The summer I turned fourteen a cute boy living in my street gave a party at his parent’s house, he was older than me, and rumors said there would be under-the-counter beers.
All the girls in my classroom were invited, I was a gangly red-head, and summer equalled a million freckles for me. But I already had well defined music tastes, and a friend of my family gave me weekly guitar lessons.
My two girlfriends picked me at home and we arrived at the party house, there were loud music and laughs, they had already begun. And right there, we halted at the landing and we couldn’t find the courage to enter, we were suddenly shy, you ring the bell, no YOU do it, they’ll look at us, EVERYBODY will!
And while this discussion was going on with whispers and shoves from me or one of my friends, from inside the house come this selection in sequence: I’m goin’ down, I’m in fire, Born in the USA, and while debating we danced together on the landing.
The set, and our private party, ended with Dancing in the dark: we danced that one, then acknowledged that we’d never have the courage to actually enter that room full of older boys and girls, and we headed home.
23 years later when Bruce said to me Ok, come on, and choosed -invited me- for Dancing in the dark onstage, I had a moment remembering that sunny sunday afternoon and my first dance in the dark on a landing, too shy to enter the grown up world but not so meek to avoid dancing one of his songs.