fiction (vi): the life and loves of a homeschooled girl

Two weeks later found Jen and I dressed up respectively in a denim ruffled skirt and brown broomstick skirt and driving up to the Kellar’s house.

“Oh, look, Trish! Isn’t it romantic?”

The Kellars had strung white Christmas lights from the top of their barn to the fence several yards away. Hay bales for sitting were scattered throughout the area, and stalks of corn were tied to the barn and fence. Bonfires were lit in different parts of the field for warmth and ambiance. An old Virginia flag hung from the barn window.

Several teens were meandering around, drinking hot apple cider from a large thermos set on a barrel nearby. I spotted Michael standing with one of his sisters.

I was half exhilaration, half guilt over feeling exhilarated.

“Lord, is it okay to be excited?” I prayed. A gust of breeze billowing my skirt was the only answer I received. “Please bless this time,” I concluded.

My sister and I hopped out of the car.

I took a deep breath.

It was going to be a glorious evening.

I found Luanne standing by the snacks table.

“Are you excited?” I whispered.

She gave a half smile. “I don’t know. I’m kinda nervous!”

“Nervous? Whatever for?”

She nodded to a group of boys gathered around one of the bonfires. “Because the boys have to ask us to dance!”

“They do? Are you sure we don’t just like all line up and whoever is standing across from you is your partner?”

“No. I heard Sarah Jane—she’s one of the callers. She told someone that even though they are group dances, the boys have to ask the girls to be their partner. That’s how it works.”

“Oh!” In P.E. we had never paired up like that. I wondered what Mom was thinking. This was going to be a lot more couple-y! “Um, I’m nervous now too!”

We stood there together, looking out at the sea of young people ebbing and flowing around us. Part of me was more excited because this was much more romantic than anything I had ever experienced in real-life and part of me drew back with the same kind of dread I felt when we had played basketball in P.E. and Mr. Courtney had let the team captains choose who they wanted on their team. I had been picked last. Luanne and I now stood before the great unknown like Frodo and Sam entering Mordor.

“All righty, folks. Let’s get this dance started!” yelled Mr. Kellar.

Everyone gathered around the dance floor as Sarah Jane took the microphone. She explained that for every dance one of the callers would teach it before we would do it. In between dances people could help themselves to something to eat or drink, and she pointed out where the bathrooms were.

“Now fellas, grab yourself a partner for the Virginia Reel!”

Luanne and I tried to visually strike the balance between available and nonchalant.

“It’s a nice evening, isn’t it?” I said to her.

“Oh yes, very nice.”

We giggled.

I felt a hand brush my arm.

“Would you like to dance?”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I turned to see who was asking. It was Luanne’s brother Joey. How could I be nervous about 14 year old Joey? I glanced at Luanne, unwilling to leave her vulnerable. Joey held out his hand.

Luanne nudged me. “Go on,” she whispered with a slight smile.

I looked up into Joey’s freckled face. Seeing his hair neatly combed and his green eyes looking so serious made me want to laugh. He was so out of his element. And I was so ready to show that I was in mine.

“Sure!” I said with a grin. I ceremoniously placed my palm in his, and he led me to the dance floor.

The dance floor was a slab of cement under the string of lights. The caller directed the couples to stand a couple feet apart from each other, facing each other. Almost out of habit, I looked to see where Michael was. He was escorting Jen to the floor. The soft lighting accentuated his dark wavy hair and made him look like he had a 5 o’clock shadow. My, he sure was handsome.

I looked up at Joey, and at last, he smiled.

“How are you this evening, Miss Anderson?” His eyes twinkled, and he bowed slightly.

I tilted my head in acknowledgement. “I am quite well, Mr. Sparks. And you?”

“Quite well, quite well.”

I laughed, which made him laugh. Then he winked at me.

I was taken back. Maybe in his family it was normal to wink at people? He was just a kid. He probably didn't know better.

Other couples joined our line and Sarah Jane came through on the mic to begin walking us through the dance. Our set of dancers were lighthearted and enthusiastic and no one knew what they were doing! At one point, I was laughing so hard I was bent over, almost crying in hilarity.

“Now we’re going to do it with music,” said Sarah Jane.

Joey’s eyes met mine, and he lifted his eyebrows mischievously.

“You ready for this?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows expertly.

I laughed, wiping the tears in my eyes. “Why not!”

The music started. Joey and I were next to the head couple, so thankfully we could watch their example through the first set. After they sashayed down the line and back again, weaved, cast off, and made the bridge, all the other couples followed, scrunching down under their outstretched hands and taking their new places in line. Joey and I scooted to the front, becoming the new head couple. I looked at him wide-eyed.

