THE NEXT DANCE

My granddaughter Violete asked me – “Were there oldies music when you were growing up, grandpa”?  And I replied “Honey…the oldies were new-ies when I was your age.  And then  it’s Saturday night in the basement of the YMCA in the "stag line". 

I’m wearing my new plaid jacket with the zoot suit shoulder pads.  All my guys are standing in a group near a wall.  The girls are sitting across from them mostly chatting and waiting…and waiting.  I say to my pal Jim, “Next slow one I am going and I going to ask VS to dance.” He says “go ahead but I bet she says no thank you.”  And my Y-Dance Russian Roulette began.

 I start to sweat and hope my generous dousing of Old Spice will supplement my 24 hour guaranteed Right Guard deodorant, as hawked on TV.  The next 45 RPM drops on the RCA player supervised by Allen the student DJ – Poison Ivy – much too fast.  Nextm  Look In My Eyes – I don’t like this one either, not much of a beat and gosh knows I need a beat to help my feet – as I sometimes forget to listen to and concentrate on my steps in the middle of a song.   Angel Baby – Not a favorite.  Does the beat really matter? The voice in my head whispers, “Oh Calvin, you are just afraid to pull the trigger, you’re a big overgrown coward…what’s the worst that could happen?

Time marches on.  My chance to dance is fading with each tune.  "Well", says Jim, “I knew you wouldn't dance?  I replied, “Next one for sure buddy”. 

Little did we know that the gals across the way were wishing we would just get up and ask them to dance because they all looked so disinterested.  Now I know that they had just as much angst caused by this age old rite of passage as we did.  But I didn't learn that until I was older but still not wiser.   I took a deep breath and conjured up some courage. “Here I go”, the voice echoed in my skull.  I was committed to dance to this song - whatever it was.  The music started.  I started with it walking the long walk to the girls domain.   I felt a tad dizzy.  I made fleeting eye contact with Vicki.  

And I kept walking.  I race up the stairs to the lobby and make a promise to my inner voice.  “Next week I am going to ask her… I promise…Next week… for sure".  I got a cup of Hires Root Beer from the soda machine for a quarter and walked home to South Millville.