Heart Dancers
I awoke with the fever that occasionally afflicts old women. I had that incessant need to organize and simplify my surroundings. After a quick breakfast, I armed myself with trash bags, mini-vacuum and resolve.
“Mercy, where do I start?” I said out loud.
I headed for the spare bedroom. I disposed of a stained throw pillow and a tattered lampshade. A faded silk floral arrangement went into the bag. On hands and knees, I peered under the bed at a lifetime of collection and stashing.
I chided myself, “What are you saving all this for, old woman?’
I pulled out a forgotten child’s jewelry box bringing with it a flurry of dust balls. The vacuum quickly captured the scurrying parade. The lifted lid released a tiny ballerina’s spinning performance. Inspection of the contents revealed old Cracker Jack prizes, broken and mismatched jewelry and a small, velveteen box.
“Oh, my,” I said softly and slowly lifted the lid. A gold heart framing a laughing, dancing couple was nestled in cotton.
Fifty years faded away. I was sitting on the curb of
We had known since early spring that his dad was being transferred to a new mine in the fall. Our summer had been spent ignoring the inevitable.
His Little League games were peppered with my wild cheering. He pitched three no-hitters and I was his groupie. My two piano recitals found him an all-star in music appreciation. Bike rides through the dusty evening twilight would go on forever, right?
After dark, his patio was our private dance floor. While our parents visited and played cards, we danced to the music of the newly invented transistor radio in his pocket. He lip synced with Buddy Holly and Fats Domino and I laughed at his impersonations. He would unclasp my ponytail, letting my long hair fall free and swing to the music. When the music change to the slow, dreamy tunes of Perry Como and Pat Boone, we lay on the grass and talked.
He dreamed of being a scientist. We were in the late 1950’s. He told me of the latest news on space exploration attempts, the discovery of laser light and medical breakthroughs in organ transplants. He swore he would never be a miner like his dad. I encouraged his dream.
My dream of being a writer found him listening to my stories and poems. My voice floated on the night air into forever while he brushed my hair. He added plot twists and humor. I tended toward deep seriousness and straight-line logic. He was never serious. What a pair we were.
But, never had come and the moving van was loaded. Our parents were inside saying their good-byes. I was mad and desperately trying not to cry.
“Allen, you can’t move. How will I make it in junior high without you?”
He was a year older than me and had promised to make my entrance smooth.
You’ll be fine, Kate. You have other friends.”
My voice cracked, “But they’re not you.”
He took my hand and placed the small velveteen box in it.
“This is so you don’t forget me. You will write t me won’t you? Can I kiss you?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I ran to my dad’s car, got in and slammed the door. I never looked back and the long held tears started. Dad teased me on the way home and Mom’s tears matched my own at losing her friend, Allen’s mom.
School started uneventfully. The necklace I found in the little box was worn next to my heart to give me courage. Friends surrounded me. They missed him too. His humor was absent from our gatherings. My evening bike rides stopped.
The years passed. My mom gave me occasional news of Allen from his mom’s letters. The necklace was finally relegated to the back of my jewelry box and forgotten. I developed new interests, but when a story idea was committed to paper, I could hear Allen injecting humorous comment and balancing me once again. A song on the radio would bring his face and smile to my heart. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to contact him.
My senior year of high school, we visited his family. His mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer and my mom wanted to lend her support. I wanted to stay home, but I loved his mom and wanted to see her again. Did I want to see him? I really didn’t know.
Our arrival caused the usual excitement and greetings. Allen wasn’t among the greeters. Hugs gave way to small talk and I settled into a corner and listened. His mom noticed my quietness.
"Allen’s in the garage, Kate. Use the side door in the kitchen.”
The door opened softly under my touch. I watched him. His head was under the hood of an old car and tools were scattered on the floor. The radio was playing. A lump rose in my throat.
“Hello, friend,” I said.
His head slowly turned and he looked at me. A slow, smile crossed his face and dark eyes sparkled. He unfolded his 6’2’’ body. A greasy handprint adorned the front of his white T shirt.
“I’m not mad anymore,” I said. “I’m sorry I ever was.”
The song on the radio changed. He opened his arms and I walked in.
“I’m not hurt anymore, Kate, and I forgave you…yesterday,” he said.
We laughed.
He reached up to unclasp my hair and we both laughed again whem my stylish, bouffant hairdo didn’t accommodate him.”
“It’s not the same,” he said, stroking my hair.
“I know. It’ll grow back,” I said into his chest.
“But not for me, will it?”
He gently spun me and gathered me back into his arms.
“No. How did you know?”
I see his ring hanging around your neck. Do you love him,” he asked.
“More than I ever imagined,” I replied. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “No, Kate. We were destined to be friends, not lovers.”
“You’ll always be my friend, you know,” I said and hugged him tighter. “I’ve missed you. Are you following your dream?”
“Only in my heart,” he replied and his smile faded. “I’ve been working in the mine since graduation and I’m getting married next month.”
“Do you love her?” I returned.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I love her. But she’s not a dreamer and she doesn’t dance.”
I laughed. “Allen, those aren’t qualifications for a wife. Besides, there are different kinds of dancing…dances of the heart.”
“Do you have that kind?” he asked as we sat on the floor.
“Yes, and I think you do, too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t love her, would you?”
He thought a moment. “You’re right. But I’ve missed you and our talks.
I held his hand. “Don’t give up on your dream, Allen. We’ll always be friends.”
The music changed one more time. Elvis was singing, “I’ll remember you…”
A door slammed bringing me back to the spare bedroom and the piles of clutter.
“Are you here, Sunshine Katie?” my husband’s booming voiced asked.
I looked at the dancers one more time, closed the box and added it to the trash bag.
“Good-bye, friend,” I said, “I hope your heart dance was as good as mine and that your dream came true.”
Cinching the bag closed, I called, “In here, Honer Bear. How was your golf game?”
I was enclosed in a bear hug that smelled of sunshine and fresh air.
“It was great. What are you doing? You’ve got tears in your eyes.”
“No, I just stirred up the dust in here. Lunch is ready, are you?”
“You bet, gorgeous. How did I get so lucky to catch you?”
“I got the good catch, old man. I love you. Take these trash bags out and I’ll set the table.”