The Dance

by Gary Smalley

  As he dried off, he thought about something Audrey Windsor had said when they first chatted last week in the parking lot. My guess is . . . she’s been trying to talk to you about how unhappy she’s been for a long time, but you haven’t been listening. And then something else: Has she ever talked to you about attending a marriage retreat with her, maybe suggested some marriage books the two of you should read together?

  Marilyn hadn’t done anything like that. She’d just walked out. She’d written a note and walked out. A picture of the note came to mind. Something she’d said. He walked over to his dresser, pulled the note out from the top drawer. You probably have no idea how many times in recent months I’ve tried to talk to you about how unhappy I am, how unhappy I’ve been. It goes right over your head. I’ve dropped hint after hint, clue after clue. None of it gets past that hard shell of yours.

  Had she really tried that hard? How was it possible? How could he have missed every signal? Nobody is that dull, he thought. He set his towel on the bed and started getting dressed, put on some shorts and a pullover shirt. It was still relatively warm out. He thought it would be nice to eat the pizza outside on the veranda. And it would be nice to get some time with Doug. Of course, Doug probably had plans for the rest of the evening. If not, maybe they could watch a DVD together, maybe a decent action film. Doug always knew a good one to pick out.

  He went into his side of the closet to get a pair of deck shoes to wear. After setting them on the floor, he reached over to turn on the lamp beside the bed. It had clouded over that afternoon. As he pulled back from clicking on the lamp, his elbow caught the edge of his golf magazine and knocked it to the floor.

  That’s when he saw them.

  It was a freeze-frame moment, as if some invisible hand held his head in place. Two books. Beneath them, a magazine. A wrinkled yellow Post-it note sticking out the top. They’d been there on his nightstand so long, they’d become part of the furniture.

  But he saw them now. And he remembered.

  He reached over and picked them up, looked at the covers, read the titles . . . as if for the first time. They were marriage books, both of them. Ones Marilyn had read months ago. Well, the first one. The second one possibly last year. And he remembered her asking him to read them. She said they were wonderful. Something else about how they’d really helped her understand some things about their relationship. She had given them to him, and he’d put them on his nightstand, without any intention of reading them.

  He opened the cover of the first one, looked at the table of contents. There were checkmarks beside four different chapters. A flash of a conversation with Marilyn, after the book had sat by the bed for several weeks, untouched. “I know you’re busy, Jim. And you hate to read books. Well, books like that. I checked off a few chapters that I thought might help. The book’s written by a man, and he really seems to understand how men think. Do you think you could at least read those? It’s less than forty pages.”

  Jim had assured her he would, just to get her to stop asking.

  He picked up the magazine. It was a woman’s magazine, for goodness sake. How did she expect him to read that? He opened it to the marked page. Saw a smiling couple holding hands, walking on the beach. The article was called “7 Ways to Put the Fire Back into an Aging Romance.”

  He closed the magazine, set it back on top of the books, and clicked off the lamp. Then he lay back on the bed and sighed. She had been trying to get his attention. For a good long while. As he lay there, other memories started coming to the surface. Snippets of conversations over the last year or so. Marilyn gently asking, sometimes almost pleading with him, about one thing or another. Each one, some aspect of their relationship.

  Moments he’d completely missed.

  Hint after hint. Clue after clue.

  32

  Jim pulled up to Audrey’s home for his second dance class. It was Monday night. Just before heading over, he’d spent about an hour studying the list of twenty core fears she’d given him last week. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to do this, and he was sure she’d ask about it tonight. He was surprised how easy it was to pick out one other core fear he had. Maybe he had more, but now he saw at least two.

  Picking up the shoe box on the seat beside him, he headed toward the front door. He probably could have worn the dance shoes here, but he didn’t want to scuff the leather soles walking on the pavement.

  Audrey opened the door. “Come in, Jim. You came back.”

  “You didn’t think I would?” He stepped through the doorway.

  “I hoped so, but I gave you a lot to digest last week. Hoped I didn’t scare you off.”

  “No,” he said as he walked into the living room. “I’m still not sure you can teach me how to dance, but I said I’d give it a try, so here I am. Should I put these on now? We’re going to actually dance tonight, right?”

  “We are, so go right ahead. You can sit there on the couch. I’ll go pour some coffee. I also have bottled water in the refrigerator for once we start the lesson.”

  Coffee, Jim thought. He hoped that didn’t mean he was going to have to sit through another twenty-five-minute talk before they started the lesson. Still, he had to admit he had learned some helpful things last week. Of course, they’d have been a lot more helpful if Marilyn could have been there to learn these things at the same time. She certainly had her share of core fears. As he’d read over the list, he saw quite a few things that sounded a lot like Marilyn.

  “So are you still feeling terrified?”

  Jim looked up as he finished tying the laces. “Oddly enough . . . I’m not.” He stood up. “I’ve dropped all the way down to just plain nervous.”

  “See?” she said. “Fear loses some of its power just by shining the light in its eyes. Did you get any time to look over that list I gave you?”

