The First Dance

My palms were sweaty, weight shifting from one leg to the other. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow. I was thinking someone would have to pry the half dollar from my hand if I gripped it any tighter. One more person ahead of me. Finally, I'm in.

It was darker than I had imagined. Great! Maybe no one would notice the gravy stain on my left sleeve. I had prepared meticulously. Hair slicked back with a huge "Elvis" wave, held in place with lots of Brylcream. Pants with razor creases, cuffs turned up just right. The pencil, thin tie didn't quite match my outfit, but it would satisfy the "tie required" rule. I had waited for this moment since I was twelve years old. Becoming a teenager shouldn't take this long.

At first I had trouble spotting Sylvia, but then I saw her standing by the coat room with some girlfriends. She was showing off the poodle on her gray skirt. The pink angora sweater she had on not only looked great with the skirt, but clearly pointed out that she was becoming a young woman. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

Sylvia was one year ahead of me in school. We were the same age, but my birthday missed the cutoff for kindergarten. We never had much in common, and had barely ever spoken to each other, but I couldn't get her out of my mind for the last year. I think it all began the day I was sitting directly behind her at a school assembly. Maybe it was the sweet smell of her shampoo, or her soft, velvety voice. She must have sensed me staring at her, because she turned, looked me straight in the eye, and flashed a brief smile. Whatever it was, it had hold of me like nothing I had ever experienced.

Just as the first record started, I took a step in her direction. Roger Petterson was already leading her out onto the dance floor. This is not how it was supposed to be. And what if he asked her for the "Last Dance"? Don't panic! Stay cool!

I positioned my-self to take advantage of the next opportunity to ask her to dance. I was prepared. As the next set was about to begin I made my move. I was nearly paralyzed when I heard, "Ladies Choice" blare over the speakers. Sylvia was already heading toward the dance floor. She was dancing with someone other than Roger. Good, there was still a chance that he hadn't asked her for the "Last Dance".

I was ready for the next set. It was now or never. I reached out and touched her shoulder. Her angora sweater was soft to the touch, and that sweet smell reminded me of that day at the assembly.

"Wanna dance?" Damn, that didn't come out right.

"Sure"

At first we didn't say much. The first record was a jitterbug. I had this down pat, and she had little trouble following me. The second record was a slow dance. We both seemed to be more comfortable as the song ended. Again, there was that special smile. A silent smile that seemed to speak volumes. At least, it seemed that way to me.

A few steps into the third dance, something strange, scary, and yet wonderful happened. I swear it wasn't planned. It just happened. Suddenly we found ourselves dancing cheek to cheek. The only contact we had was that her left cheek was touching my right cheek. We were still well within the limits allowed at the Holy Trinity Parish Teen dance.

"Could I have the last dance?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

" Yes, I really would like that."

Wow! Could it be that I really hadn't misread that special smile. I was on cloud nine. I was too excited to dance the next set and, anyway, I didn't want to overplay my hand.

A voice over the speaker announced, "Last dance."

This was it. I lead Sylvia out onto the dance floor. I placed my right hand on her hip and gently held her right hand close to my chest. We didn't speak. We looked into each others eyes as I inched her closer and closer. My eyes were closed as she nestled her head on my shoulder, and I felt her gently stroke the back of my neck. I wanted to freeze this moment in time.

The sound of Msgr. Kelly bellowing in an Irish brogue, " Let's leave a little room for the Holy Ghost children," startled both of us. We moved apart and tried to make small talk.

On the way home, I assured Sylvia that Msgr. Kelley wouldn't say anything to her mom at Sunday Mass. I told her that the same thing had happened to one of my buddies, and nothing ever came of it. She finally stopped worrying.

We held hands as we climbed the three stairs in front of her house. I thanked Sylvia for the "Last Dance". And suddenly, we kissed good night. Again, and again, and again.

The Holy Ghost never did show up that night. There wouldn't have been room for him anyway.