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Circle Dance

Clark Zlotchew

     It's a chilly day in October 1955. A bedraggled brown dog is blocking the car door as he chases his tail. He spins faster and faster, teeth bared and clicking furiously, almost reaching the tail. He growls with rage and spins even faster for a moment. Still chasing his tail, the dog finally moves away from the door, allowing me to emerge from the car. I tread across the brown leaves scattered along the sidewalk, hearing their brittle crunch, reach the shadowy portal of the stone edifice, and enter.

*  *  *

    The man in the black suit with the Roman collar motions for us to approach.
    'Tomorrow is the wedding. Now, let's get this rehearsal right the first time. All right... The ushers and bridesmaids come forward. No, you don't hold hands. This isn't some dancehall...'

*  *  *

    1956: Dancehall... Rhino and me. Cruising on a Saturday night at Brenner's Hall. Girls. Plenty of good-looking girls. You never know how it will end. Can't wait to get inside. The excitement, the anticipation... An itch in my soul. Anything might happen, anything. At the very least, dancing itself: no thinking, just moving, sweating, burning off pent-up pressures. Letting off steam, steam generated at the office, at the desk. The desk is grey-blue metal covered by a green blotter. There's an antique black typewriter, an ugly, frowning piece of machinery. Piled on the desk are papers, piles and piles of endless papers, forms to fill out with the same meaningless questions, the same stupid questions, the same monotonous words repeated week after week, day after day, hour after hour. Fill in the blanks: NAME OF CUSTOMER; CUSTOMER'S ADDRESS; CUSTOMER'S SHIPPING ADDRESS; NAME OF CUSTOMER'S AGENT; CUSTOMER'S AGENT'S ADDRESS; CUSTOMER'S AGENT'S SHIPPING ADDRESS; LICENSE NUMBER; TYPE OF UNIT; NUMBER OF UNITS; NET WEIGHT OF EACH UNIT; GROSS WEIGHT OF EACH UNIT; TOTAL NET WEIGHT; TOTAL GROSS WEIGHT; TYPE OF CONTAINER; PRICE OF EACH UNIT; TOTAL PRICE; SHIPPING CHARGES; SUB-TOTAL; CUSTOMS FEES; SUB-SUB-TOTAL; TAX; SUB-SUB-SUB-TOTAL; TOTAL; TOTAL-TOTAL; TOTAL-COMPLETE-FINAL-ABSOLUTE-SON-OF-A-BITCH-NO-BULLSHIT-REALLY-TOTALLY-TOTAL-TOTAL... Hour after hour, day after day, year after year... Another one. Another one on top of that. They dump one on top of the other as though they were unloading trash on me. The boss calls me Ed, but I have to call him Mr. Biaggi. Fool around a little at the water cooler and he says Knock it off and get to work, Ed. Knock it off, dance it off, burn it off, laugh it off, talk it off, shake it off, maybe kiss it off... Squeeze it off, push it off, shove it off. Yeah, shove it. Shove...

*

    'Now don't shove.' The priest is speaking. 'Don't shove, ladies and gentlemen. All right. Now the ushers and bridesmaids turn and face each other.'
    My partner has long dark hair and dark eyes. Nice legs. Sexy. She's looking at me. Maybe I'll get to know her better a little later. Damn! She looks something like Carla.

*

    Carla... A couple of straight vodkas washed down with Seven-Up at Brenner's Hall... Need some confidence before going into the dancehall, before entering the arena. Timidly swagger... Is that possible? Sure, timid on the inside, self-confident on the outside. Can't let them know you're unsure of yourself. So right: timidly swagger into the hall, sweeping a conquering eye over the harem. Rhino and me, a great team. I'd be lost without him. One throws the ball, the other catches. If one fumbles, the other one recovers. Brilliant wit, tales of adventure. Show them how smart we are, how brave. Dance, talk, drink a little more -can't let the fuel run out- dance again... Maybe take a girl home... Sometimes. But that time with Carla...

*

    'Closer together, closer. Walk up the aisle all together. Closer.'

