Narrative Essay About Ballroom

It was Friday, which meant the ballroom was open for the colored from 5 o 'clock till 10. I went every Friday evening, from opening time until the clock strikes exactly 10. I loved to dance, especially in places like the ballroom. Loud music, bright stage lights, and people just like me for me to dance with made it the perfect place to be. Even though our side of the room was filthy with worn-out wood flooring, this place was very special to me and my people. Sometimes, the whites would try to copy our moves but we know they can’t because they don’t have the rhythm that we do. All of our mommas taught us how to dance before they even taught us how to speak. A small blue ribbon that extends to one end of the room to the other separates

Then maybe we could show them our ways in dancing. On this day, I decided to pull my hair back with my flower-shaped pins, and wear my brand new flower dress I’ve been saving up for. I waited patiently in the back door, where the entrance for colored people was located, right by the dumpsters. I was always the first colored person to walk in the ballroom. There’s always stares coming from across the blue ribbon, but I really don’t care. 18-year-old me ain 't afraid of nothing. I rush to the middle of our side of the room, and start dancing to the song Johnny B. Goode. As I’m kicking my feet and swinging my hands, laughing having a blast, I glance across the room quickly to see a tall and slender boy, with brown slicked back hair and pitch black eyes. He was wearing a white tank, with ice blue jeans, and a cigarette behind his left ear. I’ve seen him around school before, he’s usually with the rowdy kids, sitting at a worn down wooden bench outside the school. I think he’s pretty cute, but I never could imagine being with him. If someone dates someone who’s opposite color around here, they get a lot of judgement and hate by both