Save the Last Dance

The story below placed third in this year's Brucedale Press "acrostic" contest. 26 sentences long, each sentence begins with the next letter of the alphabet. This story was inspired by and dedicated to friends Kinelm and Holly Brookes of Portage, who celebrate 25 years of marriage this year.

     Applying Grandma's advice, I resolved to find myself a man who didn't dance. Because she herself had  married a guy who could really cut a rug, my grandmother spent much of her 85 years waiting while other ladies cut in, one after another, for their chance to promenade with the only male on the dance floor. Charlie Hooper was a regular Fred Astaire and it was this trait that had made my grandmother, and so many other girls, fall in love with him. Dashing and debonaire, he made Grandma the envy of Xenia County when he proposed to her that hot August night. Even at their wedding, the lovely bride danced only once with her graceful groom.

     For me, though, things were going to be different. Goodness knows I loved to dance, but I would not be taken in by fancy footwork and smart stepping. However lonely I might be, I would not be swayed by such shallow and superficial shenanigans. It mattered not that I went alone, danced alone, and returned home alone afterward.

   Just as I was finally beginning to believe that my partner-free dancing was more fun anyway, I met Kelvin. Kelvin Kellogg was the best dancer I had ever seen. Light on his feet and always in step, he moved as smoothly as a cat. My heart skipped a beat when I first laid eyes on him, tripping the light fantastic on the dance floor of the Xenia Community Hall. Not wanting to weaken my resolve, however, I did not join the lineup of young ladies waiting their turn to dance with this young Patrick Swazye. Older women even swallowed their pride and practically begged Kelvin to twirl them around the floor just one time.

     Perhaps it was this reluctance on my part that caught Kelvin's eye. Quietly, I made my way to the cloak room after the last dance was over and as I turned around to go, who was standing right in my path but Kelvin Kellogg.

     “Ready to leave?”

     “Silly question,” I muttered, not looking him in the eye.

     “The band will play one more if the prettiest lady in the room will dance with me,” Kelvin coaxed, holding out his hand.

     Under any other circumstances I'd have zipped right past him and gone on home, but such a charming invitation was more than I could resist. Visions of red roses and a long white gown were already dancing in my head as Kelvin took me in his arms and waltzed me around the room to Elvis Presley's I Can't Help Falling in Love with You. With our eyes locked tightly on each other, it seems we did fall in love that night and the rest is, as they say, history. Xenia residents came out in droves to celebrate with us and to dance with the groom at our wedding reception.

     You 'd think I would regret repeating my grandmother's mistake, but I've learned two things Grandma never did. Zeal for dance is much too precious to keep to oneself; and after the band plays its final song, I will always be the one who gets to take my dancing man home.