Hat Dance

3. We Are the Champions (Possibly)

Mexican Folk Dancing is one of those things that are easy to do, but difficult master. I mean sure, any random inebriated frat guy could do some silly tap dance and wear a sombrero, but only a professional could make their feet move to the rhythm of the banda and angle their bodies to the cheers and whistles of the crowd. Whenever, I'm on stage, I always try to listen to what the crowd is telling me. For example, too much clapping and cheering may seem like a good omen, but it usually signifies a steep decline in audience participation. It means that the crowd is dispersing energy amongst themselves instead of directing it towards the performance before them. Trust me, I know this from experience, I once had a drunken construction worker consciously interrupt our performance as he tried to "cat daddy" the crowd into desperate chaos.

It's safe to say my more than decade of experience made me a pretty damn good dancer­­­ - or at least a very passionate one. I still remember the day when Coach Mendez and my team of "Aztlan Warriors" elected me as captain; they had even given me a whistle and vest, therefore making it the proudest moment of my life (the picture of me posing next to the Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile taking second place).

My Nana had even taken the team out for dinner that night in celebration of my new leadership role, and I had the time of my life. I vividly remember laughing and conversating amongst my teammates and friends over bowls of Posole and plates of soft queso fresco. I've never consumed a drop of alcohol before, but I'm pretty sure that when my mother saw Nana and I singing, mariachi singer Vicente Fernandez's "La Differencia" that night, we looked like two drunk buddies coming home from a bitchin' night of tequila shots and bar fights. Since then, my mother has established a strict 11 pm curfew, and breaking it usually results in me working overtime at the restaurant scraping gum from under the tables. Oh the humanity.

But it's not all bad, the full eight-hours of sleep I've been getting everyday has made it easier for me to make 5am dance practice on time. Of course, after the whole "table incident" the night before, I had gladly sneaked into room in order to continue soaking up the magnificence of what I now considered to be my super heroine costume. When I had finally forced myself to pry my hands off the soft fabric, I carefully hanged it in my closet and sent a quick picture to Amy. Afterwards, I changed into some old sweatpants and a t-shirt, diving into bed quickly before my mother noticed I was still awake. Unfortunately, in the Sanchez household any sign of movement or light would inevitably lead to a huge lecture about sleep the next morning.

But even as I lied on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan above me, my gaze would fall towards the dress hanging limply in my closet, and then wander to the my window, tracing the glow of the streetlights illuminating my room. With a soft sigh, and the eventual fluttering of my eyelids, signaling sleep, I couldn't help but think.....This has to lead to something more.

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Ugh. Whoever was stupid enough to invent alarm clocks needs to come have a little chat with me, I think I may be able to reason with them.

Slowly stretching my arms out, I willed my cramped muscles to loosen, and winced when my feet touch the cold floor below me. As I stood, I scratched my head and tumbled to my bathroom, opening the faucet and splashing some cold water into my face.

By the time I was conscious enough to look into the mirror before me; I couldn't help but stick my tongue out at the blotchiness of my skin and the redness of my eyes. Wiping my face with a towel, I changed into some black nylon tights and a simple blue t-shirt. I checked my cell phone, and noted that I still had 30 minutes before Ernesto came by to give me a ride.