Revisiting Memory Lane
It's December, the time we decorate our Christmas trees.
Ours is up and has been for two weeks, and each time I walk by, I stop to enjoy ornaments collected from decades of travels. Many celebrate my son at various ages. Others are from 35 years I worked in the public sector. I made some of them, shells hand-painted with beach scenes or lighthouses.
Can I pick a favorite? No. Each one is special to me, forming a memory of the time, place, and event. The memories are more intense because the ornaments only come out once a year.
In my short story today, I bring out a memory that returns after a lifetime. Think how strong it must be. The story is titled The Final Dance, and you can read it all below.
The Final Dance
2017 © Farley Dunn
IT WAS A bright, frosty morning.
The pavement glistened like a carpet of crushed diamonds in the early morning sunshine. Debbie Reynolds twirled, flinging the hem of her skirt into an umbrella around her, and it gradually closed as she slowed and reclined languidly against a lamppost.
“This was from one of my first movies.” She smiled, and her expression was a surge of warmth in the frigid air. “Far too much paparazzi, and no one has protection from them, anymore.”
“One of your movies?” I repeated, trying to picture the crushed diamonds in a scene from one of her movies. I wasn’t sure what the paparazzi had to do with anything.
“The lamppost. Gene. The rain. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, next to childbirth, of course.”
“Ah, Singing in the Rain.” I remembered fragments of it but never had a chance to watch the musical. In the lamppost scene, they’d had to add milk to the rain, so the water would show up on camera. Funny what they do to make films successful.
“I always said I wanted to walk to my own funeral.” Debbie laughed, with that wonderful sound everyone knows. “That’s me. See, world? The phone service isn’t great between here and there, but I’m on my feet, and you still have your memories of me.”
“And over thirty films.” I smiled, glad to see she was having a good time. It was important at this time of her life. I chuckled. Time-of-her-life was a misnomer, but I’d let it stand, at least for the next few hours.
“So many? I never dreamed I’d be on the big screen. We were rather poor, and I mowed lawns to go to the movies. Did you know that?” Debbie primped her skirts, fluffing them out, looking very much 1952.
It was when the film was made, I recalled. Singing in the Rain. I remembered her in a raincoat, and I wondered why she wasn’t wearing one, but then, people passing through got some choices, and I don’t suppose she’d felt her most beautiful in a yellow slicker.
“Dancing is so much harder. I’d tell anyone who asked that they should give their kids a lawnmower rather than send them to dance school. Kids don’t like to practice nowadays.”
“What makes dancing harder?” I understood the practice part, and I found I was interested. Actresses don’t always have such practical opinions, and I was charmed. I wanted to keep Debbie talking.
“Precision. Three people dancing together, that’s very hard. Here, take my arm. I’ll show you.”
Before I could think, Debbie wrapped her arm in mine, and she touched my right knee with her hand.
“This leg first. Just follow me, and you’ll do fine.”
We went slowly at first, while Debbie showed me a few steps. Precision, she said, with a smile, and I gave it my best. We weren’t forbidden to touch those in transition, but mostly they were wrapped in their own memories, and that’s okay. This was a first for me, and I found it a welcome change.
Soon, Debbie began singing, and she encouraged me to sing along. The diamonds around us became real, and as we twirled and kicked up our feet, they scattered, filling the air, and falling again as rain.
“You never tire of this, do you?” I asked, when we came together at one point.
“Never. I always said I’d stay in show business till I dropped dead. I’ll be like Trigger, stuffed and on display, still in my dancing shoes.”
Then the dance pulled us apart, the diamonds glittered around us, and Debbie was twenty, as she stood still, lifted her hands, and let the diamonds wash across her face.
“Were we a success?” Debbie asked, her face still looking upward. The dance, I could see she meant.
“Absolutely, Miss Reynolds.” I bowed, with one arm at my waist, and the other held out to her.
“Is Carrie here?” Debbie glanced around, and already the diamonds were settling to the ground, becoming no more than frost on the pavement.
“She came through yesterday.” I took a breath and prepared myself. This part was always hard, when a child died before a parent. It was very hard, and sometimes it didn’t go well. “You just missed her, Miss Reynolds.”
“We’ve always been very close. I live right in front of her, sort of a little commune. I get to visit my granddaughter every day, if I wish.”
“You must have enjoyed that.” The air was warming, and the diamonds were melting away, leaving damp edges to the pavement. Pretty soon it would all be gone. It was only a memory, but it was a good one. It might be Debbie’s, but I was experiencing it, too, to my good fortune.
“I always said the only way to learn is by failure, but I refused to let that happen with Carrie. You don’t get a second chance with your kids. You have to do it right.”
“With your son, too?”
“Todd became a minister. I guess practice does make perfect. My first child was an actor, and my second a born-again Christian.” Debbie laughed gaily.
“Our time together is about at an end. Do you have anything else you’d like to revisit?”
“All of it. I’ve had a wonderful life. I really have.” Her face glowed.
I smiled but didn’t reply. These last few moments were for her, sort of a last chance to enjoy being who she was.
“I gave it all I had, and people seemed to like it when I danced. Thank you for taking the time to dance with me. I’ve always loved to dance.”
The day had warmed, and a bright light was building on the horizon. Clouds of fog billowed around us, and a glittering gate covered with gold and pearls appeared. A white-bearded man in a flowing robe stepped through, and he unrolled a scroll.
“Thank you, Father Abraham. Miss Reynolds? If you’ll step this way.” Saint Peter motioned though the opening.
Debbie twirled, and with a lightness of foot that seemed unearthly, she danced her final dance as she disappeared into the mist.
