by John Cariani
Michelle called to Justin as he left the Rec Center. “Justy!” And she followed him down the stairs and out to the parking lot and got back in the car. “What’s up?” she asked, breathing heavily from trying to catch Justin.
“We can’t go dancing. Here. The way we danced. We can’t.”
“Okay.” She knew he was right.
“People aren’t ready for that here. And I thought I was. But I’m not. Not here.”
“Okay.” Michelle put her hand on Justin’s knee and squeezed it to comfort him.
The lightness Justin had been feeling was gone and had been replaced by the heaviness he usually felt. And he missed the lightness. Because it made him feel good. It was hard to let go of feeling good. Because he felt good so rarely.
Michelle took her hand off Justin’s knee and dug her keys out of her pocket and asked, “Wanna go?”
“Yeah,” said Justin, leaning his head on the passenger-door window.
Michelle started the car and pulled out of the Rec Center parking lot and headed back to Justin’s on the Road to Nowhere.
Justin turned on the radio and Michelle let him escape into some classic rock. A song about becoming comfortably numb came on. Justin was feeling uncomfortably numb. And wished he felt comfortably numb. He had some stuff that would make him comfortably numb and wished that he could use some of it. But he couldn’t. At least—not at Aunt Belinda’s.
When they got back to the house, the lights weren’t on.
And Aunt Belinda’s Honda wasn’t in the driveway.
Michelle had barely put the LeSabre in park when Justin got out of the car and headed inside. Michelle wondered if he wanted to be alone. Or if he needed to be alone—with someone. And she decided that he needed to be alone—with someone. So she cut the engine and followed him inside.
When she entered, she found Justin had finished taking off his black Chuck Taylors and was reading a note he had found on the kitchen counter. “They went to the Moose Paddy to get a beer,” he said, relaying the contents of the note.
Justin didn’t know how he felt about Aunt Belinda getting a beer with Father Tom at the Moose Paddy.
“Oh,” said Michelle.
Justin went into the living room and turned on the radio, which Aunt Belinda had tuned to the country station out of Presque Isle. An up-tempo number about what people do in small towns on Friday nights was playing.
Justin immediately turned the dial to the classic rock station.
“No! Wait!” Michelle had kicked off her boots and was hurrying into the living room. “I love that song!” And she went to the radio and put it back on the country station and listened to the song about what people do in small towns on Friday nights. And one of the things the song said people do in small towns on Friday nights is dance.
And Michelle looked at Justin and pointed at the radio.
“What?” Justin asked.
“Yeah!” said Michelle, still pointing at the radio.
“Huh?”
“The song says that one of the things people do on Friday nights is dance. So come on!”
“No,” said Justin, and he plunked himself on the couch.
“Yeah! Just you and me! Come on!” Michelle took off her jacket and threw it on Uncle Clair’s big plaid puffy chair.
And then she went to the couch and stood over Justin. And Justin thought she looked so young—too young to be a mom. And he worried about her. Because his mom was Michelle’s age when she had him. And her life was his dad’s life. And nothing more.
“Please. For me,” said Michelle. And she held her hands out to Justin. “We can really do it in here, too.” She looked up at the vaulted ceiling of Aunt Belinda and Uncle Clair’s A-frame house. Justin followed Michelle’s gaze upward and saw that there was plenty of room for them to execute the lifts and jumps they used to do.
And then Justin looked at Michelle. And she held out her hands to him again.
And Justin gave Michelle his hands. Because—even though he didn’t want to—Michelle needed to dance.
Michelle pulled Justin up off the couch and onto his feet.
And she started moving to the music.
And Justin started moving with her.
And they let their bodies remember how they danced. And did some simple steps and spins.
And then Michelle started moving some furniture around.
She pushed the oak coffee table Uncle Clair had made up against the fireplace.
And she pushed the couch up against the back wall.
And she moved Uncle Clair’s big plaid puffy chair into the corner.
And Justin moved the honey-stained maple end tables into the other corner.
And they rolled up the red-and-black checked rug and pushed it up against the wall so the polyurethaned pine floor could be their dance floor.
And then another song about private conversations came on. It was a rockabilly up-tempo number—perfect for the kind of dancing they did.
And they took off their socks so they’d have some traction.
And Michelle and Justin started dancing—really dancing—like they did when they were kids, back before anyone cared about how they danced. They took hands and did the cuddle into a pretzel spin and then Michelle rolled Justin over her back and then swung him through her legs and then helped him moon-flip over her head. And it was spectacular.
If they had danced that night at the Rec Center the way they were dancing at Justin’s house, some people would have cheered, no doubt, like they had at the talent show seven or so years ago.
But some people would have thought it wasn’t right.
But how else could Justin and Michelle have danced?
Justin could never have flipped and tossed Michelle.
And Michelle didn’t have Justin’s grace and had no idea how to be tossed and flipped.
So they danced the way they were meant to dance.
