A Song of Home

by Susie Finkbeinger

  Ray and I walked behind Daddy and Mrs. Ritzema and I couldn’t help watching the way her round behind hitched up with every step, her dress stretched over it so tight I worried it might split the seam.

  “I hope they don’t plan on playing any of that jungle music tonight,” Mrs. Ritzema said to Daddy, louder than she needed to, her voice bouncing against the hard walls. “I read that kind of music stirs up all sorts of bad instincts in young people. We don’t need to have our children stirred, wouldn’t you agree, Officer Spence?”

  “Well, I guess I’d have to read on it,” Daddy answered. “Doesn’t seem to do much harm when I let my children listen to it.”

  “What’s she mean by ‘jungle music’?” I whispered to Ray.

  He shrugged.

  “If you ask me, these kinds of dances cause all kinds of trouble. Don’t you think so, officer?” Mrs. Ritzema turned toward Daddy so I could see her profile, her sharp nose tipped up and her thin lips pushed into a tight line.

  “Nah,” Daddy said, his voice as nice as could be. “Gives the kids something to do. They aren’t hurting anybody.”

  “Not yet.” She turned her face back the direction she was walking. “You’ll see.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Daddy said. “Suppose I will.”

  “Make sure that cake is in a good spot. I don’t want it getting hidden behind anybody else’s.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The work it must’ve taken for Daddy to be kind to her was more than I had patience for. But he was a kind man, Daddy was. If there was anything I’d learned from him it was that gentleness wasn’t a show of weakness. Sometimes it took more strength to be gentle than Samson possessed even on his very best day.

  Most of the kids from school had come a couple minutes after we did, their mothers arriving with cakes of all different kinds. Hazel had put on a fresh face and her troop of girls stood around cooing about her hair that did hold a curl, unlike mine. The boys lined up by the wall, like Ray, shoulders slouching and looking like they’d about die of boredom.

  I sat in a chair, watching the three brave couples that moved about the floor to the slow and easy music. Crossing my legs at the ankles, I swung them back and forth, hoping maybe I’d get the nerve up to dance.

  I sure was glad when Aunt Carrie came to me with a cup of punch. She pulled up a chair beside me, saving me from being all by my lonesome.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.

  I shrugged, taking a sip of the punch. It wasn’t as sweet as I expected.

  “Do you think more people might come?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure of it.” She smiled. “Do you think you might dance later?”

  I nodded, hoping it was the truth.

  “Opal taught me how to lindy-hop,” I said.

  “Did she?” Aunt Carrie’s eyes widened. “How nice of her.”

  “Aunt Carrie,” I said. “What’s jungle music?”

  “Where ever did you hear that?”

  I told her about how Mrs. Ritzema had said it as we were walking in. Aunt Carrie breathed in deep through her nose and closed her eyes for just a moment. Then she opened them and shook her head.

  “Well, it doesn’t surprise me that she’d say something like that,” she said, leaning in closer to me. “She means jazz.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “It isn’t a very nice thing to say, you know.”

  “I won’t say it, then.”

  “That’s good.”

  We sat and listened to the boring old ordinary music and watched the few dancers sway on the floor so slow that I wondered if they were asleep on their feet.

  I tried so hard not to feel disappointed.

  By the time just half an hour had passed, the dance hall was full of people. Some of them even took up space on the dance floor, moving together along with the music. There wasn’t a band on the stage. All they had was a phonograph with a microphone positioned right by the horn to catch the sound. A couple older kids took turns changing the records between songs.

  With all the punch I’d had, I needed to visit the lady’s room. Girls bigger than me traveled in and out the door two by two. I couldn’t hardly help but think of the critters making their way to Noah’s ark in pairs. Something told me, though, that those animals wouldn’t have stared into a mirror primping and preening quite so much as those girls did.

  They touched up their lipstick or fixed their finger-waved hair. They chirped like birds the whole time, talking all at once. I didn’t even try to follow along.

  I finished up as fast as I could and hoped none of those girls noticed that I didn’t wash my hands. There wasn’t a single open sink and I sure didn’t want to ask any of them to shimmy over for little old me.

  Seemed funny to me, they’d gotten themselves dolled up at home just to come and fuss with their hair and faces all over again in the ladies’ room. Far as I could tell, being ladylike was just one hassle after another.

  Still, I smoothed my skirt and stood up tall before walking back into the dance hall. I sure hoped my hair was holding in the braid Aunt Carrie’d folded into it. And when I sat in one of the chairs at the edge of the room I made sure to keep my knees together.

  From the chair I’d picked I could see Opal dancing with Lenny Miller. It was a slow dance, one without much tapping or swinging. They were real close, the two of them, in a way that made me wonder if they knew folks watched them. She’d insisted over and over that she didn’t feel all that much for him, but the way she smiled when he whispered in her ear made me think otherwise.

  I remembered Mama and Daddy dancing just like that in our living room back in Red River. Her pale-skinned hand in his rough one. Sometimes she’d even rest her head on his chest and I imagined she was listening to his heart beating.

  I wondered if she ever danced with Abe Campbell that way. Just the thought of it turned my stomach sour. Shutting my eyes, I tried clearing that idea from my mind.

