Street Dancer

Broad Street was busy today. Everywhere you looked people were either busy buying, busy balking, or busy busing. It was crowded, which is nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, everything appeared pretty run of the mill…until it wasn’t.

It started with a soft, understated tap, tap, tap. It was a little unclear where the sound was coming from, but then it sounded again. Tap. Tap. Tap. And again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each time the tapping occurred, its volume strengthened and the pacing intensified.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then, almost from out of nowhere, the owner of the street fare melody made herself known. On a weathered street bench, she stood–a young lady in torn jeans, an oversized sweatshirt, and well-worn tap shoes. Tap. Tap. Tap. She looked as if she thought she was the only person on the street today. No cares. Free. Occasionally tapping her plated toes to a beat that seemed to be forming in her mind as she tapped.

Ratta tatta ratta tatta tat tat tat.

Ratta tatta ratta tatta tat tat tat.

The frequency of each new addition of taps increased in speed and ferocity. Soon, she had drawn a crowd. In the background of her performance, a mother and child, tucked in their autumn coats, had stopped gazing at the beautiful dolls in the toy store window displays and had started watching this beautiful creature get lost in her dance. And as this young Ginger Rogers jumped from her bench and began an enthusiastic pirouette, her child audience burst into applause.

The street performer gave no indication that she saw or heard any of this. She just continued to dance. Ratta tatta ratta tatta tat.

From her place beside the bench, she tapped toward the adjacent bus stop sign. Tap. Tap. Tap. Ratta tat. Swoosh. She drug her right foot in an arc behind her and then restarted her tap, tap, tap. Now at her destination, she grabbed the street sign and swung herself round by her arms. Rat tat tat. Tatta tat tat, she continued to tap. She danced back toward the buildings, tapping along each cobblestone that paved her path. So into her own rhythm, she didn’t even see the grease-stained mechanic exiting the parts store whose doorway she now danced in front.

Instead, her dance intensified more–almost to fever pitch. Those nearest the dancer could feel the warmth from her body as perspiration dripped from her forehead. Her face was now plastered with several stray strands of hair that had escaped her tousled bun. Her eyes glistened and her strong calves pumped furiously from exertion as she tapped her song.

Her Song. For this dance was her. Everyone on the street could feel that the energy emanating from the dance was the embodiment of her spirit. She performed for no one. She performed for everyone.

People began to clap in rhythm to her beat, including the resident street drummer who sometimes busked for coins. Together he and she reached the climax of her song together.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ratta tatta ratta tatta. Tap. Tap. Tap. Ratta tatta ratta tatta. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

And they both stopped.

The dancer bent over exhausted, struggling to catch her breath. Her hands rested on her knees and she took short breaths until she could manage longer ones. And when she was able to compose herself, she stood tall and looked around. It was as if she were just now aware that she had an audience. With an embarrassed smile, she performed a half bow to the amusement and pleasure of her onlookers. And just like that she waved goodbye and ran off down the street, her tap shoes creating a fun clickety-clack as she sprinted, nothing like the song from moments before. Those watching could see her duck hurriedly into an old building whose marquee read REHEARSALS TODAY!