No One Noticed That She Was Dancing

[Jacaylbaro]

“I was the belle of Millvale.” The widow Murphy sat erect in her walker. Like the queen in her carriage. Took a tissue out. Carefully from her purse. Wiped her brow.

 

“There were no end of suitors. For my hand.”

 

The widow smiled at the passengers of the mall. Filing past her. Like the mall was an aeroplane. And their destination. All of their destinations. Was the W.C.

 

“Of course most of those lovely young men gave up their lives. In the Great War. The war to end all wars. How optimistic. Such high ideals. Saving us from the ruthless Hun. Such fools. Us and the Huns.”

 

The widow dabbed lightly at her forehead. Was it the Great War or the next war?

 

“I’m sweltering. Suppose we should go inside where there’s air-conditioning. What a time we had. What were we dancing? Then? Was it Strauss? Benny Goodman? I can hardly remember. I was listed on everyone’s dance card. Oh yes, I was a social butterfly. As if each young man’s lap. Was a flower. And I was searching. For the stamen.”

 

The widow giggled.

 

“The last dance. Oh, I suppose I was a little devilish. A young girl’s devilishness. Promising so much to so many. But that’s what us girls were like. Full of promises. And the boys loved it. Back then. The ones that survived.”

 

The family Robinson passed by the widow’s walker. The widow turned her head affectionately and reached out for the young Peggy Robinson. The little girl dodged fearfully behind her mother.

 

The little girl turned to her mother.

 

“Who’s that old lady talking to?”

 

Mrs. Robinson smiled politely at the old lady and tugged at her daughter’s arm.

 

The widow returned the smile in kind.

 

“Little brat!” she muttered into her tissue.

 

A line of spit stretched from the tissue, which she now returned to her purse. A small spider caught in the light breeze of the day found itself tangled in the spit and soon buried in the old woman’s purse.

 

More shoppers passed by. Pretending not to notice the old woman addressing them. For her part, the widow’s attention flirted from one passing stranger to the next.

 

Everest stepped up to the widow.

 

“They aren’t listening to you today,” he said with a smile.

 

The old woman looked up at the large man standing in front of her. She’d seen him before. Nosy prig.

 

“You’re blocking the sun!” she grumbled.

 

Everest stepped to one side.

 

The widow Murphy closed her eyes. Smiled for a moment. Before opening them again and casting a dart at Everest.

 

“And who are you to tell me who is listening? Of course, they are listening. I have many admirers. I was just having the loveliest conversation. With a little girl. Peggy Robinson. About the days. When I was her age. Why is it that the old days seem so filled with… ”

 

“Memories,” Everest suggested.

 

The widow shook her head.

 

“Life,” she said then closed her eyes.

 

Everest nodded to the Zeagman’s who passed by. And then to Maynard G. Krebbs. Ed Kuris, a local artist, stopped to speak.

 

“I’m a little short of cash,” Ed said.

 

“Well, Ed,” Everest responded, “you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

 

Ed moved on.

 

Everest turned his attention back to the widow.

 

“I see you here every day. In front of the stores. Sitting in your walker, addressing the passing throng. But, I don’t see anyone stopping to listen.”

 

“Perhaps you aren’t here all the time.”

 

Everest nodded. “Perhaps.”

 

The old woman cackled. “You think I’m mad.”

 

“Well…” Everest began but hesitated.

 

“I’ve spent most of my life trying to be a certain way,” the widow explained. “To please people. Not to upset anyone. It took so much effort.”

 

“I see,” Everest responded.

 

“Do you?” the widow smiled slyly.

 

Everest bowed slightly. And responded.

 

“I try to see things through other’s eyes. To understand the world.”

 

The widow shook her head.

 

“Give me a break. Mister. Understanding. How can we understand other people’s pain?”

 

Everest stared at the widow for several seconds. Suddenly like a cloud burst she seemed lucid.

 

“I had a friend. During the war. Just a girl. She died in the camps.” The old woman cleared her throat. Spit on the sidewalk. Just missing Everest’s shoes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

 

“Do you think you could understand her pain?”

 

Everest did not respond.

 

“Of course you couldn’t.” The old woman reached back into her purse for her tissue. “No one can understand. That is the horror of it. It is beyond understanding. All we can do…”

 

The widow’s voice trailed off as she wiped her brow and cheek with a tissue. The body of a dead spider was left behind. On her left cheek.

 

Everest smiled uncomfortably. He noticed a smudge on the widow’s cheek.

 

The widow looked up to the tall man.

 

“I find it awfully sticky. Don’t you find it so?”

 

Everest shook his head. The clarity of her mind had dissipated. A fog had moved back in.

 

“I have many admirers, you know? I was the belle of Millvale.”

 

Everest nodded. “Of course, mam.”

 

“I wish I could get a nice drink of cool lemonade,” the widow said.

 

“Perhaps at the restaurant,” Everest responded.

 

“I’m wearing a thong.”

 

The smile that had graced the face of Everest disappeared. His mouth dropped.

 

“What?” he finally asked.

 

The old woman cackled with delight.

 

“A thong,” she repeated. “You want to have a peek?” she reached down to the hem of her dress to lift it up.

 

Everest turned and raced off. The old lady laughed with delight. For a moment. Then an image flashed across her mind. An image of a young girl. From the widow’s youth. A tear slipped from her eyes and ran down her cheek. She took her tissue and wiped it away. The corpse of the spider was carried off in the flood.

 

The widow stood up and looked down the crowded sidewalk of the plaza. Take the ‘A’ Train was playing over the intercom. The widow began to move to the rhythm. As she jostled through the crowd. With her walker. No one noticed that she was dancing.

 

 

David Halliday

[Queen Arawello]

And then....? :rolleyes:

 

Jelly Belly, as much as I adore your segisi farax-fied fuuto, 90% of your topics are malayacni...Yup, Including this one!

 

Sida kalee, nafta ka waran?

[Jacaylbaro]

segisi farax-fied fuuto

what is that ??? ,,

 

 

waa la fiican yahay ,,,, adigu iska waran ?