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.
I just finished reading With This Ring?: A Novella Collection of Proposals Gone Awry. The first story--The Husband Maneuver by Karen Witemeyer--is an impossible (as in, it doesn't happen like this in real life) romance (ok, maybe most novels don't happen like real life, but this one seemed more fictitious than some) between a young girl and her dad's ranch hand. She is determined to win him over, but she doesn't realize that he is already interested in her. (I say "impossible" because he is very self-aware and becomes verbal but is the gruff, throw chairs out of the way as she backs against a wall, so he can tell her his feelings before passionately kissing her type of guy.) Good, but fiction.
