Dancing Lady

I loved to dance, but during the 27 years I was married to Wally, we never danced. After we were divorced, I never went out on a date with another man. Until I went to Albuquerque. .

When Wally told me he was going to remarry, I offered to go far away and not interfere with his life if he would give me enough money to live a decent life. He agreed. I climbed into my BMW and headed Southwest.

I cried as a drove alone. All the way across Missouri wet Kleenex piled up on the passenger seat. I could not sleep and cried all night in the motel in Amarillo. The next day, as I crossed into New Mexico, a rainbow arched across the highway in front of me. It was an omen of happier days to come.

In Albuquerque I read in the newspaper that a senior center had a dance every Wednesday night. At the first dance I went to I met Manny. He was short, only an inch taller than my 5'1". His favorite dance tune was “Kansas City”. He lived all his life in New Mexico. He was a Pueblo Indian.

At Palo Duro Senior Center I met Jim, an Italian-American from New York, and the best partner I ever had – on the dance floor. At the singles group at the Unitarian Church I met Aaron, a retired architect from Toledo. Tall and gangly, he was difficult to follow, but he was an interesting guy and fun to talk to.

Here I was: a fat, ugly lady in my mid-50's, and I was having a ball!

Wally refused to sign the agreement to provide money for me to pay the rent. For three years I commuted between New Mexico and Illinois, suing Wally for support. I hated it each time I had to leave Albuquerque and go back to Chicago.

One good thing came out of that terrible time. I met John. The first time he spoke to me was when he asked me to dance. We kept dancing for the next five years. After we married we danced at Los Volcanes Senior Center in Albuquerque. John was not a good dancer, but he had good rhythm, and he enjoyed it so much! His favorite was George Strait’s “All My Exes Live in Texas.”

One New Year’s Eve we danced, sliding across the floor as our cruise ship met rough seas in the Caribbean. A poignant memory is another New Year’s Eve and John saying, “Honey, I’m so tired, but I’ll dance this one with you.” We danced to “You Belong to My Heart, Now and Forever.” Three weeks later he was dead.

Manny called. “Sorry to hear about John. Would you like to go to the dance?” I said, “Not now, Manny.”

Soon Manny and I were dancing again. We would go out, and I would talk about John.

After several years Manny and I broke up. Then there was Louis Rice, half-Anglo, half-Mexican, who loved to dance.

Lou’s stomach pains turned into inoperable colon cancer. One afternoon when I arrived at the hospital, the nurse said, “He tried to get out of bed. He said, ‘I have to get dressed. Ilene and I are going to the dance at the senior center at 5 o’clock.”

When I moved to Texas, I resigned myself to never dancing again. The men at the Garland Senior Center were uninteresting and uninterested.

I am 81 years old and for the past year I’ve lived in a retirement home. Friendly people, even some interesting men – but no boy friend. My body is horrible. I’ve lost both breasts, and my freak colon has expanded until I look eight months pregnant.

Then we had the Military Ball. Men danced with me. This old woman suddenly felt like she was 18 years old again.