Between the Lines

At the end of his sixteenth hour of dancing, Lucas was in desperate need of a pick-me-up. His dance partners had been enthusiastic and cheerful. Volunteers committed to keeping him going for their assigned one-hour dance duty. All in the name of supporting the Vield Hospital for Children.

Every year the Vield fundraiser took a different form. This year it was a 24-hour dance marathon because it provided both entertainment for the sponsors and served as a reminder that not everyone enjoyed the health and stamina needed to endure a day and a night of dancing.

Lucas was roused by the sound of the cowbell.

“It’s midnight, dancers. Say goodbye to yesterday,” the announcer said, his voice booming across the dance floor. “Partners, please find your dancers.”

“Lucas?” asked a young woman in a pale pink dress with short sleeves, a wide black belt, fitted bodice, and a skirt that flared with every step revealing a hot pink underskirt. He had removed his jacket and tie within the first hours of dancing and was left in his white dress shirt and black trousers. His first five partners had twisted and hopped in time with the pounding beat. But he had come to think of the music as a background soundscape and no longer felt compelled to obey its commands.

“Yes, I’m Lucas,” he said, trying to shake some life back into his arms. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Mara.” She mimicked his shuffle. Three steps to the left. Three to the right. “Do you need a break?” She wore her dark brown hair in a short pixie cut that framed her pretty face. She radiated good cheer.

“No, I’m banking my minutes so I can take a real nap in a couple of hours.” The dancers were allowed ten minutes of rest every hour. They could use them as they were awarded—at the top of every hour—or save them. However, the sponsors who sat at the tables surrounding the dance floor, drinking from tall glasses and chatting with companions, gave points to their favorite couples. Dramatic spins and dips inspired sponsors to cast their votes to increase the amount of money the couple earned for that hour of dance. Napping did not inspire the sponsors.

“I brought you a little treat. I thought you might like something refreshing.” Mara twisted a small backpack off one shoulder, dug inside for a shiny silver cylinder, and unrolled a steaming white towel. She pressed the hot cloth into his hands. He rubbed it over his face, through his hair, and across the back of his neck. It smelled faintly of lavender. It was relaxing. “And now this one.” She handed him another towel. Icy cold and smelling of lemons. He pressed it to his eyes and inhaled the citrusy scent. He rubbed the rough fabric over his hands. That was refreshing.

“Thanks. That’s wonderful. You’re so prepared. Are you a professional marathon dancer?” He smiled and held his hand out to her.

“No. It’s my first time.” She tugged on her backpack and placed her warm hand in his. She immediately fell into step beside him as if they were taking a leisurely stroll in a park. He two-stepped them—quick, quick, slow, slow—along the edge of the hardwood floor toward the back of the enormous ballroom where it was quieter. “But my cousin’s an expert. She signed up to be your partner, but she slipped on the ice yesterday, and now her knee looks like a purple grapefruit. She’s a dance major. Volunteering for this marathon met her community service requirement. I’m really sorry for you that you don’t get her. She’s an amazing dancer.”

“Well, I’m very grateful to have you,” he said, lifting their joined hands over her head and spinning her in a tidy pirouette. “And dancing must run in the family.” She made it easy for him to lead them across the dancefloor.

“Do you mind if I ask why you’re doing this marathon?”

He could answer with the same bland response he’d given his prior partners. That it was for a good cause. Perhaps it was the late hour, or the fatigue that made his legs heavy and his feet ache, but he was inclined to offer this woman the truth.

“My parents signed us up. My Mom and Dad are here somewhere. My younger brother, Theo, spent a lot of time at Vield Hospital. He would have turned twenty this year. My parents wanted to do something to remember him.”

“That’s lovely. You’ll have to point out your parents to me.” She stepped in front of him, so they faced each other, rested a hand on his right shoulder, and took hold of his left hand. He instinctively placed his right hand on her back just below her shoulder and guided her around and between the other dancers. She didn’t miss a step as they continued their two-stepping, trusting him to lead her as she danced backward.

“What do you do when you’re not preparing hot face cloths?” he asked.

“I’m in an in-between-year. I finished medical school last summer and deferred the start of my internship for a year so I can help my grandparents. They’re getting older...What do you do?”

“I’m giving myself one year to be a playwright. I promised my Dad that if I don’t have some tangible measure of success, I’ll go back to school in the fall and get my teaching certificate.”

“You’re the first playwright I’ve ever met. That’s so cool. It gives me an idea for how to pass the time. But it could be horrible. You have to promise you’ll tell me if you don’t want to…”

“I promise.” He took her hand and pressed it against his chest.

“Would it be fun, or torture, if we made up a play together? For the next hour.”

