Sean Wellington -  Dancing in the Dark

 

 

I am driving out of the parking lot of the University of North Carolina Psych Center, where I have to spend one week on the fifth floor. “The fifth floor is where you go when you want to kill somebody or kill yourself,” that's what they told me. No, I did not want to kill anybody and I did not want to kill myself. I just did not want to keep living, not the way I had been living. This was a dangerous space, this space in between. 

 

When there was nowhere else to go, I've tried so many places. This is where I went, the University of North Carolina Psych Center. And I'm leaving, I'm driving out and I know that it hasn't helped. Nothing has changed. Maybe on paper, it's changed a little bit, but life isn't lived on paper. And you know, sure, there's meds and there's a doctor, but I'm going home and nothing has changed. I know if nothing changes, I'm going to end up back there. I know it and it hasn't helped. I know that I'm going to go home, and I'm going to be in this little space with the holes in the wall from my fist and my knees, and I am to be alone and I don't know what to do. I don't want to go back to the fifth floor, and I don't want to go back somewhere from which maybe there is no drive back from. 

 

So, I'm home. I am alone, and I'm scrolling on Facebook and I see a post for a salsa dance class. I've done some salsa when I lived here in New York. It sounds fun. I'm free. It's Monday night. It's nearby. I go. I talked to the teacher. He says, “Nah, this is a little different. It's not that kind of salsa. This is Cuban salsa. It's a Rueda.” I have no idea what he's talking about. He says, “Let's go.” 

 

He puts the music on. We form two circles. They're danced in groups. I'm in the small circle, the beginner's circle. I'm doing what you do. I'm trying to learn. It's really, really hard. But it's not the hardest part. The hardest part is that it seems like everybody here knows each other. It seems like they all belong. It feels like I have a big tattoo on my forehead, maybe my entire face, saying, “This guy, he's dangerous. Don't be his friend. He doesn't belong.” I feel like they know that I just got out of the psych center, and I don't know what to do. That's how I'm feeling. 

 

When I leave that first Monday night and I go home, and I don't want to go back. But I also know that no matter where I go, no matter what I do or who I'm doing it with, I'm going to feel this way. And it feels-- I'm feeling a little desperate, so I go back the next Monday. I do something I did not expect to do. When I see some of the students, I say, “Hey, remember last week we met? I'm Sean. Yeah. Well, two weeks ago, I got out of the UNC psych center. I just wanted you to know.” [audience laughter] And then, they say, “Okay, let's dance.” That's what we do. We dance. 

 

I'm in the small circle, and I'm learning and then I see it. I hadn't seen it last class. The other circle, the big circle, it's the advanced students. When they're dancing together to this music, it's mesmerizing. It's magical. And so, when I leave that Monday night, I'm feeling a little bit better. I'm going to come back. And that's what I do. In fact, I start coming early and staying late, because when I'm here for a couple of hours, I feel better, at least a little bit. There's something about that circle. I really want to dance in that circle. 

 

This goes on for a few months. I practice and practice. I haven't quit, which is really weird, because I quit most things. I go broke, I get sick, something else happens, but this feels more important, and so I stick it out. And a few months later, the teacher says, “I think you're ready for the big circle.” And I say, “I am not ready for the big circle. [audience laughter] Trust me, I am not.” And he says, “I think you are.” He says, “I don't think you see what I see. Come over, Sean. Try.” And I do. And it's hard. I am, by far, the worst dancer in the big circle. But there are these moments when I'm dancing with them, we're really moving to the music, and it's magical. It's absolutely magical. 

 

One day, one of the women who's in the circle says, “We're planning a trip. We're going to go to Cuba. Cuba is the birthplace of Cuban salsa.” [audience laughter] “Yeah.” “Do you want to come?” “No. No, I'm not good enough to come. I'm sorry, I'm not good enough to come.” “Sean, you're good enough to come. Well, I don't know if you want to come with me.” So, maybe she didn't see the tattoo, but I, dangerous. I was in a mental hospital. “Yeah, we want you to come.” 

 

I shouldn't go. I'm broke. But I get a credit card, and I'm on a plane with seven other people, and we land. We're in Havana. We've hired a dance company, and they're going to show us around. They say the first night, “There's no classes, put your stuff down, walk through old Havana and meet us at the Malecón,” this big, long stone boardwalk. And that's what we do, seven of us, walking through old Havana. And then, we see them, our dance crew, our company. They're all there, and they're all smiling and happy. There's so much joy, which usually, really bothers me. [audience laughter] But not today. They greet us with hugs and kisses and rum. Good rum. Cuban rum. 

 

We drink. And I'm thinking, you know, eight months ago, I was in a hospital and I was home alone. And now I'm here in Havana with friends. Sometimes I still have those moments when I don't want to be here, but so much has changed. And then, one of the teachers put some music on, real loud, and all of us from North Carolina and Cuba, we make this really, really big circle and we do what we do, we dance. Thank you.