Come Dance With Me

Sue and Foster Horn lived next door to the Wendells in a suburb of crowded estates. It was Sue who watched from her window, overlooking the Wendell’s drive, as they prepared their pickup truck and travel-trailer for a trip to a mountain lake. Sue was angry. There wouldn’t be a celebration party, and Sue loved parties. She hesitated to appeal to Foster who sat nearby reading the Sunday Times, sipping his breakfast coffee.

Nevertheless, Foster was aware of what was going on next door, the amount of work it took — hitching up, lifting the aluminium boat to the top of the truck to secure it, storing fresh food in the icebox, and hanging a change of clothes in the mini closet. He rattled his paper, "Come away, Sue. Let them be."

"They always go away on Sunday," she whined angrily. "Today is their thirty-fifth Wedding Anniversary!"

"So? What’s that got to do with anything? They go out when he can get away from the demands of the business — Sunday and Monday. That’s their weekend, always."

"They’re always together, you mean! He never goes fishing with the guys, she only goes to a special luncheon at church on occasion. They go together for everything."

A little more forcefully, Foster said, "That’s the way they want it."

"They are truly one," Sue sighed. "Why aren’t we like that Foster?"

He lowered the paper and glared at her, "You don’t go fishing, I don’t go to the ballet. I don’t go to baby showers, and you don’t work on cars. Never happen. Now come away from there."

She complied. "They’re gone anyway," she muttered.

High in the lake-pocked mountains of Colorado and Wyoming, Miles and Anne Wendell arrived at the camping site beside their favorite lake. It was late afternoon. As usual, the weekend crowds were leaving. Their timing was not intentional, per se. Put simply, their weekday obligations required that their weekend occur Sunday and Monday. It was no inconvenience to either of them, since they lived on the same schedule, nor were they disturbed if other campers remained. In fact they welcomed company—or solitude.

They pulled into SpruceTreePark, selected an out-of-the-way place and parked, waiting for the last camper to leave. They waved to people they knew and nodded to those they did not know, but whom they had often seen here.

"Wonder if anyone is staying over," Miles muttered.

On Anne’s lap their Jack Russell Terrier, Foxie, impatient to get out, finally voiced a courageous bark. Miles reached over a hand, touched his head, and he settled down and went to sleep.

It was growing late. The sun was dropping behind the trees, creating shadows. By six o’clock the campground, located at the edge of the lake and in the very heart of the forest, was deserted. Miles started the truck, backed out of parking and headed for their favorite site which was numbered a neat 35 by some talented Ranger. If one was not self-contained, electrical hookups were provided on a post, and water hydrants were available only a few feet away. Miles effortlessly swung past, backed in onto the concrete pad, and switched off the engine. He did not require hookups.

In a whirlwind of activity, the two of them unhitched the trailer and placed stabilizing jacks beneath four corners. Foxie was on a thin leash that allowed him to wander yards away, but never allowed him complete freedom . . . to be swallowed up by the forest. The squirrels and chipmunks tantalized him with their presence; he played their games while the home-away-from-home was made ready. It was quickly finished, secured. The truck was free and ready for sightseeing.

"That’s it," Miles removed his gloves, brushed his hands on his jeans, put his arms around Anne and added, "I am starved. How about you?"

"Ravenous," she said, smiling up at him and waiting for his kiss, which he took his time applying. "Um. You taste good, but that’s not what we need right now."

"Well," drawled Miles, "if you say so." Stuffing his gloves into his back pocket, he followed her inside, gathered the dog in and shut the door. The three of them were slim enough to fit comfortably in the space afforded.

It was simple arrangement, one space cleverly designed with table and padded benches at the front end, and a couch across the back that converted to full bed. In between, on both sidewalls, were stove, icebox, shower and small Propane gas heater. Their movements, as they washed up, shed jackets for blue plaid flannel shirts and started dinner, were so coordinated that Foxie sat quietly and patiently on the seat at the table and watched it all happen.

Miles got out a can, the hand-held can-opener and a pan. He opened the can with a few twists and a crunching sound, scraped out Chili Con Carne into the pan and set it to heat on the little stove. Patting his legs, Anne reached between his spread legs to extract a pan from the drawer under the bench. She drew a bit of water from a tap over a little sink, put in six Beef Franks and set it to boil. Miles got out the rolls; Anne got out the paper plates. Miles opened a bin under the icebox and took oranges from a bag of fruit. Anne got the salad from the icebox and, in minutes they sat at the table and began to eat. Foxie sat beside Miles, watching every movement, but was not offered sample bites.

