Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tap. Tappity-tap. Tap.
Finding his rhythm, he lunged to his left and then jumped to his right, feeling the old pine floor beneath his shoes beckoning him to speed up his steps.
Tippity-tappity. Tippity-tappity. Stomp. Jump. Stamp.
Tippity-tappity. Tippity-tappity. Lunge. Jump. Step.
Ben could just barely hear the murmuring of voices over the clicking and clacking of his tap shoes.
"He's the next Fred Astaire."
"He makes it look so effortless; like he's floating on air."
"I half-expect him to tap-dance his way up the wall and across the ceiling."
Ben lost himself, hearing only the music that filled his head and the pounding of his patent leather shoes. Then suddenly he froze, sliding his heels together with a click. With his toe he traced a circle on the floor. Once, slowly. And then once again.
Shwoosh. Tap. Shwoosh. Tap.
He switched feet.
Shwoosh. Tap. Shwoosh. Tap.
Gearing up for his grand finale, Ben flung his hands out to each side and launched into a complicated syncopation.
Riffle. Riffle. Riffle. Riffle. Tappity. Tap. Tappity. Tap.
Paradiddle. Paradiddle. Tippity. Lunge. Stamp.
Paradiddle. Paradiddle. Shwoosh. Jump. Stomp.
A smattering of applause filled the hall. Ben opened his eyes.
"Well done, Ben," his mother beamed, clasping her car keys in her hand.
"Come on, Pipsqueak," his brother teased. "Or should I call you, Mr. Bojangles, Jr.?"
Ben smiled sheepishly and shuffled down the hall toward the front door and slipped his hand into his mother's. "I hope we learn a new step today."
Ruffling his curly hair, his mother smiled. "I just hope you haven't exhausted those legs of yours before we even leave the house."
"Nah, Mom. I could dance all day."
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| Image courtesy of Unsplash. |
“Are you really sure that a floor can’t also be a ceiling?”
― M.C. Escher
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Three-hundred-ish words inspired by the picture and quote above. And inspired by an old Psych episode we watched recently, highlighting the astonishing talents of Dule Hill. Tappity-tap.