  He walked toward the kitchen, noticing she’d set his cup of coffee on the dinette table. She followed beside him. “I certainly did.”

  “Did you answer the little questionnaire at the end?”

  “I did that too.” He picked up his coffee and took a sip.

  “Spot any other fears besides the one from last week?”

  “At least one,” he said. “The one about feeling powerless or being controlled.”

  “That’s another big one for men,” she said. “In fact, those were my husband Ted’s core fears. You actually remind me of him in some ways.” She said it like a compliment. “Did your wife or kids ever talk to you about having control issues or being a—”

  “A control freak?” he added.

  She smiled. “That’s the term.”

  “A few times,” he said, returning the smile. “Well, quite a few, actually. But I never saw it as a bad thing before. I don’t see myself as trying to control anyone. Feels like I’m just being responsible. The husband is supposed to be the head of his family.”

  She opened the French doors leading into the studio. “Well, being responsible isn’t a bad thing, I agree. It’s the fear in our hearts that corrupts it. That, and thinking more about what we want than what’s best for the folks we’re responsible for. But we can talk more about that later. You’ve got your dance shoes on—and they look very dashing on you, by the way. Let’s go into the studio and I’ll start the music CD.”

  Over the next fifteen minutes, Jim sat in a chair sipping coffee as Audrey explained the basic waltz and demonstrated the steps. First the man’s, then the woman’s. Then she turned the CD off and played a brief video of her and Ted dancing these same steps. It was really quite elegant, but Jim could never imagine himself dancing like Ted. He noticed Audrey’s eyes welling up with tears as the video played. When it ended, he began to tense up. He knew what came next.

  Audrey blinked back the tears and stood. “I’m sorry. I still miss him so much. So . . . are you ready?”

  Jim stood. “No.”

  “Back to feeling terrified?”

  “Maybe.” He smiled.

  “We
ll, take a look around the room. What do you see?”

  Jim looked. “I don’t understand.” It was just a big empty room with a shiny wood floor. Floor to ceiling mirrors against one wall.

  “We’re alone. There’s no one here who’s going to see you mess up. Except me. And I’m certainly not going to make fun of you. So watch . . . I’ll imitate the man’s basic steps again. Then you imitate what I do.” She did it, twice. Then walked over and turned on the music. “Now, your turn.”

  “Okay.” But he just stood there. He couldn’t get his feet to move.

  “Want to see me do it again?” she said. “Here, watch my feet. It’s really quite simple. Step, side, close. Step, side, close. See? Now you do it.”

  Now you do it. It’s really quite simple. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was, he felt like a complete idiot. The feelings and sensations from a hundred different memories rose up like an invisible wall he couldn’t break through. All the times he and Marilyn had been at a party or a wedding or . . . that cruise, and he’d felt the pressure and guilt she projected his way for not being willing to dance. As well as all the imagined stares from people who’d make fun of him if he dared to even try.

  Audrey walked over and turned off the music. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s silly. I know I can do this.”

  “I know you can too.” A look of concern came over her face. “But your hesitation actually gives me an idea. I’ve been trying to think of a way to bring this up anyway.” She sat in a chair.

  Jim sat down beside her.

  “This is really our first dance lesson,” she said, “since last week we just talked. Do you know what Ted titled this first lesson back when we used to teach couples at church?” Jim shook his head. “He called it ‘the Power of One.’ It’s really the idea of taking responsibility for yourself and the things you do, without shifting the focus to anyone else. I think if you understood this principle, it might help you move those feet.”

  She sat there looking at him. Had he missed something? Had she asked him a question? “Okay,” he said.

  “See,” she continued, “we always get preoccupied with what our partner’s doing. Not just on the dance floor but in life. Something goes wrong and we blame other people or circumstances for the things we struggle with, when most of the time it’s us. The things going on inside of us and our reactions to how people treat us. Can I ask what you’re thinking right now? What do you think is keeping you from taking that first step?”

  Jim thought about it, then he began to explain. Without meaning to, he quickly went beyond sharing the resentment and fears he’d felt about dancing. All sorts of things he struggled with came up, starting with Marilyn and the predicament she’d put him in. Then about Michele for taking Marilyn’s side and all the disrespect she’d shown him since this ordeal began. About Mort Stanley and the stupid deacon board and all the gossips at church who judged him. Then about the economy and all the properties he owned that he couldn’t get leases for.

  As he talked, Audrey listened patiently, with nothing but kindness in her eyes. But it was like a message came through those kind eyes. Somehow he could also tell . . . in everything he shared, he had placed the blame—all of it, every single thing—on everyone and everything but himself.

  When he finished, she paused, then said, “You’re seeing it, Jim, aren’t you? All of your problems, the way you see them anyway, are caused by others. Do you see how our minds work? If everybody would just cooperate and do things the way we want them to, our problems would disappear. We get totally focused on everyone and everything else but our own part.” She smiled. “Tell me something, Jim. Can you fix any of this? Any of the people or the problems you just described? Can you control these people or change the way they treated you? Have any of your efforts helped? Even a little?”