  The slow song ended and I opened my eyes. A couple pairs left the dance floor, holding hands, and the next song started, one with a man and woman singing together.

  “What are they doing here?” a girl sitting near me asked her friend, looking toward the door.

  I turned to see who it was she was making a stink face at. There, standing right inside the dance hall, was Noah Jackson followed by a couple other men and three ladies.

  If some of the people in Bliss had raised a stink about Opal joining in the dances, I knew they wouldn’t like Noah and his friends being there on account they were all full Negro.

  Uncle Gus walked right up to Noah and it seemed the whole room caught its breath, holding it and waiting for what might happen next.

  The two men shook hands and Uncle Gus reached around and patted Noah on the back.

  The steady, tame song from the record player ended and everybody clapped even as they whispered about the new arrivals to the dance hall.

  “How’s about something with a little swing to it?” Lenny hollered up at the boy standing at the phonograph, pulling a little attention from Noah and his friends.

  Lenny ran over and jumped up on stage and rummaged through the stack of records, finding one that he handed to the boy running the phonograph.

  “Play this one the rest of the night, dig?” Lenny asked.

  The boy looked at him like he’d just said something in Italian.

  “Just put this on and don’t stop it, all right?” Lenny said before sitting on the edge of the stage, looking over the room. “How about a little Benny Goodman, folks?”

  More than a couple people called out their approval and Lenny grinned.

  The music started up hard and fast, the kind that got my heartbeat thumping. Pairs formed and made their way to the edges. A couple that’d come in with Noah half ran to the center of the dance floor. Noah took Opal’s hands and she nodded like she was willing to dance with him.

  Lenny stayed on his perch, watching Opal and Noah. From the way his g
rin turned to a smirk, I didn’t think he was too happy about her dancing with somebody else. The way Opal smiled up into Noah’s face and how he smiled back, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Lenny was more than a little bit jealous.

  Of all the couples dancing, Opal and Noah were the fastest, the best. They moved smoother, worked in more twists and hops. They didn’t stumble and they didn’t slow. They moved like their lives depended on it. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to dance so quick without fainting from breathlessness. And I wasn’t so sure of being tossed around like Noah was doing to Opal.

  Still, I wished I’d had the nerve to go do what few steps I knew. I just stayed put in my chair, not moving so much as a toe even with how the music tempted me.

  They danced the whole song that way. Some of the pairs around them started dancing furiously too. The ones who didn’t moved to one side or the other to make sure they didn’t get kicked. When that song ended, the kid on the stage didn’t change the record, he just let it keep on going like Lenny’d told him to.

  More people rushed out to the floor, even Aunt Carrie and Uncle Gus. They didn’t go near as quick as some of the others, but they kept time with the music well enough.

  “Pearl,” Opal called, waving me over to her.

  I shook my head.

  “Come on,” she said, nodding.

  She shuffled over and grabbed both of my hands.

  “What’d we spend all month practicing for if you’re not going to dance to even one song?” she asked, pulling me to my feet. “Just remember to feel the beat all the way from your head to your toes. You’ll do fine. All right?”

  I nodded, letting her lead me to the floor.

  She put her hand on my back.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  I knew she meant to twirl me and I told her I was. The room swirled past me in a blur of colors and lights and the sound of the music. Faster and faster I went, Opal directing me like she was stirring a pot of soup. Cool air rushed up my skirt and I knew it was fanning up in pink and white around my legs and I didn’t care one bit if the whole world saw clear up to the bottom of my underthings.

  If ever in my life I’d felt like I was flying, it was right then.

  We made our way through all the steps more than a couple times. We grooved and doubled back. We shook our hips and waved our hands in the air. By the end of the song we were side by side, our feet kicking, moving faster than I ever did at home.

  Before the last note of the song I was out of breath already and wheezing, but I didn’t want to stop dancing.

  Song after song, I danced. With Lenny Miller, who seemed to have gotten over his sore feelings at Opal and Noah and hollered out cheers all during the song, and with Uncle Gus who made me laugh with all the faces he pulled. Daddy’d even taken my hand, leading me in a smooth dance when the song turned slow.

  “How about a little punch?” Daddy asked after that song ended. “You’re looking a little flushed.”

  I told him that would be nice and he showed me a chair where I should sit and rest a minute. As much as I’d loved dancing, I was glad to have a break. Besides, a cool glass of punch sounded awful good right about then.

  It wasn’t until I was in my seat that I saw Hazel and her group of girls walking right in my direction. Hazel stood in front of me and made a face as if I was a three-legged elephant in a jelly jar. I’d have said something smart to her about how she was staring at me, but I didn’t have the wind to.

  So I just looked her square in the eyes and raised my brows.

  Hazel opened her mouth, but there wasn’t the sneer that was usually on her upper lip. And her eyes grew round.

  “How did you learn that?” she asked. “To dance like that?”

  All the girls around her leaned in close to hear what I said.

  I shrugged. “Oh, just here and there,” I said.

  “Will you teach us?” one of the girls asked.

