From THE DANCE
I’ve reached into my grab bag of tales for this February-specific short. Written entirely in the second-person singular on a challenge (not so easy to do, it turns out!), I offer you this excerpt from a story called “The Dance” from the Winter section of For All the Right Seasons.
One last smile in the mirror and you turn to go––but step back for a last look, smoothing your hair and inspecting the spaces between your teeth for traces of a hasty dinner.
“Let me be the first to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day, big guy,” you say to the reflection. “You’re gonna knock’em dead.”
You do a little dance step emerging from the bedroom, humming your favorite Sinatra tune––the one about flying away––and turn as you reach the hall mirror. Leaning into the glass you murmur, “Your dreams could all come true––when Mr. Wonderful strolls on into the Single Again Mixer tonight!”
You look happier than you have for a long time.
***
The Club near the Del Webb Sun City pool is alive with lights as you pull in and park at the far edge of the lot. You never were one to allow others to get too close to your most cherished things, especially this car––an original vintage Thunderbird, baby blue with whitewall tires. You adjust your collar in the rearview mirror, get out, and close the door just-so, touching your chest as you look lovingly at its chassis. And recall the moonlight rides….
Inside the clubhouse, you scan the scene: chairs and tables have been rearranged against the walls. Four nervous-looking men stand in a cluster at the bar. Downing a little liquid courage, you think. Overhead, red cardboard cupids criss-cross the room, dancing on white streamers. Then you notice the torn scraps of paper strewn around the dance floor––red crepe paper, twisted in little thumbnail shapes to look like rose petals––and your resolve almost deserts you.
“You can do this,” you say audibly, as the first herd of the community’s widows and divorcees heads toward you. “Buck up, big guy. You know you can do this.”
Your chest pounds as you fight an urge to bolt for the parking lot. In the end, you do your best. The hired trio eases into its first slow number––Moonlight Becomes You––and you ask one to dance. Then you ask another. You dance with every last woman there, telling each in turn how lovely she looks tonight. You don’t think any one of them notices that you call her Adele.
And then you leave alone, to retrace your way home. You give in to a sudden whim to put the top down and take the long way around, accelerating, letting the wind tousle your hair. Goosebumps come when you realize how much the sensation feels like the fingers of a woman. The engine purrs, you put your arm around the back of the passenger seat, and a smile spreads across your face in the dappled light. Clouds scud across February’s full-moon sky and you remember everything––every beautiful bit of it.
***
You pull the car into the garage at the end of Avalon Court, still trying to hold onto the feeling. You enter the too-silent house, locking the door and turning off lights as you go, head to the bathroom, chew down some pills for the pain, undo your top three shirt buttons, and sprawl across the unmade bed.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Adele,” you whisper to the empty room. “You and I danced all night, like we hadn’t done in a while. Your perfume filled the air––the one that smells like rose petals, y’know? Even went for a moonlight ride. Just like the night we met.” Your eyes close.
©copyright by Jayne M. Adams, 2023
Like Valentine’s Day for many people, the full story is fraught with assumptions, expectations, and an unexpected ending. Hope you enjoyed this small sampler from my collection. There’s a surprise in every box…and I hope you’ll come back and try more!