Stripping My Way To Sanity

Dancing is like therapy. Instead of expressing my feelings while lying on a leather couch or sitting upright on a chair facing someone with a pleasant disposition, I pump my radio, shake my ass, and pretend I’m a stripper working a pole. I wiggle around, turn and twist and bounce. I loosen my hair and whip my long locks from side to side. I "Drop It like It's Hot" to maintain my sanity.

After Elijah’s sudden and shocking disappearance, I was in desperate need of dance therapy. I flipped through my CD case and slid the Christina Aguilera CD out of its pocket. I blew away the dust from the silvery backing and placed Stripped in position. The sound of drums, violins, and electric guitars from Christina Aguilera’s "Make Over" blared from my mini-speakers. My hips shimmied as the rhythm quickened. The violins came together in crescendo and I attempted to choreograph a routine. My long legs ran in place, like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. My feet slid across the carpeted floor in honor of Michael Jackson. My shoulders pumped and popped like that of cute little boys and girls in rap videos. I then picked up my hair brush and it magically transformed into a diamond-studded, surround-sound microphone. I began to sing with Christina like we were a perfect duet: So sick and tired of being so misused/You’re taking me down with all your mental abuse/And I said, I gotta get you outta my head.

"Make Over" was soon over but I was still left with negative emotions. There was a lot more therapy to be done so I picked up my cell and made plans to go "Shake My Bon Bon" at Shampoo.

I arrived at Shampoo nightclub in Philadelphia with my friend Dana and three other girls. I rushed in, trampling and scuffing the shiny wooden dance floor with my high heels, and positioned myself by one loud speaker. The girls followed my lead and we began to dance. One of my favorite house songs soon played: Down, down, down, down, down. I lifted myself onto a small platform and brought my ass down as the song commanded. While I danced above the rest, my eyes scanned the darkened space. In between flashes of blue and green strobe lights, I spotted a very sexy man – the bartender – and was suddenly thirsty. I stepped off the platform and walked over to the bar. I watched him as he filled a cup with ice, then vodka, then tonic.

“Hi. Can I have a rum and coke please?”

He looked over at me and exposed a beautiful set of straight, white teeth. He turned around while picking up a bottle of Bacardi and I faced his nice, grabbable ass. He poured my drink and his muscles flexed.

“You’re Latino, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m Venezuelan and Columbian. How did you know?” he replied.

“Cause I’ve perfected the skill of targeting my own kind,” I replied with a smile.

He laughed and handed me my rum and coke.

“The drinks on me, and I’m Alejandro by the way,” he said while giving me his hand.

I shook his hand and introduced myself before taking my first sip.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“I’m Dominican, from New York. But I’m here for school. I go to Rowan University in Glassboro.”

“I go to Rutgers in Camden,” he responded.

“Really? I work in Camden. You should take me out to lunch some time.”

The words spilled from my mouth. I was shocked by my boldness, and even more so, by my willingness to move on and put Elijah behind me. It seemed the therapy was working. Alejandro grabbed a white napkin from a stack, picked up a pen from the register, wrote his name and number down, and handed me the napkin.

“Call me. I would love to take you out to lunch,” he said.

I nodded and planted a soft kiss on his cheek before walking away. I went back to Dana and her friends, who were all spread across the platform. "Hollaback Girl" was blasting from the speakers. The floor vibrated as the crowd jumped with the rhythms. I jumped onto the platform and began to perform all my dance moves. One by one, every other girl cleared the platform. I commanded the audience. I took control, released my sorrow, and soothed my soul. I danced song after song, grinding my body onto the wall behind me as if it were my very own stripper pole.