Handsy

Joe- 16 Years Ago “Keep your hands to yourself Joseph. I’m not in the mood to hear from that silly old woman again that you’re being inappropriate.” I groaned, not wanting to go through that either. Last year some girl from St. Catherine’s complained that I held her too tight, and had grabbed her butt. In her dreams, maybe, but in real life, yuck. The only good thing to come out of that girl’s fantasy was Mom yanked me out of the stupid class for the rest of the season. I held the door to the Tuckahoe Woman’s Club open for my mother and followed along a few steps behind. She differed from the other parents and their kids. They were dressed conservatively in pinks and greens, while Mom was in a tight, black and white dress and high heels. The other parents all knew each other, and most would watch the proceedings from a balcony over the dance floor. My mother never spoke to any of them and only stayed once per season when they required parents to dance with their children. The only reason she came inside tonight was to sign some forms allowing me to participate. She and I had both tried to get me out of it this year, but my grandfather had put his foot down and insisted I go. The inside of the building looked the same as always, stark white with parquet floors, the girls on one side of the room and the boys on the other. One of the fathers was leading his daughter in an impromptu dance, sans music. Mom’s eyes widened at the sight, then she whispered in my ear. “If they even try to get me on that dance floor I will stab them with my heels.” “Mrs. McElroy, it is lovely to see you again. You too, Joseph.” A plastic smile spread across Mom’s face as the director of Cotillion approached. “We lucked out this season. The perfect number of girls and boys, so it looks like we won’t need parents to fill in as dance partners.” Miss Aspinall’s high-pitched voice trilled. Mom rolled her eyes at the dowdy woman and turned to me. “Do as they say. I don’t want any trouble this year or your grandfather will have a fit. Gerald will pick you up at nine. I’m meeting your father for a drink at the club. When you get home go straight to bed.” Mom spun around and made a beeline for the exit, nearly knocking my biology teacher Mr. Taggart over in her rush to get out of the ballroom. “You don’t want to stay and see…” The older woman’s words petered out as the door slammed shut behind my mother. She sighed, then opened her mouth to say something, but I scampered off in the direction of the other boys before she could rope me into a conversation. I was in the ninth grade, and it was my last year of enduring this weekly torture session known as Cotillion. Every Wednesday night I was to be taught manners, which my grandfather said I desperately needed to learn. All we really did for two hours was learn stupid dances no one ever did any more, like the foxtrot or the pretzel. The girls loved it, though I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. At least the boys didn’t have to wear those stupid white gloves. “Ladies and gentlemen, get in line.” Miss Aspinall clapped her gloved hands to get our attention. “Ladies, line up on the right-hand side of the room, and the young men on the left. Whoever is across from you will be your partner for our first dance. We are starting with a basic waltz.” You could tell who wanted to be there and who didn’t. The girls raced to their side of the room, all the while eyeing who would end up across from them and giggling. The boys all looked downcast and took their time getting in the lineup. None of us cared who we ended up dancing with, but the girls took it very seriously. I actually saw one girl get elbowed so another could stand across from Seth Torrance, the most popular boy in school. “Hey.” I turned to my left and saw Luke, Mr. Taggart’s son. He and his dad were new to the school, and though I tried to talk to him a few times, he usually said little in return. Like me, he was dressed up in a suit and tie, and I’d swear his pale skin had a tinge of green to it. I casually touched the back of his hand with mine on purpose. He jumped, his head swiveling in my direction. “You okay?” I asked. “I’ve never done this before.” Luke whispered, then he reached up to loosen his tie. I grabbed his hand before anyone saw him. “Don’t. If Miss Aspinall sees you with a loose tie, she’ll call you out on it in front of everyone. She’s strict.” I noticed beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. Luke was a bundle of nerves. “It’s not that big of a deal. The waltz is easy, just one-two-three, over and over again.” “But…” Luke started, but then the music began. He swayed on his feet a moment, and I wondered if he was going to pass out. I rubbed his back and whispered in his ear. “Watch me. Just do what I do, okay?” That’s when I noticed his eyes for the first time. Electric blue, with a thick fringe of black lashes. Luke nodded, and slowly his lips parted into a smile. Something inside of me lit up, and I felt a giggle escape. “Ladies and gentleman, let us begin.” * * * * “That b***h won’t leave me alone.” Luke whispered. I shook my head in sympathy. When he told Miss Aspinall he’d never danced before, she dragged him to the center of the floor and in front of everyone taught him how to waltz. Then, to make matters worse, she kept doing it with each new dance. His father was one of the chaperones, and I noticed the pained look on his face as he observed Luke tripping up trying to learn the foxtrot. He wasn’t the only one upset. After every dance we’d have to reform the stupid line across from the girls, and when he stood next to me I’d swear he was about to cry. “We only have fifteen more minutes.” I whispered and put my arm around his shoulders. He slumped against me for a moment, but then Miss Aspinall screeched out Luke’s name again. She was in the center of the floor, holding her hand out for him to take. My teeth clenched, and I wanted to belt her. Didn’t she care that he was being humiliated? “Miss Aspinall?” I called out, before Luke could move toward the old bat. Her face lit up, and she walked over. “What can I do for you, young Joseph?” She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. The older woman wasn’t an ogre or anything, but it was like she couldn’t get why singling him out over and over might be hurting more than helping. “Um, I am a little rusty. Could you, um, well, could I have this dance, you know, with you?” I stammered, praying this would work. Luke’s mouth dropped open, so I poked him. “Why Mr. McElroy, I’d love to dance with you!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the middle of the floor, and all I remembered of the next fifteen minutes was the sickly, sweet smell of flowers coming off of her in waves. And Luke’s grateful smile that he shot in my direction whenever we’d pass on the dance floor.