“Speed playwriting while two-stepping. That absolutely sounds like fun.” He sent her in a twirl to emphasize the point. Her skirt flared up when she spun, revealing the bright pink lining. A little reward for his effort.

“Where do we start?” she asked, settling back into position, facing him.

“We need the setting for our opening scene.”

“We’re in a farmhouse,” she said. “In the kitchen. It’s autumn. You can see the trees in full color through the kitchen windows. It’s early morning. The sun’s just peeking up over the horizon.”

“Who’s in the farmhouse?”

“Two brothers. Sitting at the breakfast table. And their mother. She’s wearing an apron with red cherries on it. She’s not sitting with her sons. She hovers over them, bringing them toast and refilling their coffee cups. Ok. Now it’s your turn. What’s special about this day at the farmhouse?”

“The younger son is leaving today,” he said. “It’s their last meal together. The mother is sad that he’s going, but she’s pleased for him…that he gets to have an adventure. The elder brother wishes he could leave the farm. He’ll get his turn with the younger brother returns. Where’s the younger brother going?”

“To Europe. To study painting.”

He liked the way she answered his questions with confidence and authority.

“He has to go all the way to Europe for that?” he asked.

“He thinks so. It’s 1910. And although Eakins and Hopper are doing interesting work in New York and Philadelphia, he wants to spend his year learning from the old masters. So first stop Paris. He’ll make his way to Amsterdam and Italy as time and his budget allow.”

The song changed to a melody in three-four time. He held her a bit closer, and shifted them to a waltz, with longer strides, and gentle turns. His earlier fatigue had vanished. His attention entirely captivated by his new friend and their story.

“Ok. Next scene,” he said. “Do we stay at the farm, or do we head to Paris?”

“Would it be ok to go to Paris?”

“Definitely. Our younger brother spends his days in the Louvre studying the masters and nights with other artists. Surrealists. He shares a one room studio apartment with another artist. But things are going too well for our younger brother. We’ve got to give him a problem.”

“His roommate steals his money,” she said. “The studio is very cold. He catches pneumonia. He’s coughing and febrile.”

“Wow. That’s dire.”

“It’s too much?” she asked.

“No. It’s good. You’ve got a wonderful imagination.” She beamed at the compliment. He liked making her smile. And he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms in a way he hadn’t experienced with his other partners.

“It’s twelve-thirty dancers,” the announcer said as he rang his cow bell. “Let’s give a big shout out to our pit stop sponsors—the Vield Hospital Ladies Auxiliary. Thank you, Ladies.”

“Ready for a backpack treat?” Mara asked. “Or would you like to sample some of the Ladies’ waffles?”

“Definitely a backpack treat.”

“Grab hold of my belt and keep us moving while I get it for you.” She pulled her backpack off her shoulder, dug around, and withdrew a small square bin and an old-fashioned film canister. She returned her backpack to her shoulders, opened the little box, and held it up for him. “It’s a cinnamon nugget.”

It was soft and sweet. Delicious and comforting. And smelled like Sunday brunch with cinnamon French toast.

“That’s amazing.” He sucked his fingers not willing to let a single crumb go to waste.

“Careful not to spill,” she said as she handed him the little canister.

“Coffee?”

“Nope. Just try it.” He took the single swallow and held it in his mouth.

It was a burst of bright apples and sunshine. The perfect complement to the comforting nugget.

“Apple cider?” he asked.

She nodded as she handed him one of the towels to wash his fingers.

“What else do you have in that backpack of delights?”

“You’ll just have to keep dancing to find out.”

He let his fingers slide under her belt and stepped in front of her. It was his turn to dance backward. She rested on arm on his shoulder and one finger in his belt loop. Tipped her head to peer around him, and then in one swift movement spun them around so he was leading them.

“You’re too tall. I can’t see around you,” she said.

“OK, I’ll manage the dancefloor traffic. So…we left our young brother hacking and sniffling without a franc in his pocket. Where’s the next scene set?”

“A hospital ward.”

“That’s thematically appropriate.”

“Oh, my goodness. I didn’t realize I’d done that.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“It happens to me all the time. I think I’m writing the great American play until I realize it’s a reenactment of a playground dispute I had in the fifth grade. Tell me about this hospital ward.”

“It’s one big room,” she said. “With beds lined up against each wall and an aisle down the middle. Nurses in old-fashioned uniforms go from bed to bed tending the patients. It’s clean. The bed linens are white. And the sun shines through windows set above one row of the beds casting shadows across the floor. But I wonder…how’s our younger brother doing?”

“He’s weak and still coughs, but he’s recovering. He’s propped up on pillows sketching the little boy who’s asleep in the bed next to him. When the little boy is sleeping his face is relaxed and peaceful.”

