By Lorry Myers
I cried at the wedding; the words were beautiful, just like the bride and now, here I was at the reception, my toes tapping underneath the table. The bride, and my bride’s maid daughter, Mariah, are childhood friends, so the evening was full of young people loving each other and living their best life. The first dance was over and now, the DJ was luring everyone to the dance floor.
Everyone but me.
Even after two years, I am still learning the ways of widowhood, and how to navigate all of the “firsts” that come after the “lasts”. This was the first time I RSVP’d for one, my first wedding that I had no arm to take, and now, my first dance where I had no one to dance with. Wedding dance music is predictable, thank goodness, because I want to hear all those familiar tunes I have danced to countless times before.
That night, I was content to tap my toes.
The DJ was on it and a mob of young women took over the floor, celebrating their friend and their night out. After that, dads danced with their daughters and little boys practiced their break-dance moves. The line dancers lined up and the two steppers stepped out. Then, the music shifted to something slow and smooth and couples automatically floated to the floor and into each other’s arms. Until that moment, I had not thought about a dance without a dance partner or my past years of slow dancing.
My toes suddenly stopped tapping.
Looking around, the tables were mostly empty as the dancers paired up. There were established couples practiced in their moves from years of dancing together. There were young couples, still new to each other and trying to find their own moves. Then, there were a few couples who spent the dance talking to each other.
A slow dance is different with different partners.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.
