They Danced

They say that the deepest definition of youth is a life that has not yet been touched by tragedy. But I know better. Dashed illusions are every bit as destructive to youth as tragedy.

My childhood ended on a Friday night in October of ’89, when I was in sixth grade.

My little sister Shelby and I were lying at opposite ends of our Grandma Bea’s couch watching T.V., when our Grandma Bea hollered, “Brownie’s are ready, girls!”

Shelby scrambled off the couch so fast she kicked me in the face and then staggered into the coffee table, sending Grandma’s Bible flying to the floor.

My hands immediately flew to my nose. “Hey!” I cried. “She kicked me in the face!”

Shelby was already halfway to the kitchen.

“Mama! Shelby kicked me in the face and didn’t even say sorry!”

Mama closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the recliner. Emerald, Grandma Bea’s cat, was balanced on the back of the chair with her head tucked between her paws. “She’s little, Jane.”

“Well, she also knocked Grandma’s Bible on the floor and didn’t even pick it up,” I huffed. “Ain’t that sacrilege?”

Mama sighed. “It’s been a long week. Can you please just go get us some brownies?”

“Fine,” I huffed, and shuffled toward the kitchen.

The smell of warm chocolate was overpowering, and Grandma Bea was dusting the warm brownies with icing sugar. My mouth watered.

“Mmmm. You make the best brownies, Grandma. I don’t know how you do it.”

Grandma winked at me, and for the first time all evening, she seemed like herself. “Magic,” she declared.

I sighed happily as I carried two brownies back toward the living room but stopped when I found Emerald standing exactly in the middle of the threshold between the dining room and living room.

I stumbled backward but managed to catch myself.

“Move, Emerald,” I whispered.

Emerald was a beautiful cat. She had silky black fur, and the most intense green eyes I’ve ever seen on an animal or human. When Grandma got her as a kitten the previous fall, all my cousins fussed and bickered over her.

Except me. I absolutely adore animals, but I never liked Emerald, not even a little. And for the life of me, I couldn’t say why, other than she made my skin prickle and my stomach feel funny.

Emerald stayed put and looked up at me with her piercing, glittery eyes.

I straightened and took a deep breath.

“Move, Emerald,” I hissed. 

She stayed put and tilted her serpentine head, as if mocking me.

I swiped at her with my right foot just as Mama was coming through to go to the bathroom during the commercial break.

“Jane Caroline! Lord, what is wrong with you?” Mama squatted down to stroke Emerald’s head.

“I don’t understand your issue with Em,” Mama said as she stood back up. “You love animals.”

I shrugged. “I guess we just don’t get each other,” I mumbled.

“Well, you don’t have to ‘get’ her, but I’ve raised you to you know better than to kick at an animal,” she said.

I looked down. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Emerald stood, finally, and swished her tail as she rubbed against Mama’s leg. I took the opportunity to hurry through and back to my spot on the couch.

As I savored my brownie and watched Catherine and Vincent retreat to their safe, subterranean world on Beauty and the Beast, I felt myself relax again.

Mama worked nights at the factory, so Shelby and I practically lived with Grandma Bea during the week. You’d think that by the weekend we’d be eager to spend time at our own house, but we weren’t.

We were always a little on edge in our tiny clapboard house that looked like it had dropped out of the sky into the middle of Mississippi Delta farmland. It felt exposed, like the windy nighttime universe that surrounded our house had actual substance and was seeping in through the cracks around the old windows and doors.

Like our house, Grandma Bea’s house was small and old, but it had pretty hardwood floors and it was always warm and lamplit, and we always moved around confident that we were tucked safely inside and the darkness that howled around against the house was an entity we didn’t need to worry about. We simply let it do its thing while we did ours.

Grandma Bea’s house was the only place where I ever felt truly safe and relaxed.

As soon as the ending credits started rolling, we heard the squeak of the back screen door. “Uncle Jack!” Shelby squealed, as we ran into the kitchen to greet him.

“How’re my girls?” he said, giving us bear hugs.

“Uncle Jack! I want to show you my new Rainbow Brite, doll!” Shelby shouted before scampering off toward the bedrooms.

“Dadgum—the weather out there tonight,” Jack said as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. “Spooky!” He grinned and winked at me.

“Stop it, Jack,” Grandma Bea admonished.

“What?” He grinned. “It is spooky.”

“Jack,” Mama warned, “remember what we talked about when we were on break at work this morning?”

Uncle Jack’s face fell. “Oh. Sorry Mama. And I was real sorry to hear about Tina.”

Sensing where the conversation was headed, I quietly walked across the kitchen back toward the front of the house and took my place up against the side of the tall China cabinet closest to the dining room. If I was quiet, I could sit there for hours and listen to the grown-ups’ unfiltered conversation.

I could see Grandma Bea standing at the kitchen sink. She was quiet for a few moments as she braced herself against the counter with her arms before turning to face Mama and Uncle Jack. “Thank you, Jack,” she said quietly.

