Dance Dance Revolution Brittney Allotey

A day and 12 hours after my birthday, I went to the local arcade for the first time. A new day, a new age. It’s ok, I’m still young. But 21 is only 10 years apart from 31 and 11 was 10 years before. See how fast it took to grow into myself? I stopped and stared in the mirror this morning, anticipating that my eyeballs would glide up and down my body and send easy feedback to my brain, telling me exactly who I am. Especially now that I’m a real adult. Or maybe tell me that turning 21 didn’t change my brain at all. I feel neither wiser nor less juvenile. I feel nothing.

I remember the time my father denied me a game for my birthday when I was younger. Was it Street Fighter? It was like the buzzwords were all he was attuned to. That must be why he refused to buy me a Gameboy, as if it was clearly built for the hands of boys. Thus my brother was more deserving of it. I wasn’t allowed to play with many consoles either.

My stubborn side never forgets even after all these years. I think about the console I now own and the games that live in it. Turns out I enjoy fighting games a lot more than I thought. Games are for leisure, thinking, and fun. Contrary to my father ’s words, this arcade was for all people and I was determined to get lost and stay lost for hours. The journey there was so frigid I eventually just let the snot seep onto my lip before wiping it away with my sleeve. That month, the city welcomed the wind that stinged my nostrils. The walk to the arcade felt criminally numbing, so I decided to personify the song playing in my head. Trying to get rid of myself through songs has been a strange habit of mine. The mental playlist hops through various genres: scattered squishy bobbing beats, monotonous scratchy voices against violin and sax, a facile rhythm promising forever and ever and ever. Alternative music it is. Shoegaze quickly manifested itself into my limbs just when I started crossing the asphalt.

Suddenly, the warm echoing buzz of the guitar pedal interfered with my ability to walk. So many cars with judgmental eyes were permeating through my coat and ribs. I took a step, another, and another, almost to the point where it felt robotic. All while looking down at my shoes. I’m a couple feet away from the arcade and I already sensed overload in my ears. The glittery sound of machines and excited laughter nearby pissed me off. There better be games open and waiting for me. It better be my turn to laugh. On top of that, the sign was so flashy, shifting different hues so quickly that it could induce a migraine. I pushed the entrance open, the little bell above marking the start of some sort of moderate awakening.

It felt like time reversal took place the moment the door closed. The narrow room was lined with various machines and glass screens with pixels rummaging around in the competitive gamer’s eyes. There were people playing ATV driving games, throwing basketballs into mini hoops, or trying their luck at some sort of Russian roulette machine for more tickets and prizes.

I crouched and inserted a gold coin in the first game I saw in the corner. I decided it was time to go crazy. Soon after getting up, I noticed two men in the other corner scampering around. Or maybe it was dancing. The man on the right took each step easily, his body effortlessly in rhythm with the beat, while the man on the left looked exhausted. His left foot tried to reach for the back arrow, which evidently caused him to miss the next set of arrows. His hands gripped the bar behind his back, which did not help. And I couldn’t stop myself. I ditched my game and walked over to the dancing men. The song they danced to had just ended and the title page’s booming music encouraged more playtime for the small price of two coins. I had 3 left.

“Can I hop on?” Both of the men twisted their necks to look at me. The good dancer, who looked like the average NYU student, smiled and nodded. “All yours!” he said. I remember that I stepped on the platform, not sure how my anxiety ceased to exist. “Unless you wanna do two players?” I agreed and the young man stepped on the other side. I wasn’t sure what song to choose so I picked the third one I saw. “I’m good with Basic!” I lied. I’ve never touched this shit in my life. I turned to see him jogging in place as the screen loaded. “Nice choice!” He planted his feet firmly on the platform and so I did too. The arrows came in faster than I expected. I tried my best and evidently bombed. Round One was graded an astounding “D.” But for some reason I couldn’t quell the fury in my chest. I inserted another coin and looked up at the stranger. “Down to play another round?”

This constant trial and error, coin inserting and dancing steadily improved my skills. When I scored higher than the last round, I was graciously rewarded with a high five from my dancing partner and another round. I was having so much fun that the sting of breathing didn’t bother me. The tremble of my fingers was simply a sign of advancement. I barely noticed the noises of people winding down and the sunlight fading from the dirty windows. Me, merely perfecting my craft, didn’t feel the need to even take a water break. It would take the building burning down to get me to stop.

Suddenly, the screen glitched, followed by sparks and smoke coming from the wires behind. The employees yelled to evacuate but I slowly backed away beside the man. We continued backwards until we bumped against the glass door. Neither of us attempted to move or open the door. I turned to the nameless man, smoke creeping up my nose and watering my eyes. “What’s your name, by the way?” I asked between coughs. “Can I tell you something I just thought of?” he said. I forgot he never answered my question. “You can take the dance out of revolution, but you can never take the revolution out of dance. Get it?” I did not.