"Did I tell you that Lexie called this morning?" Anne asked. "No. Goodness, glad I remembered to tell you . . . Yes, she is settled in—she loves’ it there. I cannot imagine college in Arizona, but she’s happy with it, and it was her choice. They have the courses in Anthropology that she has been wanting. I suppose she will visit the reservations in the Southwest as soon as she is able to." She sighed, bit into her Chili Dog and chewed. "Um, this is so good . . . a little more cheese, please. Thank you."

"Well," said Miles, "if we can hear from Trevor now that he has permanent assignment, I will be most content. With two children underfoot for more than twenty years, my love, we have survived."

"With love to spare," said Anne.

Miles crunched a mouthful of crisp salad, swallowed, "I will miss then terribly. And I know your feelings —" He absent-mindedly offered Foxie a bite of Beef Frank.

Their coordinated clean up, and putting down proper food for the dog caught them unaware that it had grown dark outside, until suddenly Miles had to switch on the overhead light. But just before he did, "Look at that moon!" exclaimed Anne with her face pressed to the window.

"I know. Since you have everything I have been able to provide at this stage of our life, I ordered a full moon for tonight, my love . . . my gift to you," Miles spoke, as nonchalantly as if he had actually hung that moon. "And later, um, something else?"

"Oh, Miles, yes. You’ve given me the world . . . But," she added hastily, "this moon is so near,isn’t it? It is a real beauty." She turned from the window, "Now, we must do something to settle our dinner. Turn out the lights? Um, no, Miles — Let me see. Want to go for a walk?"

"I’ll walk anywhere with you, gorgeous. Moonlight on your shiny brown hair will stir things up — a little more."

"Miles! The way you talk. Unlike the sun, the moon cannot bleach yourhair. You do not need a cap, so grab a sweater, and let’s get out of here."

"Just a minute! I have a fabulous idea, Annie, my darling. Want to go skinny-dipping? Hurry, take off all your clothes and grab a towel." He was already stripping off his own clothes.

Completely unclad, they gazed at one another. "You are so beautiful, my wife."

"You, too," she said a little shyly.

Barefoot and naked, except for their beach towels, they went out into the moonlight. They trod down the incline to the soft sand on a little beach and across to the concrete boat ramp. They held hands until the last minute, then waded down into the water. Miles let go and dived in. He knew the depth of the water, having launched his boat there many times. He let out a howl, swam a few yards, upended and came back.

Surprised, Anne stopped in ankle-deep water in shock, it was so painfully cold.

Miles sloshed up to her, shivering, "Brrrr! Anne, don’t go any farther. That isice water! We cannot swim in that." He grabbed her hand, and they retreated to the beach and their towels. Dried off, wrapped, and holding each other for warmth, Miles was nearly squeezing the life out of her.

"Miles . . . Miles — "

"Hmm?"

"Miles, we’re not alone. Look," Anne freed her arm and pointed to something distant.

On a far shore was a bonfire. Tiny silhouettes around it seemed to be adding fuel, as it blazed higher and higher.

Miles stared, he was unaware that his towel dropped to the sand. When he looked down at last, he grinned and gathered Anne to him, removed her towel and pulled her tightly against his warmth. Rather than resisting, Anne smiled and pressed closer.

"Probably Boy Scouts," Miles murmured. "They won’t be birdwatching with binoculars in the moonlight."

But suddenly the night was blasted with music which Annie recognized as King Harvest’s Dancing in The Moonlight,and she laughed, "Boy Scouts? I don’t think so."

She looked up at Miles and he was gazing at her, "Come, dance with me, my true love."

He opened his arms and she reached out for his hand, and they began to dance on the sand. Soon he was folding her into himself, as they continued to dance.

The music stopped. He looked up to see that the fire had burned down to a small glow, the silhouettes were now sitting, feeding only small bits of fuel to the fire.

"Probably a college group," said Miles. And then the night was filled with soft, romantic music. Some of the oldies from the 1970's that they both recognized.

"Happy Anniversary, Darling," whispered Miles.

On the lake shore, so blended into one that their shadow was of a single figure, Miles and Anne continued to dance in the moonlight.

- THE END -