Mama wrapped Grandma Bea in hug. “Tina was a special girl. We’re all going to miss her.”

Uncle Jack cleared his throat. “How’s Verna?”

“Verna is devastated. I’ve known her forever and I can tell you,” Grandma Bea’s voice broke, “I don’t know if she’s going to survive this.” She swatted away the tears with the backs of her hands, picked up the dish towel and gave the chili pot one last swipe dry. “’Scuse me a minute,” she said and hurried out of the kitchen.

Mama and Uncle Jack sat down at the kitchen table. “What happened?” he whispered. “I’ve just heard a few things.”

I held my breath. Everyone knew Tina Alden had been killed. I was still in the middle school, but it didn’t have a cafeteria, so every day we walked across the dusty schoolyard to have lunch at the high school, and for the last two days, the atmosphere inside had been quiet and heavy.

“Well, she was heading out of town after supper Wednesday night, in that little Ford Escort her daddy bought her. JC Penney over in Stoneville is having a big sale on jeans, so she was going to the mall, although I have no idea why Verna would have let her take off like that that so late in the day on a school night.”

Tina’s mama had died when she was in kindergarten, so her Grandma Verna helped raise her. Her daddy, Bruce, Verna’s son, worked at the factory just like Mama and Uncle Jack, and Verna was a widow who didn’t have a whole lot, either. But somehow, between the two of them, they kept Tina in the most fashionable clothes and had even managed to buy her a car the summer she’d turned sixteen.

Tina Alden was teen royalty, and it always felt a little weird to me that I was linked to someone so beautiful by way of my grandmother. Grandma Bea had known her since she was a baby. Since Tina started high school, Grandma Bea had even been the one to perm her bangs once a month.

“Anyway,” Mama continued, “she stopped at the T-intersection—I know she was a responsible girl, even though Verna and Bruce spoil her rotten—but as she was making the left onto the frontage road, a semi came speeding through. He had the right-of-way, but he was flying. I doubt Tina even saw him coming when she stopped.”

Uncle Jack shook his head sadly. “Probably didn’t know what hit her,” he said. “I hope she didn’t.”

Mama winced. “Me too.” She took a deep breath. “My foreman’s brother knows the coroner. Said she was killed on impact, but there was barely a scratch on her face.”

I shivered—we stopped at that intersection almost every day.

“Just did a number on her poor insides,” Uncle Jack said, grimly.

“Broke her neck,” Mama whispered.

Uncle Jack sighed. “You’re right—despite all the ways Verna and Bruce spoiled her, she was real nice.”

Grandma Bea walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

“We were just saying what a sweet girl Tina was,” Mama said.

Grandma Bea nodded. “Burial’s Sunday morning.”

“In town?” Uncle Jack asked.

“No, in the churchyard right here.” Grandma Bea gestured in the direction of the small church and cemetery that stood a quarter mile behind her house, just through the cotton field.

Uncle Jack looked surprised. “Bruce and Verna don’t want her in the cemetery in town?”

Grandma Bea shook her head. “Tina was born and raised here. She went to this church. Norm Masters got her ready for burial, and I believe they transported her back to the church late this afternoon. I think Bruce plans stay with her until the service—” Grandma Bea’s voice cracked.

Mama sighed. “Well, it will be a comfort to have Reverand Baker give the sermon.”

Grandma Bea huffed. “That old coot? He just likes to hear himself talk.”

“Mama!” my mom and Uncle Jack gasped.

“Since when don’t you like Reverand Baker?” Mama asked.

Suddenly, Shelby sped past the China cabinet and catapulted herself into Uncle Jack’s lap.

“Munchkin!”

Grandma cleared her throat and lightly slapped her hand on the table. “Now, might be best if we change the topic. Little ears.”

The adults turned their conversation to the shift changes at the factory, and their voices eventually blurred into a drone in my tired ears. 

***

I awoke confused. The house was dark and I was on the couch, where Uncle Jack must have deposited me. I had kicked off the blanket he’d covered me up with and I was cold. I sat up and rubbed my eyes for a minute. A sudden yowl from the dark room made me jump, and I realized that Emerald was sitting at the front door, which stood wide open. I gasped and rushed to the door. The night had gone wild and flickery. The wind howled as it pushed clouds across the sky that obliterated the light from the full moon. Then, once they were past, the moon would burst forth in its full brightness again, only to be snuffed out again by another bank of clouds seconds later. 

As I approached the door, Emerald looked directly at me. Then, she turned and ran out into the night.

I should have closed the door and gone to Grandma Bea’s spare room. I wish to God I would have. Instead, I walked out the door and followed Emerald into the night. She crossed the front yard, and for a moment, I thought she just wanted to explore for a minute and would turn around and come back inside, but when she got to the side of the house, she turned right to head toward the field that lay behind it.