“Is he different when he’s awake?” she asked.

“Yes. He’s in terrible pain. We can’t see the injury because it’s covered in bandages and hidden under the blankets…But the boy’s parents come to visit every day after work just when the nurses are changing his dressings, so the parents only see their son’s misery, they don’t see him resting.”

“Our younger brother sketches three drawings for the parents,” she said, holding one finger against his shoulder. “One is the truth. The little boy asleep. With eyes closed. But the younger brother worries that the little boy looks too much like death. So, he sketches another drawing.” She raised a second finger against his shoulder.

“Identical to the first, but with the boy’s eyes open and a rosy flush on his cheeks. As if he were listening to a nurse reading a story.”

“And the third drawing?” he asked.

Three fingers pressed above his collarbone.

“It’s entirely imagined. The little boy—his face alight with pleasure—running. Flying a kite.”

“Other families will want sketches of their loved ones,” Lucas said remembering days spent at Theo’s bedside.

“And our younger brother is happy to oblige those families.”

“Do the families pay him?” Lucas asked.

“Of course, they do. They’re so grateful. As is the young doctor who tends the patients in the ward—he and the younger brother become friends.”

They danced together in silence, surrounded by the press of bodies and the pounding music. He held her closer. Her hair smelled botanical.

The announcer rang his cow bell.

“Dancers, it’s twelve-forty-five. Fifteen minutes until your well-deserved rest-time.”

“OK. Last treat,” she said. “Just sashay me around—this one’s a little tricky.” He stepped behind her and put a hand on either side of her waist, guiding her through gaps in the crowd conga-line style. She unscrewed the lid on a small thermos, inserted a red straw, and held it up for him.

He sipped. Lemon slushy. Cold. Tart. And sweet.

“That’s so good. It tastes like the State Fair.”

“Are you ready to finish our play?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said as they took up their preferred position facing each other.

“It’s back in the farmhouse kitchen,” she said.

“Ahh. That’s a nice bookend. Who’s there?”

“The mother, the older brother. And the doctor.”

“Oh. I see.” The realization that the younger brother in their story had died took his breath away.

“The doctor brought the younger brother’s possessions home to the mother,” Mara said quietly.

“The doctor doesn’t return to Paris.” Lucas wanted to give this imaginary family a happy ending. “The doctor stays and opens a practice in town. He falls in love with the older brother. In the final scene, the kitchen is full of people. Eating dinner. Remembering the younger brother. One of his paintings hangs on the wall.”

“It’s bittersweet. But I’m glad our older brother finds love and happiness.”

She stopped. Reached around his torso and embraced him.

He wanted to linger with her. But she released him too soon and propelled them back into motion.

“I know it’s a lot to ask. But would you come back at eight o’clock and be my partner for the last dance? I haven’t had this much fun with someone…well, it’s been a long time…”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I would’ve loved to be your partner, but I promised to pick my aunt up from the airport at eight.”

He steered them through the dancers to an older couple—the woman’s head was tucked under the man’s chin as they swayed in perfect harmony.

“Mom. Dad. There’s someone I want you to meet.” In one practiced move, his father spun his mother away from where she’d nestled against his body. She held her hand out for Mara and his father held on to Lucas—the four of them forming a circle. “This is Mara.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” his mother said.

“Thanks for keep Lucas moving,” his father said. “You’ve worked some magic on him. He looks more alert than he did hours ago.”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” the announcer boomed as he rang his cow bell. “It’s one AM and time to swap your partners.”

“Hi. Are you Lucas?” a tall woman in a mini skirt asked.

“He is,” his mother said.

“It was very nice to meet you all,” Mara said. “I’ve had a wonderful time.” She squeezed Lucas’ hand, stepped up, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Excuse me, I’m going to take a break,” Lucas said to his new dance partner. “I’ll be back soon.”

Lucas intended to run after Mara. To convince her to return. But he had lost sight of her. He couldn’t leave the room without forfeiting all the donations he’d earned for the hospital. And she’d wasted no time in disappearing. His emotions were raw from fatigue. They were playing tricks on him. If there’d been a real connection, she would have felt it too. Would have promised to come back.

He went to the washroom and splashed water on his face. He returned to where he’d left his family and new partner. She was energetic. But she didn’t have a backpack of delights.

***

The announcer rang the bell signaling the last dance.

Lucas was more tired than he could remember.

A tap on his shoulder.

“‘The stage directions say, enter stage left. Her line is: ‘May I have this dance?’” Mara said.

Actors now in their own story.

He held his hands out to her.

She stepped close to him, put her hand under his jacket, and around his body.

She danced to the music.

And he was happy to follow her lead.