“It’s our turn!” I mouthed.

He grinned and winked again.

Maybe this was his element, and I was the fish out of water.

We waited for the beat, and then each couple circled ‘round their partners with one hand, then the other, then both hands. One last dosey-doe before I looked up and grimaced nervously. Joey offered a huge smile, grabbed my small hands in his clammy ones, and together we pranced unevenly down the line like a pair of wild horses. Or rather, he was like a wild horse. I was doing all I could to just keep up!

Halfway back up the line, he twirled me around. I couldn’t stop laughing, and I could barely breathe from all the exercise. At the front of the line he again spun me around, and then we started weaving back and forth between the couples. It was so confusing! Half the time Joey had to pull me to the next guy, and half the time I had to push him to the next girl. Then we sashayed back up the line, pretending to look dignified with our noses in the air and our backs straight. Little Joey Sparks trying to look dignified. Oh, that was I sight I’d never forget!

We cast off, the girls following me and the boys following him. At the end, we clasped hands, forming a bridge, and all the couples paraded under our outstretched arms. The dance started all over again with the new head couple.

I loved it.

When the dance was over, Sarah Jane instructed the gentlemen to escort their partners off the dance floor. Joey offered me his arm and led me off the cement slab towards the refreshments table.

“Thank you for the best dance yet,” he laughed, bowing.

“It’s only the first one,” I countered.

“Precisely!”

I giggled. “Well, thank you too, sir,” I said and curtsied.

As Joey walked away to join the other boys, Luanne came flying back from her time on the dance floor.

“Oh!” she breathed. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“Magnificent!” I said. I was a little out of breath too.

“I stepped on my poor guy’s foot though!” she said. Then she burst out laughing.

“Why are you laughing? Poor guy!”

“Because he was a little kid, but he was all dressed up in a Civil War uniform, and when I accidentally stepped on him he said, ‘You stepped on my foot!’” Luanne’s voice mimicked a high-pitched, squeaky, indignant one.

I laughed.

“So how did my brother do?” Luanne asked. “I hope he didn’t completely act like a boar.”

“A boar! No,” I replied with a slight British accent. “He was quite the gentleman. Though he did wink at me. Twice,” I added.

“Oh really now?” Luanne’s eyebrows raised. “Well, despite that slight aberration, he has become quite the gentleman.” She smoothed her skirt. “But then, I have been working on him for 15 years now so I would hope he knows how to behave in polite society.”

I put my hands on my hip. “Oh, so I have you to thank for not being treated to the miseries of an uncouth boar, do I?”

Luanne smiled. “Yes, it is all my doing. I have transformed him from the boar of his birth to the gentleman you see before you today.” She swept her hand in the direction of Joey and his friends and then turned and nodded in satisfaction.

My shoulders shook from unreleased laughter.

“Wait,” I said, calculating something in my head. “Fifteen years? I thought he was only 14.”

“He turns 15 in January, so it’s been practically 15 years.”

“He’s two and a half years younger than me? I thought he was three years younger.”

“Nope,” said Luanne.

It didn’t make much difference, but when you’re young, even 6 months can make a world of difference. For example, if Michael had been 6 months younger than me rather than a year older, he would have lost almost all appeal in my eyes.

“So what now?” Luanne asked, looking around.

New dance, new partner. Suddenly I jerked back to the present. The dark sky made it harder to see who was who, but the white lights cast friendly glows on all the faces. I looked around for Michael. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Jennifer, his last partner, was talking with another boy with a few strands of mustache decorating the skin under his nose. I grimaced and turned away. Still no Michael.

“Let’s get a drink,” said Luanne.

“Ok,” I replied, absentmindedly, still looking for him.

We waited in line before the water thermos and then filled our Styrofoam cups.

“Mmm, I needed that!”

Sarah Jane announced the next dance, and a fellow came up and offered Luanne his hand. Then Logan, a stocky guy from our co-op chemistry lab came up and asked me. He also was wearing a Confederate uniform and a very serious expression. I almost refused, thinking I should hold it open for Michael, but Mom had told us in the car that it was considered rude to reject one guy for another. If I wanted to refuse a partner, then I needed to sit the dance out so that I wouldn’t be rude. Unwilling to do that, I accepted, and he walked me back to the dance floor.

As we stepped onto the cement, I caught sight of Michael escorting a strawberry-blonde girl to the line across from us. He was smiling at her.

