A Lesson In Tap

A Lesson in Tap

Click, clack! Click, clack! Is the sound I first hear as I open that big front door of the familiar dance studio I’ve been attending for the past three years. That is the most comforting sound to me during the school year and I hear it every week for ten months. If you must know, that is the sound of tap shoes, and I love it like a kid loves his first pet. I hear the tap shoes of other dancers coming down the stairs from their previous dance class to the next and I’m in that next dance class with them. This year is something different though: I’m in the advanced class. So I take those first few steps into the studio with a big smile on my face.

As I’m on my way to the coatroom to put on my tap shoes, I first walk past the sitting area on my right. Through the doorway I see my dance teacher, JoAnne, teaching a younger tap class their pickups. Pickups are done backwards. It’s when your feet are together, you jump up and hit the tips of your shoe on the ground, and then come back down. When you come back down, that makes another sound, and in this way a pickup has two sounds. I hear one girl do the pickup the right way with a fast click-clack, and another do it the wrong way with a fast shuffle sound because their feet aren’t hitting the ground. I know that with practice they’ll eventually get it.

When I walk into the next room over, I sit down on the hard bench and hang up my purse on the hook above my head. There’s a not-so-pleasant smell in that room: dirty socks that need to be cleaned. That’s the combined smell of everyone’s shoes and the stench of girls’ body odor. It resembles the smell of a gym locker room. The room itself isn’t very big. At least it doesn’t seem that big with two benches and everyone’s belongings cluttered about like some explosion occurred. There are shoes, coats, purses, and dance bags with names embroidered on them that fill the room. I take time to slip off my tennis shoes and jeans to reveal my shorts and dance tights, and I put on my tan colored tap shoes. As I slide my feet into them and buckle them up, I feel like my feet have a snug home to live in now.

As the class before mine is ending, I hear more clacks of tap shoes coming down the stairs and the cheerful sound of laughing girls along with it. I stand up and walk into the room that I call my getaway. As I step in, my shoes make that little clicking sound too and I feel a tingle of excitement dash through me. I spot my dance teacher, JoAnne, at one end of the square dance room smiling and laughing with mothers and other dance teachers, and scattered around the classroom are girls talking to one another. When most of the girls, and one guy, are in the room, I see that it’s a full class of maybe twenty or more. There’s a lot of chatting of the mouth and clacking of the feet as everyone shifts around in their taps shoes. A few seconds later JoAnne has us all line up in a row and I’m squished between a couple of tall girls. She counts us off as “1-2-3.” I’m a two, so I’m put in the second row for warm ups. As she’s counting off the rest, I look up and see the rows of gold trophies, silver metals, and polished awards in the cases above the mirror. They are so neatly lined up and look proud to be there. I then hear the pump of the music and JoAnne is in front of the class to teach us warm ups.

When my first tap hit’s the floor, I feel like I’m taken away on some magical island. I’m in such bliss because I haven’t done this all summer. It’s a way to get out my frustrations of the week and just let go. I have nothing to worry about, and after class is over, I feel content with myself. While I tap along to the music, I hear a river of taps along with it. Combined with the blasting music it’s loud, but it doesn’t bother me - it comforts me. I listen to everyone’s firm taps and it’s literally metal slamming into the ground in a rhythmatic way. I’m looking at JoAnne’s feet and it seems like there’s no tapping sound because the class drains it out, but I know she’s tapping right along with us. I look at the huge, room-length mirror in front of me: I see twenty other reflections behind me and painted on their faces are looks of concentration and seriousness. I take a glance at everyone’s shoes and notice that some have the tan colored ones like mine, and some have black. Then I notice something strange: the girl next to me doesn’t have any shoes on at all. She’s barefoot and I immediately wonder why. I look at her face and she looks as serious and concentrated as the rest.

As we continue the warm-ups, we move our arms up and down and around and straight. I keep glancing in the mirror every once in awhile at other students and observe that they are poised like how a diver is poised before he jumps and they look very professional. They are wearing leotards of every color: red, green, blue, black, purple, and some even have multicolored designs. Some are wearing a simple tank top like me and I notice we are all wearing tan colored dance tights. The boy who is with us is wearing black pants and a white shirt. It looks like he’s the most focused person in there.

As the warm-ups go on, I can feel the sweat slowly hiking down my back and it tickles at the tip of my forehead. I take my right hand and wipe it away as I continue. When thirty minutes have gone by and the warm-ups are over, half of the dancers go out into the lobby and get a drink of water to refresh themselves or get something to eat from the vending machine to regenerate their already tired bodies. When I get my water, I unscrew the plastic cap and take a nice, long, thirst-quenching gulp. As the cool, clear liquid runs down my throat, I feel refreshed because I’m tired and out of breath from dancing. With thirty minutes left of class, I walk back in, eager to learn new things.

The first thing we do is a combination across the floor. JoAnne shows us slowly with no music at first, but when she turns the music on and everyone is going in pairs of three across the floor, I see that it’s extremely fast for me and I start to get nervous. I slowly step away to the last row of three, and silently watch the others. Their feet move so fast, and they learned so quickly - I’m scared I’ll look stupid not knowing what I’m doing. I study the others, look at their speed-of-light feet, and listen to the fast pace music all at once to go over it in my head. It is now my turn. My first try was horrible and I feel like all of the girls are watching me and judging me according to how I dance. I try it three more times but I don’t get it completely. I’m fine with what I did get done though because I know I tried my best. The next combination we do is a good deal slower and I get it in a few tries. It involves spinning and I feel a little dizzy after doing them. I catch my balance and look in the mirror at the other girls and try to follow along with them. When I get to the back of the line I look at the three dancers doing the combination and they all go in sync with one another. It’s all so perfect to me and I admire them.

At the end of class we do pickups. A few seem especially excited. Everyone gets in a line and we go one at a time. Some girls’ pickups are fast and sharp with a slap, while others’ are fast and steady. One girl slips on the area of the floor that’s spotted in sweat as she goes backwards doing them, so she moves to the other side of the room to finish. Some girls are new to this so they only do the one pickup with both feet instead of the double pickup. A double pick up is also done with two feet, but instead of making two sounds, it makes four. They too, like the little kids in the younger class, make that shuffle sound instead of a fast click-clack sound. The girls who are very skilled have their head held up high, their shoulders thrown back, and arms out straight like they’re on top of the world. When it is my turn, I get in the stance, put my arms out, keep my back straight, and start. When I do them, it feels good; good like I’ve just opened a fresh pack of cookies or just getting out of the shower. I feel like I’m refreshed but my feet feel strange because I haven’t done pickups in so long. It’s a perfect way to end class.

I’m hot with sweat and ready to go home by the end of class. I feel cheery and have not a care in the world. I go to the coatroom, take off my shoes, and put my jeans and tennis shoes back on while I listen to the girls’ chatter. My feet hurt, but that’s ok. I’m glad; it means I worked hard for an hour at what I love. When I step outside, a cool burst of air hits me in the face and it feels good. I walk over to my dad’s car, get in, turn on the engine, and arrive home ten minutes later. I am happy because my dance class is the place where I can let myself go, and I know I’ll be back next week.