The Time I Rehearsed for a Religious Song-and-Dance Number

Welcome to hell.

Last night I dreamt that I moved to rural central Pennsylvania. For some reason, (I think I might have been an reporter or police officer or something.) I had to go back to twelfth grade, which was annoying and boring. I'm telling you, whoever wrote Never Been Kissed has obviously not been in a high school since they were an actual teenager.

After school, I went to a church youth activity and discovered that everyone was practicing a complex song-and-dance number for some kind of church celebration. It was very intricate, and I felt awkward and lost. First, there was a dance to honor the first settlers of Pennsylvania. There was a dance with everyone together facing forward, and then we split into three or four circular groups. Many of the people had matching fabric pieces they were waving. Next, we celebrated America. That ended with many girls in the circle on pairs of guys' shoulders and others waving red, white, and blue calico fabric. The last dance had something to do with flowers. The fabric pieces were pink and yellow, and the circles crouched down and covered themselves with the cloth until all you could see was the cloth, like an American Chinese dragon moving around in a circle.

These kinds of "celebrations" always seem to involve large groups of people running around in circles.

A guy came up behind me and lifted me onto his shoulders. I didn't feel dizzy or fall, so I put my arms out and held the hands of people on both sides as we flew around the pink and yellow wheel. The guy had wide shoulders that were easy to stand on and could easily carry not-exactly-a-skinny-fourteen-year-old-girl me, and I looked down and saw gray hair and realized one of the adult leaders was carrying me on his shoulders. That made sense, since your average skinny teenage boy does not have shoulders conducive to small, but fully grown, women standing on them.

Anyway, the rehearsal finished, so I went over to one of the women who was helping with costume to get my bag of fabric scraps and instructions. I had to fend off a teenage boy who was trying to chat me up on the way over. "So, what are we rehearsing for?" I asked the seamstress. "The Philadelphia Temple opening celebration," the woman shrugged as she handed me a small gray bag that seemed way too small. I heard floor polishers start off on the other side of the gym. "But isn't that a ways away?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "we'll perform on May 14, 2017."

Maybe 2016. Maybe. © 2011, Intellectual Reserve, Inc. All rights reserved.

"WHHAT?! I won't even be here then! Most of your best dancers won't be here then! We're graduating and getting out of here!"

"The more time we have to practice, the better our performance will be. We want to do our best for the prophet, of course."

I wandered off. Part of me was disappointed that I never would be performing for the prophet and all the curious residents of Pennsylvania who would come to gawk at the Mormons. And why was I even bothering to practice dancing when it's so freaking difficult?! Were they just expecting us to come back for the performance in three years?! I wasn't even supposed to be in high school or at youth activities! I'm a fully grown woman, darn it! I realized the gym was in some kind of mall complex but all the stores were closed because it was nine in the evening, and I wasn't sure where the exit was because most people had left while I was getting my supplies, and then I woke up.