  He realized, not a bit. No matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t fixed a single thing or solved any of his problems. “If anything,” he said, “I’ve made things worse.”

  “And that makes you feel out of control, powerless.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “But see, that’s a good place to be. Now you’re getting close to understanding what Ted meant by the Power of One. You can’t fix Marilyn or Michele or the people at your church or any of the problems you’re facing. There’s only one thing you can possibly control, with God’s help, I mean, and that’s yourself. The way you act, and the way you react to the people and things around you. When you understand this one truth, it will set you free from so many things. God wants you to be free, Jim. But that can never happen as long as you think you’re trapped by your circumstances or what other people do. Including Marilyn.”

  Audrey stood up, walked over, and turned on the music. “I think this is what’s holding you back from dancing, Jim. Don’t focus on all these things you can’t control. Focus on something you can change. God will hold up his end, but it’s like Peter that time Jesus walked on the water. Peter had to get out of the boat.” She showed him once more the basic dance steps for a man, then came back and held out her hand.

  Jim stood up and took it.

  She led him to the middle of the dance floor and let go of his hand. “Now, you do it. Don’t think about anyone or anything else. There’s just you here, and me. You can do this. Take the first step forward. Then slide the other foot out to the side, then close.” She stood back.

  Jim waited a moment, listened to the music. Then he did it. Step, side, close.

  “That’s it. Again, Jim.”

  Step, side, close.

  “Once more.”

  Step, side, close. By now, he was at the other end of the room, so he spun around.

  He couldn’t stop smiling.

  33

  Tom, it’s Dad.” Jim hated doing this. “Is there any chance we could talk?”

  “You mean now? On the phone?”

  “No, I mean in person. I could drive over there.”

  “Is everything okay? You don’t sound too good.”

  Jim sighed. “I’m . . . okay. I’ve just got some things bouncing around my head. I wish I could talk them out with your mother, but that’s not possible. I talked to someone about it, and they suggested I talk with you guys.”

  “Me and Jean?”

  “No, I mean my kids. I’ll explain more when I see you. Is now a good time? It would take me thirty minutes to get there.”

  “Do you want to meet at the house?”

  “I think I’d rather meet somewhere else.”

  “How about Panera? It’s only a few blocks from here.”

  “Great, see you in thirty minutes.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Really appreciate this, Tom. Apologize to Jean for me. I won’t keep you very long.”

  Jim hung up, walked over to his dresser, and grabbed his wallet and keys. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but it was part of his second “homework assignment” from Audrey. She had all but insisted on it earlier tonight, before he left her house.

  He stood there by his dresser, thinking about their parting conversation on the porch. It had happened less than an hour ago. “The lights are beginning to come on for you, Jim. I can see that,” she had said. “But if you really want a breakthrough with Marilyn, you’re going to need some help. Eventually, you need to hear from her, what she’s feeling and thinking at a heart level.”

  “But how? She won’t even talk to me.”

  “Not now, she won’t. So you’ll have to do the next best thing. Talk to your kids. They’re all adults now, right?”

  “My kids?”

  “Didn’t you say the youngest is a senior in high school?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Then they’re not really kids. I bet you could get a big dose of reality if you’d open up and let them in. Get some honest conversation going on.”

  “You want me to talk to them . . . about all this?”

  “It’s called humility, Jim. It’s a good thing
. Not your strong suit, I know. But it’s the doorway to experiencing wonderful things from God. Jesus was all about humility. And God gives grace to the humble. The Bible says that a number of times.”

  Jim remembered a conversation with Uncle Henry, when he’d stopped by the house a couple of weeks ago. Uncle Henry had said almost the exact same thing about humility.

  What Audrey had said next was even more difficult to hear. “The reason you’re chafing so much about doing this is it strikes a chord in that core fear you just learned. The one where you feel powerless and always need to control everything. I’m suggesting you open up your heart and listen to your kids. Make sure they know you really want to hear what they have to say, even if it hurts your feelings. And believe me, it will. It’ll hurt plenty. But humility will bring you the strength to listen and really understand them.”

  Jim turned out his bedroom light. He had to do this. He walked through the empty house and headed toward the garage. He and Tom had always been the closest. He dreaded the thought of having this kind of conversation with Michele, or even Doug.

  Talking to Tom was the best place to start. But still, Jim wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Not one bit.

  As Jim drove to Panera, Tom had called saying he was running about twenty minutes late, something to do with one of the kids and poopy diapers. Jim was grateful. He was starving. At the moment, he was finishing up a bowl of chili, sopping the remainders with some cheesy kind of bread.

  Apparently, dancing worked up quite an appetite. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d been doing with Audrey tonight could officially be called dancing. Not yet. After watching him go back and forth across the room, rehearsing the steps by himself, Audrey had suggested they do the steps together. They weren’t exactly tripping the light fantastic, just going forward in one direction, from one end of the room to the other. Then they’d turn around and go back the other way. All the while, Jim’s mind was locked into gear, counting off the steps.