The band was four men from Parsons who played country music and some old rock and roll. The leader was a heavyset fellow with a white beard. He came and found me while the plates were being cleared, holding his hat in his hands.
“Ma’am, we’ll do whatever you want. We can pack up right now, no hard feelings. Or we can play quiet. We had a first dance worked up, but we can skip right on past that.”
“What was it?”
He told me. It was the old Anne Murray waltz. Derrick hadn’t cared one way or the other what we danced to, so I’d picked it. Because my mother used to sing it at the kitchen sink when I was a little girl.
“Play it,” I said.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Play it first.”
He went back up on the little stage, and they started in.
Nobody got up, of course.
A hundred and forty people sat there holding their coffee cups and stared at an empty square of linoleum with a waltz playing over it. For about eight bars I thought I’d made a terrible mistake. I sat there with my face burning.
Then I heard the cane.
Grandma June was getting up. She didn’t ask anybody for help. She pushed her chair back, squared her shoulders, and came around the end of the head table one slow step at a time in her lavender dress with the pearl buttons.
She stopped in front of me. And she held out her hand, palm up. The way a boy would have done in 1958.
“I believe this is mine,” she said.
I took her hand.
We walked out onto that floor together. Eighty-four and thirty-one. A cane and a pair of canvas sneakers. She hung the cane over her wrist and put her other hand on my shoulder.
She couldn’t really waltz anymore. We swayed. That was all. She smelled like Jergens lotion and the peppermints she keeps in her pocketbook.
“I’m sorry it’s just me, Grandma,” I said.
“Hush. I’ve waited sixty years for this, and I’m not going to have it apologized over.”
“I mean for you. I’m sorry your dance had to be this one.”
She leaned back so she could see my face. Her eyes were wet. Her voice wasn’t.
“Amy Jo, you listen to me. I buried a husband. And a daughter-in-law. And a baby boy you never knew about, who’d have been your uncle. I know what a bad day is.”
She squeezed my shoulder.
“A bad day is one where there’s nobody to feed and nobody to dance with. Look around this room, sugar. This is not a bad day. This is a hard day. They are not the same thing. When you’re my age, you’ll know the difference by the sound.”
That’s when I finally cried.
Right there in the middle of the dance floor, with my forehead down on my grandmother’s shoulder, and her patting my back in time to the steel guitar.
I heard a chair scrape. Then another one.
When I got my head back up, Daddy was standing at the edge of the floor with his hand held out to his sister Deb. Harold Dawson had gotten hold of one of the auxiliary ladies. Derrick’s Aunt Judy and her husband were out there. Emma was dancing all by herself, turning in circles, throwing the last of her petals straight up in the air so they came down on her own head.
By the end of that song, there wasn’t room on the floor to swing your arm.
Sophia Rivers is an experienced News Content Editor with a sharp eye for detail and a passion for delivering accurate and engaging news stories. At TheArchivists, she specializes in curating, editing, and presenting news content that informs and resonates with a global audience.
Sophia holds a degree in Journalism from the University of Toronto, where she developed her skills in news reporting, media ethics, and digital journalism. Her expertise lies in identifying key stories, crafting compelling narratives, and ensuring journalistic integrity in every piece she edits.
Known for her precision and dedication to the truth, Sophia thrives in the fast-paced world of news editing. At TheArchivists, she focuses on producing high-quality news content that keeps readers informed while maintaining a balanced and insightful perspective.
With a commitment to delivering impactful journalism, Sophia is passionate about bringing clarity to complex issues and amplifying voices that matter. Her work reflects her belief in the power of news to shape conversations and inspire change.