Dancing Straight Away

Dancing Straight Away

By

Barbara Celeste McCloskey

 I didn’t want to be there even though it was a lovely summer evening. I had been to these tired “Separated and Divorced” dances a few times in the past, and I always came away feeling worse than when I went in. It was depressing for me to see middle-aged people trying to relive their high school years. I was there only because I promised my friend that she could pick our activity after we enjoyed her birthday dinner. She chose the dance.

             The dance venue was about an hour from our home, so, during the ride there, I could ready myself for a dull evening. Don’t get me wrong. I love to party as much as the next girl, but the music they played at these dances was the same tunes I jived to in high school—twenty-five years ago. The only difference now was a DJ as young as one of my children spun the tunes.

            Before entering the building, my “friend” said, “Now, listen. We’ll go our separate ways when we get inside. After all, we’re here to meet people.”

             I was aghast. “You mean you dragged me up here, and now you’re dumping me?”

             She put her hands on her hips. “You said I could decide where we went after dinner. This is my choice. Deal with it.” She stomped away from me.

           What was I to do? She drove here, so I had no way to leave. And above all, I always keep my promises. So, I slowly followed in her wake and decided to make the best of a less-than-desirable situation.

             I hung up my coat and went to the “welcome” table, where I paid my ten bucks to get into the gymnasium. Did I forget to tell you this dance was in a high school? Yeah. I’m not kidding.

             Like a high school dance in the 1960s, the lights were dimmed. Stuck on the wall were large, colorful paper decorations. Cafeteria tables were lined up along the periphery. But, unlike a high school dance, glasses of beer and wine were available. A heaviness hung in that gymnasium that I only felt one other time—when I had a job interview in the city jail. No kidding, I had a job interview for a clerical position in that horrid building of no hope.

             I didn’t know a soul. So, I plastered myself along one of the walls waiting to see if anyone would approach me. No one did.

               My friend? Little did I know that she had been coming to these dances by herself and had made a group of acquaintances and a few friends. Why she couldn’t introduce me to them is still a mystery.

            After some time, I went to the bar. I had no desire for beer or wine. But I was thirsty and thought I’d have a little fun with the bartender. I ordered a “Michigan Straight.” The bartender looked at me like I had two heads. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have beer, wine, and soda. No mixed drinks.”

             I smiled. “I would very much like a Michigan Straight.”

             Now he looked cross. “I told you I don’t have that.”

             I answered, “Sure you do. You have water in the tap, right?”

             He gave a lazy smile. “You want a glass of water?”

             “Yes, please.”

             He handed me my drink. “That was a good one.”

             “Everybody is trying hard to relive their high school days, so I thought I would see how far I could go. When we were kids, my friends and I always called a glass of water a Michigan Straight, seeing we got our water from Lake Michigan.”

             “I’ll have to remember that.” The bartender smiled and went on to serve the next person in line.

              I think he was glad to get rid of me.

             Little did I know that a good-looking man had overheard my conversation with the bartender and thought I was pretty clever. It turned out he was a lover of puns and plays on words. We stood and talked for a few minutes, and then he asked me to dance.

             We danced that dance and every dance after that. Finally, finally, I found some fun. Luckily, the music wasn’t played as loud as it was in high school, so we could converse while swaying to the tunes. I learned he was a design engineer and had endured his high school days in Chicago at a Catholic boy’s school. I went to a public school. He was the eldest sibling in his family. So was I.

             When the dance ended at midnight, he asked if he could take me out for coffee and pie. I told him I had come with a friend and she would have to come with us.

            He grinned. “That’s okay. The more, the merrier!”

              Right then, I knew this guy was a keeper.

             My friend had brought along a man she had met several dances ago so the four of us ended the evening at a family restaurant called “The Palace.”

              Did I feel like Cinderella? Well, no. First, it was after midnight, and I didn’t have to rush home. Furthermore, I was old enough not to have a curfew. Finally, there was no way I would turn into a pumpkin.

              Was he prince charming? The jury was still out on that. But I knew he was a gentleman. He was fun. He was intelligent. He was easygoing. Best of all, he made me laugh.

              At three o’clock in the morning, it was time to say goodnight. He walked me to the car and asked if it would be all right if he called me. When I said yes, I handed him my business card. He smiled and gave me a quick kiss.

              Would I see him again? I had hoped so. My dating life after an ugly divorce had not gone well so far. I had met a lot of “frogs,” but this man struck me as more like a golden retriever.

*****

It’s June 30th. His birthday. He’s been gone for four years now. He had to leave after battling Multiple Sclerosis for almost twenty years. And yes, he was a true Prince Charming for over 25 years. Not even this damn dilatating disease got in our way. We both made the best of it. He fought to the end with everything he could while I quit my job to stay home and assume his care for ten years. We had the best kind of happiness anybody could wish for. But that’s how it should be for Barbie and Ken—the grown-up version.

That’s right – his name was Ken.