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VII. In The Groove

Arcade

I place the quarter on the edge of the large screen. Signifying
that our turn is next. We wait and watch.

Every Saturday morning for months when I was in seventh
grade, my dad and I would go to the arcade in the mall. Not by
force, but by my own choice. For hours. I was not rebellious.
Quarters. I found solace with my family although I had
friends. We played In the Groove. My cousin had introduced
it to us. An exercise outlet beyond basketball. Another game
my dad and I could bond over. To conquer together.

My dance instructor. At first, my feet did not function.
Uncoordinated and graceless. My aunt told me I couldn’t do
it. That I had no rhythm.

But my dad and I were a team. Best friends. Not weak. We
pushed one another and practiced. Not simply a father and
his young daughter. But, respected among our comrades. Our
friends. Improving with every weekend. A growing confidence
in front of our audience. Our scores soaring. From medium to
expert. Competitive by nature.

We inhale. Eyes focused. The arrows surge down the screen in
metallic splendor. Glowing with every accurate step. Our feet
pounding against the plastic. Synchronization. Sweat
dripping. We exhale rapidly. The music reflecting our every
movement. Tightly clinging to the bar behind us. Balancing
our bodies as our feet shuffle like tornadoes. Swift. Nimble.

I smile at my dad as we descend from the platforms. We high-
five. Back at home. In the arcade. I set another quarter on the
edge.

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