I Still Can'T Jitterbug

We plugged the jukebox nonstop, early 50's soft rock or jitterbug. That open-air dance floor shook with a beat, steady and loud. My body rode the waves, nerved through skin and bone, blood pulsing hot with desire, but too shy to try. Friends and cousins heated the floor in dancing frenzy, on feet programmed by memory. I burned with envy. Cousin Verna said, "I'll teach you." Later, she cried, "I give up. You'll never learn." 40 years later, my dancing soul still yearned, as the line-dance craze swept the country, border to border, and beyond. Braver, stronger, more confident, I plunged headlong, and proved her wrong. I line-dance to Cowboy Charleston, Jitterbug Boogie, and Slappin' Leather, but I still can't jitterbug.