And after some fast and furious and fancy footwork, Justin dove sideways into Michelle’s arms like he was a plank of wood and Michelle spun him around her hips and then flipped him up onto her shoulder into an angel lift, and, as she slowly turned in a circle, Justin stretched his arms out like a bird as if he were flying.
And he felt the lightness fill up his insides again. It made him feel like a star. And like gravity had no effect on him—and it didn’t for a while.
Because Justin and Michelle were dancing on air. And had been for a while.
They didn’t know it.
But Aunt Belinda did.
She had just pulled into the driveway unbeknownst to Justin and Michelle. And saw them dancing through the living room picture window.
And she was so happy they had found something fun to do.
And she got out of her Honda.
And watched them dance.
And then she watched them elevate. Slowly. While they were dancing.
And she blinked a couple of times—hard—to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.
And she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have had that beer with Father Tom.
Because what she was seeing—Justin and Michelle dancing in the air—in her living room—was impossible.
Aunt Belinda was so mesmerized by the miracle she felt like she was witnessing that she didn’t see the northern lights in the sky above.
And she just watched Michelle and Justin dance—on air.
And then, eventually, on the polyurethaned pine floor again.
And Justin and Michelle kept dancing—unaware that they had been dancing on air.
They just felt like they had been dancing.
And they were having fun.
So much fun.
Like Uncle Clair would have wanted.
7
As Ginette passed the Rec Center, she thought about how much her mom and dad used to love to dance. She remembered them going to Country Swing when she was little, and they’d always come back laughing and loving each other.
And she
wished they still laughed and loved each other.
And then she hoped that her mom would maybe find someone else to take her to Country Swing someday. And that maybe they’d laugh and love each other.
And then Ginette wondered if she’d ever find somebody to laugh with and love.
She thought she had with Pete.
A little over an hour ago, they had told each other that they loved each other. And then they laughed and loved with each other for a few minutes. And those few minutes were the best few minutes Ginette had ever experienced.
But they were in the past.
And it seemed so wrong that all that laughing and loving was a part of their past.
It should have been a part of their present.
But it wasn’t.
And Ginette realized that the farther and farther away she got from Pete, the less and less likely it was that she and Pete would ever laugh and love—or do much of anything—together again.
* * *
At 8:15, Ginette found herself approaching Lendall Tardy’s house, which was about a quarter of a mile down the road from the Rec Center. Lendall was the guy you called if you wanted your kitchen remodeled, or if you were building a garage, or if you were painting your house. He had worked on just about every house and building in Almost, so everyone knew him. But no one knew him well. He was a quiet guy.
But Lendall’s girlfriend, Gayle Pulcifer, was not quiet. She was a dynamo and ran the Rec Center, so everyone knew her, too—and she had a magical way about her that made everyone feel like they knew her really well.
Gayle had done wonders for Almost. Thanks to a grant from the Burby Foundation, she had transformed the Rec Center building—which had almost been abandoned years ago—into a bustling community center that offered programming for everyone in Almost.
For kids, there were arts and crafts classes and all kinds of board game tournaments and intramural basketball leagues and Nerf dodgeball leagues and free gym time to help young people fight off cabin fever during northern Maine’s long winters.
And, because adults in northern Maine need help fighting cabin fever as much as kids do, there was plenty of programming for grown-ups. There were yoga classes, CPR classes, cooking classes, a gentlemen’s basketball league, cribbage and bridge tournaments, AA meetings, and a painting class taught by an artist named Merle Haslem from Allagash.
And the Rec Center offered plenty of all-ages activities, like Saturday morning nature hikes and movie nights and game nights and dance socials—like the Country Swing night that had been underway for a while on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen.
Ginette figured that Gayle must have been at Country Swing, supervising. And that Lendall must have been there with her, dancing with her and helping her make sure that everything was going smoothly, because he was always there for her. And she was always there for him.
They were such a cool couple, Ginette thought. They had been together forever—but they weren’t married. And Ginette had always wondered why. And not long ago she asked her mom if she ever thought they were going to get married. And her mom said it was none of her business. And that it didn’t matter if they were going to or not. What mattered was that they were happy.
And they sure seemed happy.
* * *
But Gayle wasn’t happy on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen. She was sitting in her old red Jeep in Lendall’s driveway. And feeling pretty sad.
Because she was about to break up with her boyfriend of eleven years.
Because she had just figured out that he didn’t love her anymore.
She had had a hunch for a while that this was the case. And, a little over an hour ago, her hunch had been confirmed—at Sandrine St. Pierre’s bachelorette party—which Gayle had shown up late to, because she needed to get the Country Swing event at the Rec Center set up and running. Unfortunately, there had been a hiccup in the early part of the evening: a young woman had suffered a bad fall while she and her dance partner were taking a lesson. Lalaine Deshain had encouraged them to try an over-the-shoulder throw that was way beyond their abilities. And the next thing everyone knew, the young woman was on the ground holding her face, keening, and bleeding profusely.
