The garden smelled like baked lemons and pistachio cream. The DJ was getting ready for the party. I got up from the chaise long and started dancing. I remembered how in my childhood only dance could make me feel truly free. I pulled up my skirt and touched my thighs. My legs were dancing to the rhythm of my heart. Yeah, there are times when your own heart matters more than others. When you have to love yourself as a whole. Desires and uncertainties. And you don't care anymore. You let yourself be touched by the sun and you dance. Ay, ay.
Claudia Ene
It's the third time you've stepped on my big toe. I told you I had an ingrown toenail; it hurts like hell. All incarnations[1] hurt, he jokes. Alright, you Buddhist, pay attention to me and let me take control. If I pay attention to you, I won't pay attention to your feet, he says. Cut the crap, I say. Move as if you were carried away by the waves. Slowly, sensually.Or as if I were Freddie Mercury and I were sweeping the floor, he says. Can you be a little more romantic, please? Of course, he says. A bit later, once we get bored of each other.
[1]Wordplay in the Romanian original. The word \'încărnat' can mean both \'ingrown' and \'incarnated'.
Florentina Ghițescu
I'm stiff as a plank and I fell in love with a dancer. What sort of karma is that? I, a nerd, he, a punk. But when you really want something, you have to fight for it. So I signed up for dance class. My grades got lower during the exam session, but I got more and more flexible. Everything can be learned, only that for those like me more time is needed. Then my moment of grace came: a sensual dance that rose me to fame at a disco night on campus. I failed two of my exams, but it was worth it.
(Translated by Laurențiu-Gabriel Niculae / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.