Swing
dancing night at the Long Lake Retirement Home. "It don't mean a thing if
it ain't got that swing," sang the singer. Jerry could dig it as he sat
off to the side in the community room, watching. One of the orderlies had a boom box set up on
a card table and was playing dance music from the thirty's and forty's. It was
the best. In his memory Jerry could picture a long ago nightclub filled with
sweaty bodies dancing up a storm, cigarette smoke swirling and the band wailing
to the big beat of the drums and the thumping rhythm of the standup bass. He
tried to contain himself but he couldn't.
When the next song started he turned
to his wife. "Let's go cut the rug, Alice," he said, standing up and reaching
for her. "Let's get on that dance floor and show them how it's done."
He grinned as she took his hand and stood with
him, smiling. How wonderful she looked tonight, she in her blue and white
checked poodle dress, looking like she was born for this, jitterbugging and
jiving with him. Swing dancing. What a lucky man he was. He smiled, thinking
this must be what heaven was like.
With Alice by his side, Jerry hurried
out to the floor ready to dance like there was no tomorrow, ignoring the fact
that it'd been fifteen years since Alice had been with him. Fifteen years, since
she'd passed away from a valiant battle with cancer. But tonight that was all forgotten.
The crowd watched awestruck as Jerry
pivoted onto the floor and began jiving to "In The Mood," by Glenn
Miller, dancing up a storm, a smile as wide as the key board of a piano, as
energetic as the wailing of a saxophone. They watched him there on the floor, lost
in his memory of those long ago days, swing dancing across the floor with
Alice, the love of his life, together again the way it should be, never wanting
the music to end.
This story was posted on CafeLit, 8-11-19. You can view it here: https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2019/08/swing-dancing.html?spref=fb&fbclid=IwAR2O30py5TkDljUOUz-yqiUQcMpDbEP53NUZuxtU9cSoxRQl1WlgbLkHCCQ
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