Like a dart, jealousy pierced through my happiness. Was he going to enjoy dancing with her? What if he liked slim girls with long red ringlets? I thought back to my own frame. A little on the chubby side, but not bad. My hair was brown and wavy, sometimes frizzy on the top. I didn’t have any cute freckles, but a good smattering of pimples, depending on the time of the month. My ears stuck out. My forehead was too large. I frowned.

“What’s the matter?” Logan asked, peering across at me from underneath his bushy eyebrows.

I sighed. “Nothing.” I forced a smile and attempted cheerfulness. “Nothing!”

“You dance very well,” Logan said, after the music began.

“Thanks,” I said, a bit absentmindedly.

“Have you ever been to a Civil War ball before?"

"No."

"They are pretty similar to this, except people dress much more formally."

“Oh.” I snuck a glance at Michael and his partner down the line.

When the dance ended, Logan offered me his arm and led me off the dance floor. I thanked him, then set off to find Luanne.

The rest of the night was like a rollercoaster of emotions. Fun while dancing, restrained if I saw Michael with a pretty girl. Desperate loneliness in between dances, waiting to be asked by the man I loved.

Yes, loved. I did! I loved Michael. Goodness, I wanted to marry that fellow! And really, I was 17 years old. Realistically I could marry him next year. And to see him enjoying himself with other girls. It frustrated me to no end.

But then, as other boys asked me to dance with them, it did feel good to be noticed by someone. Sometimes, if my partner was especially attentive, and the dance especially fast, I would almost forget about Michael and have a grand time. Some dances you didn’t even stay with your partner but were passed from person to person. A couple times the song lasted long enough for me to have a turn with Michael. Those moments were wonderful! But they were just moments before I’d have to move on to the next person, not sure whether I was still on the high of having danced with him or if I was on the low of having left him.

The last dance of the evening came. The “California Waltz” I think one of the callers dubbed it. Luanne had already been escorted to the floor by a father who had taken pity on her, and I was about ready to take a seat on a hay bale and try not to let the night be ruined by my disappointment.

They say that when you give up, your dreams come true.

Just as I had found my hay bale and sat down, Michael approached.

Even in the dark, he had never looked handsomer.

“Lord God, help me!” I prayed as the butterflies threatened to fly up my throat.

Would he really--? Was he going to--?

“May I have this dance, m’lady?” he asked, bowing ceremoniously and holding out his hand.

Shy, I averted my eyes and looked down at his hand. It was a man’s hand. Larger than mine, fingers long and stubby, palm thick and meaty.

“Yes!” I squeaked.

The moment had come. I put my hand in his, and he led me to the floor.

My senses came alive. My hand pulsed with the feeling of his callused skin. The breeze felt sharper. The smiles on everyone’s faces brighter.

I looked up. The moon shown in splendor, and the stars winked down at me. My heart felt like it was going to burst.

I grinned. This was it!

James, one of the other callers, explained the California Waltz to us. We all started in a circle holding hands and walked four steps into the middle and four steps out. Michael was supposed to then take me in his arms—oh, be still my beating heart!—and we would waltz two steps, sorta tango-style, into the middle, where he would twirl me, and then waltz two steps out. That would repeat, but without the twirling. Then we would waltz around in a circle for 10 counts before he would spin me to the fellow on my right, and the pattern would start over. It seemed fairly easy after you got the hang of it.

The music started. My left hand held Michael’s as the circle walked in and out. Then we turned and faced each other. Michael deftly placed his hand on my waist and took my right hand. Heart beating wildly, I lifted my left hand to his shoulder. Our arms brushed. I could feel my ears turn red, and goose bumps broke out on my arms.

In, one, two, twirl.

Out, one, two.

In, one, two.

Out, one, two.

Then circling in each other’s arms, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. In all, the set encompassed a full 18 counts, not counting the twirling, and for all 18 beats I was in Michael’s arms—my Michael’s arms—his hand cupping my waist, my hand resting on his shoulder like it belonged there.

This must be what paradise feels like.

And then it was over, and he was passing me off to the next fellow.

But paradise stayed with me. I didn’t even think about what I was doing as I was passed around the circle, waltzing in, out, and around.

It was almost 11pm by the time Jen and I stumbled into the car, exhausted. Behind us the white lights still glowed across the enchanted dance floor. The moon had risen higher and flooded the fields with moonlight even as the bonfires were dying out.

“So did you girls have a good time?” asked Mom.

“Definitely!” said Jen.

“What about you, Trisha?” Mom asked, peering at me through the rearview mirror.

“Lovely, just lovely.”

I sat back in sheer satisfaction and watched the evening landscape sweep by.

I would never forget those 18 counts of the California Waltz. Not if I lived to be a hundred.