*

    'Closer, hold me closer, Ed.' Carla's dark eyes widen and then suddenly shut. Her dark hair smells good, but blocks my vision. Can't see where we're going, but I don't care, as long as we're going, as long as she's with me. The most beautiful girl here... Easily. How did I get the nerve...? It's hard to do. Have to steel yourself, but, after all, it is my policy... If you're going to get shot down, it might as well be by the best. Then the defeat is honorable. If you die, let it be by the hand of the queen, not a peasant girl. By a noble knight, not some lowly pawn. By Don Quixote, not Sancho Panza. Be vaporized by a nuclear catastrophe, not struck by a beat-up Chevy. That's the idea. Something like that.
    Besides, a girl that beautiful can really be lonely. So many guys are afraid to try, she might as well be ugly. But she isn't. She certainly is not.
    She's smiling up at me. Her voice is warm. The music is soft and slow. The hall is completely dark except for the lights reflecting on the ball paved with little mirrors, twirling around overhead, bouncing the colors of the spectrum around the room as though it were a giant rhinestone. She's quietly singing into my ear. Her breath is warm and damp. 'Closer, hold me closer,' she whispers. The floor is crowded and I don't watch where we're going. We collide with another couple. Without even looking up, I mumble, 'Sorry.'

*

    'Sorry.'
    'It's okay, Ed. But, hey, Rhino's the one getting married. What are you so nervous about?'
    'Who, me? You kidding?'
    The church is dark and gloomy. Even sinister. Too many niches and shadows. Massive grey stones. I feel a weight bearing down on my chest. It's like a tomb in here. A mausoleum. Not enough air. In the shadows, making the shadows dance, are electric candles mechanically flickering by means of a timing device, I suppose. I look at them and feel that something's missing. What? That comforting dry smell of burning wax and wick. Electric candles...? Well, why not? In the old days they used real candles because there was no electricity. Still... Electric candles...! I have to get out of here. We'll be leaving in just a few minutes, but I have to get out right now. Can't wait. Feels as though something's going to happen, something bad. I need air. Right away. Have to get out of here...

*  *  *

    'Let's get out of here and get some fresh air, Ed.' Carla is speaking. Is she really speaking? Are they really words I hear? Words or sounds or incantations -whatever they are- they're weaving a network around me. A spider web. Black widow web... Silk threads -smooth, yet strong and viscous- enveloping me, binding me, holding me fast. 'Put your arms around me... Now!' Her voice is a whisper, but an urgent whisper, a command. She kisses me. Her mouth is warm, sweet, yielding. Suddenly she breaks away and hisses, 'Let's go back inside. Now! Come on!'
    Back inside, the hall is crowded, hot, noisy. She leads me by the hand as though to a specific destination. 'Where to, Carla?' She doesn't answer. She seems preoccupied. Now she stops, as though waiting for something to happen. She looks across the dance floor. Why is that guy staring so intently at us? At Carla mostly, but at me too. Now he's coming over, his face hardening with determination. He speaks.
    'Carla... Look, Carla... I'm sorry about...' He stops in the midst of a sentence to look at me with annoyance. He turns to her once more. 'Can't we go somewhere private?'
    Carla stares at him unperturbedly, serenely, almost with arrogance, for a full ten seconds. Now she smiles.
    'Tony, you stubborn... It's about time!'
    She turns to me and cooly, off-handedly, says, 'Thanks for the dance. See you around.'
    See you around...???!!! What the hell is this? Bitch! See you around...!

*

    'See you around? Of course I'll see you around.' The dark-haired bridesmaid at my side adds, 'I'll see you tomorrow at the wedding, won't I?'

*

    Out on the street... Finally! The brisk wind shifts the patterns formed by the brittle brown leaves on the slate sidewalk. It turns my perspiration to ice, sending a shiver through me as I walk toward the car. Rhino and his bride will be going to the Poconos, right over in Pennsylvania, for their honeymoon. Dull! Really dull! Then he'll be a married man, settling into dull routine. Not for me, no thanks. No, sir. Thanks but no thanks. I'll be jetting down to the Caribbean. Adventure, romance, wild times... Variety! Why in hell does Rhino have to go and get married? Spoil a good thing. What a drag! For crying out loud, nobody gets married any more.
    Here's my car. Strange... I feel as though something is missing... Maybe I left something back at the church. Let's see... I've got my keys... My wallet... Change... No, nothing's missing. I've got it all. How come I still feel like I'm missing something...?
    I want to get into the car and take off, but a bedraggled brown dog is blocking the car door as he chases his tail. He spins faster and faster, teeth bared and clicking furiously, almost reaching the tail. He growls with rage and spins even faster for a moment...

 

This story is one of the 17 narratives in the collection, Once Upon a Decade: Tales of the Fifties (Comfort Publishing, 2011).

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

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