Dance of Joy

Image of Rouge-coeur


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Music at full blast. Too bad about the neighbors.

A delicious shiver runs through my body. My feet, timid at first, start to tap out the rhythm. A little swaying of the hips, then head bobbing, my hands sliding over my curves. I’m getting into it, nothing can stop me now.

My pulse quickens, my movements become more exaggerated. With an imaginary mike in my hand, I know the words by heart. This is the chorus, the chance to sing even louder, and even more off-key. Gosh, it’s raining outside.

I swirl round in my little living-room. I am the new queen of pop.

The cat looks at me with an odd expression. A partner is just what I need. He struggles and escapes from my arms. Never mind, the broom is a much better dancer.

I can hear the crowd applauding me. It’s time to throw myself into the audience. The sofa is deliciously soft.

The mirror reflects back to me the image of a dishevelled young woman who is as red as a tomato. I am radiant!

Now an improvised guitar solo. Rock'n roll! This time, the cat has gone into hiding.

Swerving, sliding, jumping, turning, bumping into the coffee table. This is my wild choreography.

Through the percussion, I hear the sound of the key in the lock. I leap into the hall. Hardly has he opened the door than I am in his arms. He kisses me, a little surprised. Out of breath from my wild dance, I hand him the test.

It is positive. I am pregnant.

Translated by Wendy Cross


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Image of Bobby Gupta
Bobby Gupta · ago
Cool twist at the end.
Image of Ernesto