The Night I Danced With Grazed Knees - Torn and Tattered 10/10/2013
As a teenager I lived in the country. Being young and eager I wanted to join in the Saturday evening fun at the local dances. By now I was a working girl and had scraped together sufficient money to buy transport of a sort; a bicycle. I had an older sister with whom I could stay when in town after the dance and not have to bike back to my country home in the late hours. Yet on occasion my younger sister accompanied me under the dark summer sky as we pedalled and talked girl talk all the way to town to dance and thereafter back home.
This particular night I set off alone in a skirt I had recently and proudly sewn for myself. It was what we called a circular skirt, a full circle at that. I could twirl and it rose and danced with me in my movements; round and round. However, I never took into consideration that I did not have a spoke cover slipped over the upper half of the back wheel of the bike and which would protect any loose fabric from getting caught. At first I could grasp much of my skirt and hold it up as I steered the handlebar and clasped the brake grip when needed. But luck, for it was sheer luck up until that moment when it slipped from my grasp and got caught up in the spinning back wheel. Down I went. Grazed knees, torn and tattered skirt, I turned around to make my way home before dark set in and when there I changed my skirt. I would not have my hours of dancing taken from me by a silly fall. I was not to be stopped and badgered my long suffering parents to take me into town.
Part of me, even then, was standing outside of all this and felt bad for my Dad placed in this position: his hot headed teenager acting as if it would be the end of the world not to have this night of dancing even with grazed knees.
I now recall nothing of the dancing. What I do recall is the trauma of looking on my beloved circular skirt, torn and tattered.
Benita H. Kape © 11.10.2013