The Writers Voice
The World's
Favourite Literary Website
The Many Vacation Packages of Kartrina Resort
by
Tiffany Alfonso
Chapter Eight
"This is a total remake of the movie 'Fame', but the setting is in a theme
park!" Kitty Arfken muttered as a girl doing a leg hold held onto her.
"(You can) talk about a mass dance rehearsal on places like this!" Cherry
Plucker exclaimed.
"This is not your average street party," Kyle Mort cried, "this is a
sweat-breaking soiree!"
"What does that mean, Kyle?" I asked.
"Look at them," he said as he indicated the male dancers with the palm of his
hand, "It seems as if 'Fame' came to life here in Kartrina."
As we hustled to a secluded place away from the dancing crowd, we purchased a
jug of raspberry water from a concession stand. (I'm sure that those
non-caloric, low-carb elixirs are hard to acquire in many family-friendly
entertainment places.) As we glanced back at Hi-Leg Avenue, a small group of
ladies is doing squats and calf raises. Then, they did pelvic lifts and leg
extensions on stolen exercise padding. Aerobic classes, jazz, and ballet created
something evocative of many 80's films highlighting exercise/jazz/ballet classes
of the phase. Playful Peasgood stared astoundingly at my legs after returning
from her lavatory trip.
"Look at y'all, girl," she gasped, refering to the movie "Breakin'," "You're a
'Special K' before she joined the breakdance guys!"
"Look at you too," I replied, "You're one of those dancers from 'Staying Alive!'
"
As I gazed over my entire body, the appearance of it was absolutely incredible.
I was wearing a teal leotard, gray legwarmers, crimson leggings, and ballet
slippers. I looked at my party and they were virtually wearing the same garb as
me. We blended in with the scene of the scenario happening in the face of
Rhymbina. Anarchy didn't screech into a halt when we took refuge inside in one
of the dimmed studios. In one moment, everything was safe and sound, until the
rest of the lights revealed a ballet training class in session. I could see them
squat into a grand pliè in second position and I could hear that piano play in
the background.
"I've been to a lot of dance studios in the past, but I've never seen ballet
training in such an unusual place before." the principal said.
"I know it's so strange to have dance school here. By the way, madam, what is
your name?" I asked.
"Call me Mrs. Otto, miss." She responded as she adjusted her jade legwarmers.
"Mrs. Otto," Bullfiddler Bruggemeyer spoke up, "I'm famished, hon. Where's the
diner?"
"Follow me, miss." she answered. She then announced, "C'mon, people, it's
lunchtime!"
We retreated out of the dance lessons and headed to the eatery corresponding to
the studio. I was contented because we entered an able-bodied person's paradise,
full of foods arrayed in a low-carb and reduced-calorie buffet. We ordered a
turkey wrap for each of us with a side of a garden salad. The food was the same
par as our mint-flavored water: satisfying and nutritious. Afterwards, we took a
break in the soundstage, away from the dancers in the streets.
"Phew," Playful Peasgood sighed in relief, "That was close, y'all!"
"Yep, Double-P," Kitty Arfken sighed, "This joint is a retreat away from those
legs covered with footless tights."
"Ahhh…now I can relax and read the newspaper," 'Soonist Sally sighed
luxuriously.
"…AND 5, 6, 7, 8!" a voice interrupted our little slice of leisure.
"Err…what does '5, 6, 7, 8' mean?" Mr. M questioned as the synthesizer music
began.
"I think the phase is used to count off the beats of the music before the
dancers start strutting their stuff." I responded.
"Oh no," Playful Peasgood asked with a whine, "did you say that we're back to
those crazy 1987 days again?"
"I'm afraid so, Playful P," Hans Glutcher replied as he shook his head in
dismay, "Welcome to 1987, madam."
We watched the dancers perform their number, still in rehearsal garb. The boys
leapt like graceful deer in the woods while the girls followed suit as well. A
pas de deux pursued the beginning work. I saw a girl in a sea green unitard, a
navy blue dance trunk over it, ginger tube legwarmers, and lavender pointe
shoes. She danced with her partner in green shades and did an electrifying high
kick a la seconde. Before seeing the rest of the performance, we scuttled out of
the soundstage as promptly as we could. Swinger Street was brimming with extra
female dancers than the capacity of a trivial dance academy. Observing those
over-splits and barre leg stretches, I could tell they're limbering up. At the
exit, a dance class was in session, barricading our way out. Chaotic music
filled the air as those pulsating beats thundered throughout the park. Deer in
80's spandex wear leapt over us, girls did leg/gluteus maximus/pelvic exercises
on pilfered towels and fitness mats. We're in a world full of performers from
the decade's teen movies starring this.
"How can we get out of here?" Rompin' Rachel asked upsettingly.
"We can find the offender to end this." Mrs. Otto responded.
"Oh, y'all meant Doodlin' Davey." The rest of the gang corrected her.
"There he is," I exclaimed, "and he's wearing a striped tank, blue footless
tights, white canvas shoes, red legwarmers, and a gray sweatband with his face
on it!"
The little troublemaker (as a real-life dancer) did his solo, although it
neither impressed me nor my buddies. Suddenly, pixie dust rained on the park
when the sky turned an odd dolphin blue.
"Hey," Mr. M shouted as he sees his regular clothing on his body, "We're back to
normal!"
"Yes," Playful Peasgood gasped, "but TROMPIN' TROMBONES, those young un's are a-dwindlin'
down to tots!"
The kindergarteners are transformed for the second time around, in a different
theme park. Doodlin' Davey gathered them up and disappeared into thin air as the
sky turned dark. Using our lanterns to guide us out, we headed back to Playful
Peasgood's trailer, where we spent the residue of the night.
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