  “Ethel,” Hazel scolded her, giving her a stink-eye. Then she turned back to me. “So, will you?”

  “Maybe,” I answered. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Hazel looked me up and down one more time before turning to go. But then she looked over her shoulder. “Your dress is pretty.”

  “I like your hair,” I said back.

  I thought maybe we didn’t have to be enemies after all.

  Our time at the dance was done and I knew begging Daddy to let me stay longer wouldn’t do any good. He’d said eight o’clock and I knew he’d hold firm to that. Besides, he’d already gone out into the cold night, saying he was getting my chariot to take me on home.

  Before, when I’d been younger, I might have pretended I was Cinderella, rushing away from the dance before the clock could strike midnight and my carriage turned back into a pumpkin, my pink and white polka-dotted gown back into rags. But I didn’t play at such things anymore.

  Aunt Carrie helped me with my coat and kissed my cheek. “You dance beautifully,” she told me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I nodded. “When’s the next one?”

  She gave me a twinkle-eyed smile.

  “I don’t know, dear,” she said. “But you are always welcome to dance in my kitchen.”

  Aunt Carrie wished me a good evening and said that she wouldn’t mind if I came for a visit the next day. Seemed she missed me, at least that was what she said. I told her I’d come and turned toward the hallway.

  Ray stood there, the cake he’d won balancing across his arms. He was like to drool all over it.

  “Come on, Ray,” I said.

  “I’m fixin’ to eat this whole thing tomorrow,” he said, walking alongside me to the door.

  “You’ll get sick.”

  “Won’t either,” he said. “Even if I do I’ll be happier than a magpie in the silverware drawer.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I told him.

  “Doesn’t have to.” He turned and bumped the door open with his backside, holding it so I could go out. “Watch for ice.”

  Daddy had the truck running right at the end of the walk. He held the cake while Ray and I climbed in. Daddy asked if we were ready before driving us away.

  Leaning my head on Daddy’s shoulder I could still hear the music playing in my ears.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  For a full week after Valentine’s Day I had daydreams of dancing. Every day. Try as I might, I couldn’t hardly keep from slipping into them even in the middle of class. They were the kind a girl didn’t like being pulled from.

  In my imagination I saw a mighty big band had formed on the stage of the American Legion dance hall, one with every kind of instrument ever made. They’d be the kind to play fast and loud, never slowing it down for a cheek-to-cheek song. The song leader would dance in front of the band, wild and without a shred of embarrassment.

  I’d walk into that room, my hair long again and full of curls like I saw on the women in Aunt Carrie’s magazines. My dress would be short and full of swishing, so when I moved it couldn’t help but dance along.

  One of the grown boys would come and take my hand, leading me out to the floor. Not Lenny Miller, though. He wasn’t allowed in my daydreams on account he was just too cocky and I didn’t like the way he looked at Opal. Whoever it was I’d paired up with, he’d spin me and lift me and smile all the while. The other pairs would stop, forming a circle around us. They’d clap and cheer until the song ended.

  Somebody from Hollywood, California’d come all the way across the country to find himself a new star to dance and sing and bat eyelashes into the movie camera. He’d come to me while I sipped at my punch, telling me how much money I could make. Telling me I’d be famous.

  I’d let him know I couldn’t sing worth snot. He wouldn’t care. I’d tell him I wouldn’t leave without Daddy and Ray, and that we’d best pick up Millard along the way. That movie man would say he knew a deal when he
heard one. He’d put out his hand and shake on it.

  In my dream Mama would find herself a nickel for a movie. She’d find her way to a theater, holding that five-cent piece tight in her hand so she wouldn’t lose it. She’d sit down, her legs crossed, the mended stockings on her legs showing their wear. Her eyes’d grow wide and her mouth fall open when she saw me on that screen in black and white and gray. Pressing her hands to her chest, she’d get teary for missing me.

  Not giving it one thought more, she’d catch a train, traveling all day and all night for as long as it took to get to California from Michigan. It wouldn’t matter if it took a month or a year even, not the way she wanted me. Wanted to be my mama again.

  She’d come walking, head hanging, to the front door of the big house I’d bought from my movie money. Standing there on the porch she would look up at all the windows, wondering which one I was behind. And in her heart of hearts she’d know that she’d done wrong by me. She would know that she needed to look me in the face and try just a little to show me she was sorry.

  She would knock on the door and that was where my daydream ended every time.

  For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what I would do if Mama came home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  February melted away and March came in with a little more sunshine and a little less chill to the air. What Uncle Gus had called a cold snap seemed to have broken right in half and let the warmer days through. I was glad for that. Seemed all of creation agreed with me the way the birds swooped through the sky and the squirrels chitter-chattered in the tree branches. Most folks even smiled easier.

  Most days before class I’d meet up with Hazel and a couple of her friends to dance in the schoolyard. We’d pair up and take turns being the lead and the follow. I never would’ve thought Hazel could giggle, but she did. When she did, the sharp, pinched up look on her face dropped away and I saw how pretty she really was.

  Sometimes I imagined we’d become friends, Hazel and me. The kind of friends that shared secrets and played with each other’s hair, like Aunt Carrie’s friend she’d told me about.