As I crossed the field, the wind kept blowing clouds across the sky so that the night undulated between light and dark, making it impossible for my eyes to adjust. I lost sight of Emerald and for a moment, wondered if I should give up and go back to the house. Just as I was getting ready to slow down so I could spin around and head back, the clouds cleared, and the moon re-illuminated the landscape. Emerald was trotting across the cemetery, just ahead of me, and I picked up my pace. But as we entered the graveyard, the jagged rows of tombstones forced us to weave in and out of the stones toward the copse of giant elm trees that shrouded the back half of the cemetery and the churchyard. I was focused on trying not to fall and keeping Emerald in my sight, but a hint of movement ahead caught my eye. I slowed to look in the direction of the movement, and for a moment thought I saw a figure. I gasped and dropped to a crouch behind a large headstone.

For several seconds I crouched. Flicker, flicker went the moon, and then, with one big gust of wind that shook dead leaves off the elms and blew them into a spiral with twigs and bits of grass in a parchment-paper rattle whoosh, the graveyard burst into full moonlight. I inched my face forward until I could see around the headstone.

In the middle of the churchyard, Grandma Bea stood, motionless, while Emerald weaved between and around her ankles in a slinky figure eight. Bruce was emerging from the backdoor of the church, and he was carrying someone like a baby. 

Bruce approached Grandma Bea, squatted at her feet, and gently laid the person he was carrying on the ground. One of the person’s arms flopped to their side, and Bruce immediately grabbed their hand and held it for a moment, before gently laying it on their chest.

As the clouds cleared again, I caught a glint of gold from the head of the person lying on the ground. It was Tina.

I cupped both hands over my mouth to stifle my gasps and the sob I felt rising in my chest.

Bruce stood, and backed up next to Grandma Bea as she raised her arms toward the moon, lifted her head and let out the most haunting sound I’ve heard still to this day. Emerald did one final figure eight between Grandma’s ankles and settled into line next to Grandma Bea and Bruce.

Grandma Bea began to chant something in a whisper. Slowly at first and then faster and faster. As her cadence quickened, her voice became louder, but the words—if they could be called that—were a mystery to me.

As she chanted, the very night seemed to speed up. The wind pushed banks of clouds across the moon so quickly that it flickered like a strobe light.

Grandma was bellowing now, while Emerald yowled, and Bruce tried to brace himself against the wind.

Suddenly, both Grandma Bea and Emerald grew silent. I watched them intently for a moment, until I sensed movement.

I shifted my gaze. Tina Alden was stirring. I blinked hard three or four times, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. Her arms were moving. Her palms, which had been lying across her chest, were traveling—slowly, as if the movement required extreme effort—to her sides and planting themselves on the ground. Now, her elbows were bending.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, as I closed my eyes and shook my head.

I opened my eyes, and Tina, whose spine had been severed, was pressing her palms against the cold dirt and trying to raise herself into a sitting position.

“Bruce!” Grandma Bea bellowed. Sobbing, he hurried to where Tina lay, squatted down at her side, and ever-so-gently helped her to her feet. Tina swayed for a moment but managed to remain standing after Grandma Bea summoned Bruce back into line. 

Tina’s head hung at an odd angle to the right, and it took a moment for me to realize that it wasn’t because of the wind, but because Tina’s neck had been broken when the truck had collided with her driver’s side door.

Suddenly, the chili mac I’d had for dinner at Grandma Bea’s house was on the grass in front of me.

Still heaving, I wiped tears from eyes, and raised my head to see Grandma Bea moving her arms slowly as if she were conducting a symphony.

“Tina,” she cooed, “sweet, sweet Tina . . .”

Tina stood there for a few more moments, unsteady in her cabbage rose Laura Ashely dress.

“Tina…Tina…Tina…” Grandma Bea continued to murmur. Tina took one jagged step forward and to the right. Her head lolled drastically, and I doubled over again and vomited the rest of my dinner.

In response to Tina’s step forward, Grandma Bea took a step backward and to the left.

“Tina…Tina…Tina…” Grandma Bea, continued her incantation, arms still raised to the heavens as she and Tina continued their clumsy series of steps and Tina’s reanimated body jerked and lurched.

Suddenly, I was back in Grandma Bea’s living room during Christmas the year before. The room was bathed in the glow of Christmas lights, and Grandma was teaching me to foxtrot. I was clumsy at first, but soon, I fell into the pattern of the box step with its slow, slow, quick, quick cadence. Once I got the hang of it, we danced and laughed for almost an hour, while the rest of the family sang and clapped.

Now, Grandma Bea was doing the same sequence with Tina. They danced. But instead of the smooth, slow, slow, quick, quick rhythm, it was jagged. Grotesque. Tina’s head continued to loll as her feet lurched unnaturally in response to Grandma Bea’s movements.

I retched again, but there was nothing left of that night’s family dinner. There was nothing to do but turn and run away from the church toward the safety of home.

It was only once I started running that I realized I had no idea where I was going.