Tap Dance to Voltage

by | Jul 28, 2023 | And Now

Queer I’d never been struck by lightning. Mom and grandma were circulatory psychics who read blood coursing through one’s veins. Touch on those spidery blue wisps running up the inner arms transformed any future into a switchblade of . Matriarchy eyelids fluttered, mouths contorted, and clouds opened to demonic voices who sealed glowing swells of memory into one.
I was an only child, Mom named Moirai, Greek for the Fates. She was discouraged that I couldn’t read ESP cards bought at the dime store. Everyone called me Morrie, which meant I was Jewish, not Greek, for as long as I’d been standing on this earth in tap shoes. The portal to opening heavens which promised to ignite me with the highest voltage of electricity and present the gift I was destined for at birth: clacking heels of silver, gold, and copper. Prophecy. These were the most effective conductors of electricity with a single valence electron free to move and cause strong repelling reaction in other electrons.
Every book I read listed all the ways to harness a cataclysm down into my circulatory system: How to Electrify Your Atoms for Dummies, Who Said Lightning Wasn’t the Ultimate Attraction, She Answered the Phone and the Window Answered: A Memoir, among others.
Gainesville, Florida proved the locale where more people were struck by lightning in the US. And June: the most promising month for blast offs. Grandma paid for my flights. She lived in a rest home and presumed I was one of her many lovers from the past. We decided all was the within our grasp, since time hypnotized the foolhardy.
The Gainsville Geniality Hotel rippled with an outdoor/indoor pool and lots of tall trees near a golf course and also walking distance to the springs. The Salvation Army store was a block away and a smorgasbord of pots and pans. The gardener of the hotel lent me a wheelbarrow to transport my purchases. I rented a boat so I could slip into the waters when warnings were blaring horns to keep indoors. Crystal-clear water flowed from underground at 72 degrees year-round.
When thunder was cracking at about 10 (one thousand), I put on my tap shoes, my tinfoil hat and armor, wheelbarrowed the pots and pans out to the boat and loaded them in. I pushed off into the murky waters as I listened to thunder move into 8 (one thousand).
People think you die getting hit by lightning, but that’s barely a 10% probability. Yes, there are some debilitating effects, just like any venture worth its weight in metal, but pioneers charge on into explosive territory where others fear to drift.
As the cracking honed in 5 (one thousand) I waved pots and pans, tap danced counter-clockwise and chanted for shockwaves to lift me like a spectacle of fireworks.
I have been to Gainsville three years in a row. I almost drowned twice, got arrested in my tinfoil gear on a golf course and was kicked out of the last two motels for swinging a metallic anvil around in the swimming pool after midnight when the winds were roaring like devils. I haven’t been torched yet by that thunderbolt dagger in the sky.
It’s only a matter of time before my psychic senses revive.

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