by Jen Violi
After the wedding, in the reception hall, I watch Aunt Selena and Uncle Lou do a shot together at the bar, the rainbow lights from the disco ball playing over their laughing faces, and feel like I must be in an alternate universe. A bizarre and delightful one.
Charlie scoops up a handful of confetti from our table and lets it fall to the ground in a sparkly shower. “Confetti is fun,” he says.
“And you are easily amused.”
Someone comes up behind me and grabs my shoulders. “Donnnderrrr! You should be dancing.” B’s face is red and damp from jumping all over the dance floor himself. “Can’t waste a dress like that sitting around.” He smirks.
“You’re right.” I stand up and smooth out my gold taffeta dress, which, as Linnie predicted, is officially and unequivocally dumb. “I’ll be out there for the next song.”
“I got married,” he says.
“Yes, you did. And you threw a great party. Dad would be impressed.”
B kisses me on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now go shake your groove thing.”
B dances off, and Charlie stands up and holds out his hand. “Shall we?”
“Yes, but first I need a little fresh air. I won’t be long. Will you wait for me?”
“I waited for almost a year. I don’t think five minutes is going to kill me.” He puckers his lips, and I kiss them.
Outside the reception hall, it’s been snowing steadily, and I button up my long black winter coat. I feel snowflakes land on my nose and cheeks. I can’t believe B is married, and I can’t believe it will be a new year in just under an hour. The door falls shut behind me, and the music fades to a distant beat. I put my hands in my pockets and look out into the night sky.
Next to the parking lot, a long field stretches like a big white sheet cake, and I have an urge to do something I haven’t done since I was little. I walk to the edge of the field and turn around. Taking a deep breath, I let myself fall backward into the snow, stretching my arms out and flapping them up and down like wings. When I’m done flapping, it’s cold and quiet and perfectly still. I feel like I could stay here all night.
But inside is my family, and inside is Charlie. Inside are warmth and light and people I love. I stand up and look at my body in snow angel form—the long legs, the wide sweep of angel wings, the powdery dent of angel butt. What makes me special. The unique shape of me. And suddenly I know what Liz meant about me and transformation, how I might have taught her that. How I’ve taken myself from one place to another. I can see it, right there in front of me.
I brush the snow off my coat, blow a kiss to my snow angel self, and walk back into the reception, where the music is pumping and everyone is up and clapping.
As I go to meet Charlie on the dance floor, I sense that my backup singers are with me again, Dad right behind me. And in front of me, everyone else forms two lines so that each person can dance down the aisle in between. I’ve always hated when this happens, forcing people into a painful spotlight, but tonight I see that it’s beautiful.
Linnie and Snooter grabbing hands and running as fast as they can together. B twirling Gwen all the way down. Uncle Lou and Aunt Selena trotting through some kind of crazy polka. Aunt Irene with one of the table arrangement roses between her teeth doing her own solo flamenco. Charlie strutting so I can watch. Mom and Roger waltzing along. They look happy together.
And suddenly my backup singers aren’t behind me anymore. Right across from me, watching it all, I see Dad, dressed to the nines in a slick tuxedo, toasting Nonna in her fancy red dress. And Grammy in her cream-colored silky gown doing the twist.
Dad holds his glass out to me, and it’s brimming with red wine. And he’s laughing that enormous laugh he has, the one that makes his whole body shake, the one that’s contagious with joy. He spreads his arms wide as if to say, Here it all is. Here is my family. Here is life. And isn’t it grand?
I spread my own arms back to him, feeling how full they are, how much they can hold, smiling right back at him so he knows that I agree, and that his little girl is just fine.
Dad claps and laughs as each person heads down the aisle. And I do too.
They all dance old steps and new steps, with new partners and old ones. Some graceful, some tentative, some flailing their arms and legs like the music’s taking them over. But all dancing nonetheless, using their beautiful bodies to move on through, the best ways they know how. Just like me.
Acknowledgments
My deep thanks—
To all you dear creatures who have supported me and my writing, particularly those who kept me afloat while I finished the final draft of this book. I am profoundly blessed with community, and I wish I could name each of you here and sing your individual praises for pages and pages.
To my writing mentors and friends from the University of Dayton, especially the inspiring Joe Pici, in whose class I first located my voice.
To my University of New Orleans CWW classmates and teachers—particularly Joseph, Joanna, Rick, Barb, Casey, Chrys, Nicole, Parker, and Rachel—who, while weathering an incredible storm and its wake, offered invaluable feedback for early forms of this book and evolving forms of me as a writer. Special gratitude for the prowess of the insightful AC Lambeth, the astute Arin Black, and Amanda Boyden, mentor extraordinaire.
To Maya Wilcox, Stuart Rodes, and my one-woman Rock of Gibraltar, Erin Nelson, for thoughtful input on in-between drafts.
To the foxy ladies—Robin, Erin, Julie, Maya, Emily, and Sharon—who made my dream of a book shower a reality and helped me prepare for this book to be born.
To the brilliantly discerning Sarah Kiewitz and Brian Nealon, affirmation champion, for input and support on later drafts.
To the generous Suzanne Fields, for answering all of my questions and being the most gracious dead-people expert imaginable.
To Jeremy Armstrong, who for the first three years in the building of this book, was my family and offered unwavering belief in me and this work.
To Tamson Weston, exceptional editor and delightful person. I’m so grateful for the expert care you’ve taken with work so precious to me. And to all those at Hyperion who have lent time, talent, and wisdom—I’m in awe of your efforts.
To the fancy and fabulous Lish McBride, for wholehearted professional and personal support and for introducing me to Jason Anthony.
To Jason Anthony of Lippincott Massie McQuilkin, stellar agent, manuscript-wrangling rock star, and lovely human being. You are my hero, just FYI.
And finally to my beloved family, especially Elisa Taffe, Teresa Trombetta, and the inimitable Claramarie Wulfkamp Violi, who all know firsthand what it means to experience loss and to find joy on the other side. Thank you for being my first and best teachers.