When I was young, I danced in the
living room with the carpet rolled back against the wall and my mother’s
fringed light fixture pulled up by its chain so we wouldn’t bump our heads on
it.
I danced with Joe, who had rhythm. He
had been my friend since second grade, and we had an understanding. He got to
wind up the Victrola, and I got to choose the record. We danced while Frankie
sang “Embraceable You,” Vaughn Monroe crooned “Racing with the Moon,” and
Frankie Laine belted out “Tumbling Tumbleweeds.” Then Joe moved away. I needed
a new partner.
