Dancing

She glided to the window, as if her feet were led by the slow, gentle rhythm of a waltz. Grace pulled the blinds shut, careful not to leave a crack. A hint of light struggled to filter through, but its efforts were useless. Giving a sideways glance to her brother, who was carrying a fan in from the next room, Grace looked expectantly at the door.
"John, is Bill coming today?"
She went over to the record player, attempting to look engrossed in setting the record in place. John gave her a mischievous grin as he shrugged. He flipped the switch of the fan on, then went over to where his sister stood. The steady hum of the whirling blades began to fill the room, singing along to "This Nearly Was Mine". He took a slow, sweeping bow before raising his hand to meet hers.
"Shall we dance?"

Their feet rarely missed a step, the steady 1, 2, 3 - 1, 2, 3 rhythm leading the way. As they waltzed around the tiny room, the fan still droning in the background, John's looming military service was almost forgotten, and only an occasional glance at the door reminded Grace of her own woes. Suddenly, the sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted Frank Sinatra's crooning voice, and as if doing an intricate routine, John ran to unplug the fan and return it to the next room as Grace removed the record and set the player in its original place. Just as the door opened, Grace quickly smoothed her dress and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, hoping that she didn't look too flushed.
"Grace, John! Come help me with the groceries," their mom ordered, as she made her way through the room and into the kitchen.
Grace breathed a sigh of relief as John gave her a quick wink.

That night, before she went to bed, Grace closed her eyes as she danced with an imaginary partner--preferably a tall, dashing young man--her feet gently keeping in rhythm.
How clear and deep are my fancies, of things I wish were true...


****

When my grandmother asked me to drive her and her friend to their first cha-cha lesson this afternoon, I had no idea what I would be in for. Needless to say I had a terrific time learning to cha-cha with a bunch of senior citizens. Sexy.
I love getting to hangout with my grandmother. Not only is she my hero (I could go on and on about why she is), but she spoils me rotten. Yep, definitely nothing to complain about. In between my broken Mandarin and her mixture of Mandarin, Taiwanese, and occasional (for my sake) English, we manage to communicate. I love her.
The story that I wrote above is based on my grandmother's own experience with dancing, which she told me on our way to the cha-cha lesson. In her time and culture, dancing was not exactly what upstanding and refined young people would do. So her younger brother found someone to teach them both to dance, and they would do so in secret--shutting all the blinds and turning on the fan so as to drown out the sound of the record player. I don't think their mother ever found out.