite stool, where my father waits in the late afternoon for class to end. I forget often to tuck in what teacher Marianne calls my derrière. I have long brown hair that is straight at the top and wavy at the bottom. Our class includes six girls and one boy, and together we learn to point our toes, to round and elongate our arms, to tuck in our butts when we plié. The fall after I turn four years old, I wear my first leotard and pale pink shoes to dance class and then, after, to the bar to pick up my father.
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