But the young woman’s date had taken her to the hospital, and Lendall cleaned up the blood, and everything settled down. And Gayle’s assistant, Dana Doughty, said she had everything under control, so Lendall went home, and Gayle headed over to the Moose Paddy to make an appearance at Sandrine’s bachelorette party.
When she arrived, Sandrine was holding court with her unbetrothed attendees, offering unsolicited advice on how they could get their men to put rings on their fingers. And Sandrine asked Gayle how much longer she was going to have to wait before Lendall put a ring on her finger. And Gayle said that she and Lendall had a good thing going and that she didn’t think having a ring on her finger would make it better, and Sandrine said, “Okaaay,” in a way that made everyone know that she did not think it was okay.
And then Narda Smith announced that she needed some relationship advice—which Sandrine loved to offer—and said that she had recently had her boyfriend, Chuck, over for a pot roast. And while they ate it, she asked him what he thought about getting married. And he didn’t answer. He just got quiet. And then asked what was for dessert.
The girls groaned and exchanged concerned looks.
“What?!?” cried Narda, fearing the worst.
And Sandrine said, “It means he wants out.”
“What? No!” protested Narda, laughing but feeling like she was going to cry.
“Yeah,” grumbled the girls in unison.
“It means he doesn’t love you,” said Sandrine.
“No!” gasped Narda.
“Yeah. Trust me. And I know,” said Sandrine. “’Cause I’ve been there. Well—not on your end. But … on Chuck’s end—with Jimmy. Remember Jimmy?”
“Yeah,” they all moaned, because they remembered Jimmy. He was sweet. But just not right—not for Sandrine, anyway.
“Well,” continued Sandrine, “he asked me one night what I thought about getting married.”
“He did?” asked Narda. This was news to everyone and caused quite the kerfuffle.
“Yeah,” answered Sandrine.
“And…?” asked Narda, on everyone’s behalf.
“And … I got quiet. For a long time. Because I realized that I didn’t love him—at least, not as much as he loved me. And I had to let him know that I didn’t wanna marry him.”
“Oh,” said Narda.
“So I did. And—I ended it with him—sort of—in my own way. And now you’re gonna end it with Chuck. In your own way.”
“Okay,” whimpered Narda. And the girls comforted her. And then the waitress came up to the bar and said that they all needed to start thinking about moving into the banquet room, because dinner was going to be served soon.
So the girls started moving toward the banquet room.
And Gayle said she’d be right with them all, after she used the restroom. And she made her way to the back of the Moose Paddy, and, instead of going to the restroom, she slipped out the back door, and her heart started racing as she made her way to her Jeep.
And once she was in her Jeep, her heart stopped racing and just sank.
Because she had had Lendall over for dinner a couple of weeks ago and asked him what he thought about getting married.
And he got quiet.
So quiet.
And she had been wondering ever since what that quiet had meant.
And now she knew. Thanks to Sandrine. And Narda.
And now she had to end things with him. In her own way. Because he didn’t love her anymore.
And she took a deep breath and started her Jeep and was about to pull out of the Moose Paddy parking lot and go end things with Lendall—when she realized that she needed to go back to her place first and gather up all the things that he had at her house
so she could bring them back to him.
And then she’d end things with him. In her own way.
And then she’d get from him all the things she had at his house.
And then she’d leave.
And they’d be done.
So she pulled out of the Moose Paddy parking lot and turned left onto the Road to Somewhere and headed to her house so she could gather up all of Lendall’s stuff. And give it back to him.
She passed Ma Dudley’s Boardinghouse.
And St. Mary’s Church.
And the old Gallagher Potato Farm.
And Skyview Park.
And, as she drove, she wondered what she was going to say to Lendall when she saw him.
* * *
Ten minutes later, she was at her house gathering all the stuff she needed to return to Lendall: some clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, some tools, some boots, and some American Rifleman and Popular Woodworking magazines. And she shoved all his stuff into his old army duffel and slung it over her shoulder and was about to leave when she realized that she had almost forgotten the most important thing she needed to return. And she gathered it up and shoved it into garbage bags—lots of garbage bags. And then she shoved the garbage bags into the Jeep. They barely all fit, but she managed to squeeze them all into the cargo area, and into the backseat, and she even had to put some of them on the passenger seat. And then she plunked Lendall’s old army duffel on the floor in front of the passenger seat. And then she got in her Jeep and started it and headed back toward down-township Almost to Lendall’s house, which was located about a quarter of a mile past the Rec Center.
As she drove, Gayle tried to work out what she was going to say to Lendall when she saw him. And then happened to glance in her interior rearview mirror, as good drivers do. And all she could see were all those garbage bags full of what she had to return to him—and she had a revelation. And suddenly knew exactly what she was going to say to Lendall when she saw him.