Paul Lerners feelings
about the approaching Christmas season in his Northern California retirement
community were similar to those he had about an impending dental appointment.
Christmas meant going out, usually in the cold and fog, to lunches, dinners and
parties, mingling with a lot of other old people, pretending to be jolly (ho,
ho, ho), while, approaching 80 years old, hed rather stay home in his
warm house reading a good book, preferably with his big cat Rascalman a
comforting furry presence on his lap.
These feelings Paul tried
to conceal from his wife Sally, five years younger, who still became excited
when the holidays came, busying herself with baking cookies, sending cards,
exchanging gifts with her women friends, and happy to go out to any event, no
matter what it was. So far this year theyd gone to a bridge club potluck,
an art club lunch and a travel club dinner. Now they were about to go to the
singers party, Sally having been a member of their retirement
communitys chorus for many years.
The singers party was
usually a potluck in the community clubhouse, but this year someone had come up
with the idea of having it at a nearby golf club and it was to be an elegant
affair, everyone dressing up, with a sit-down dinner, to be followed by dancing
to a real band. As Paul could have predicted, it was already getting foggy when
they started out at six oclock. Paul didnt like to drive at night
in the best conditions and hed never been to that golf club before. The
fog gave an unreal quality to the landscape, making it look completely
different from the way it was in the daylight. He drove slowly and carefully,
trying to give his full attention to the road while Sally obliviously chattered
beside him. As it was, he almost missed the golf club entrance, which
wasnt very well lighted, and he was relieved when he finally parked their
car.
Inside, a crowd was already
in the clubs banquet room, chattering merrily away. Paul, who disliked
crowds, stood by while Sally greeted her many friends in the chorus, women
whose names he forgot from year to year. Finally, they were ordered to their
tables and dinner was served. Theyd paid quite a bit for their meals and
Paul didnt think his was that good, certainly not much better than at the
potlucks. Dinner was followed by a raffle of door prizes. As usual at these
events, Paul didnt win anything; neither did Sally. Finally, the band
came out, consisting of three performers, and the floor was cleared for
dancing.
Paul had never been much of
a dancer and now, with his arthritic hip and knees, preferred to be a
spectator. But Sally was an enthusiastic dancer and when the bandleader
announced they were having line dancing she jumped up and into the line. As it
happened, Paul was sitting next to the husband of one of Sallys friends,
who was a golfer. While the dancing went on, he had to listen, or pretend to
listen, to a lengthy account of adventures and misadventures on the golf
course. He was more than ready to leave, hoping that the fog hadnt
already gotten too bad. He knew Rascalman would be waiting for him, ready to be
stroked.
After one of the line
dances, the band suddenly started on a slow melody. Sally came back to the
table and held out her hands to him. Come on, she said. Just
one dance. Well, thought Paul, at least hed get away from the golf
bore. They made their way to the middle of the dance floor and Paul did what he
thought of as his shuffle, going a step or two back and forth. At the
dances end, the band resumed its fast music and Paul went to the bar,
thinking he deserved a drink.
From the bar, he watched
the dancers, first Sally, then some of the others, a tall, thin woman who moved
gracefully to the music, a still good-looking man with a full head of gray hair
who knew all of the moves, two women dancing with each other, and suddenly he
saw all the dancers as they were 50 years ago, in their teens or early
20s, girls in short hair, plaid skirts, bobby sox, boys with duckass
haircuts. A surge of compassion flowed through him, sadness and tenderness.
They were all so young, so hopeful, so eager for the future. Paul shook his
head and the youthful images were gone, replaced by the senior citizens they
actually were, but now Paul saw them not as a bunch of futile oldsters but as a
band of gallant warriors, bravely battling against the passage of
time.
At nine oclock,
people finally began to leave. Paul told Sally they should be going and waited
the usual half hour or so while she and her friends said good-bye to each
other. He fully expected that a heavy fog would have settled in, but
miraculously the fog had cleared, a few stars brightly shone and a full moon
lighted their way home.