Volume 19, Number 107,
February/March 2016

The Last Dance
by Elaine Durst

Spanish Eyes came on the music channel. He was standing
in the kitchen.
I held out my arms to him. “Let’s dance.”
“I can’t dance.”
I smiled encouragingly. “Oh nonsense. Yes you can.”
“I can’t dance.”
I embraced him with my left arm under his right so that he could rest his
arm on my shoulder for balance. How wonderful to feel his arms encircle
me. He took a halting, faltering step and I helped him regain his
balance. We began to sway to the music.
“I can’t dance.”
We continued.
“We used to dance two and three times a week. You were a wonderful
dancer ... the waltz, two step, anything Latin. It was fun. Just sway to
the rhythm.” The sensuous music stirred warm memories. A silent tear
slowly fell.
Oh my darling, dear sweet man, how I miss you.
“I can’t dance.”
“You are doing well. We met at a dance. I saw you across
the room and knew you were the one for me.”
“I can’t dance.”
“You often told me it was the same for you. That was
sixty-three years ago.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for
the dance.”