She had just finished kissing Duncan good-bye when it struck her
Miranda Davenport was alone
And really alone
She and Gabe had been divorced for eight years
Rebecca was interning at Fouce's and Fuke's
Elijah was getting married in the spring
And now Duncan was situated in his dorm at Penn State
On the drive home she contemplated mental notes
Had she remembered to remind him to call everyday?
Twice if necessary?
Had she bought him enough bagels?
Two bags seemed meager.
Had she been a good mother?
He was the youngest, and potentially the most ignored.
Considering all the trouble Rebecca and Elijah had been
It was a wonder he didn't insist on driving to college by himself
Casting her off like an old football jersey
She was driving home to a house in upstate New York
Filled with movies she'd been meaning to watch
Books she'd been meaning to read
And endless amounts of cleaning that would need to be done before...
Before when?
Before the kids came to visit
Which would be Thanksgiving
Hopefullly
More likely Christmas
Months
Away
"Levon" came on the radio and she cried
She thought about holding Duncan for the first time
Back when Gabe still had hair and a conscience
Before he needed twenty-eight year old tramps
To make him feel like a man
She held her little boy and danced with him around the living room
Singing, Levon...Levon...
And promised he would be
A good man
A good son
Not like Elijah who was lighting things on fire by the age of three
Not like Rebecca who yelled "vagina" in the middle of supermarkets
Duncan would be the success story
And he was
Gabe used to tell her she should dance
Back then, she had a lovely flow to her
She'd waltz through rooms with a duster
And everything would seem to clean itself
That was when the children were gloriously immobile
You put them somewhere and they stayed there
It was possible to check on them, but not really necessary
Now she'd put Duncan somewhere
Fully knowing he'd be everywhere but where he was supposed to be
For the rest of his life
"...And Jesus, he wants to go to Venus..."
She'd taken lessons
Dancing lessons
With a young man
Named Ted
Who was not gay
No matter what Gabe said
And who taught her a total of three styles of dancing
Before she felt too mortified to continue with the lessons
She'd had Gabe pay the full tuition and then never went back
Ignoring the phone calls, the voicemails, the beseeching tones
Dancing was not something she was good at
And time was too precious to waste
On something as fleeting and flirty as a foxtrot
There were always beds to be made
And cocktail parties to plan for Gabe's coworkers
There was always something other than calm
A neverending to do-list that now was
Strangely
Done
I started too old, she thought
Funny how many things she was too old for now
Too old for road trips, yet here she was
On a long hike back to New York
Loaded up with audiobooks
Frivolous literature like James Patterson and Nicholas Sparks
Her friends raved about the new Sparks selection
But she was always a 'I'll wait for the movie' kind of gal
Instead of the tapes, she just kept playing "Levon", over and over
Hoping to wring the tears from her body
Like an old-time laundress wringing rags over a wooden washtub
But they kept coming
They came and they came
All the way back to New York
And by the time she pulled into her garage
Walked up the stone steps that really needed to be redone
Opened and closed the giant--didn't it really seem giant?--front door
The only thing that appeared to have been drained from her body
Was any sense of still being a mother
Of making peanut butter and ham sandwiches
(Elijah was such an odd eater)
Of explaining sex in the most unappealing way possible
(Rebecca wanted to be put on the pill before her fifteenth birthday)
Of making a Ronald Regan costume for Halloween
(Duncan would not be talked out of his conservative views,
Even when Gabe threatened to disown him)
What was there left to do?
Clean, of course
She cleaned counter tops
Spare rooms
Hardwood floors
Bay windows
Bookcases
The entire garage from top to bottom
And when it was over
She looked at these things
Knowing they might never be truly dirty again
And rather than feel satisfied with that
She screamed out at the top of her lungs
Just to hear the sound it would make
As it echoed through the freshly cleaned halls
Part of her considered going upstairs
Trying on her old wedding dress
And dancing around
While cobwebs formed around her
Like the crazy old hag
In Great Expectations
My, she thought, didn't we all have great expectations?
She balked at her own loftiness
Then laughed at her self-deprecation
Who needs children, she thought, with all this going on
Right inside my own head?
She didn't find the albums in Rebecca's room
Until two days later
At that time, she had called each of her children
Four times every day
She had called Gabe to tell him that their youngest son
Was deposited safely at school
He didn't answer the phone
So she left him a simple message on his voicemail
"You took the best years of my life and gave them to a waitress from Denny's."
Five seconds.
"Not even a good waitress."
Fifteen seconds
"The garage was a mess."
Five seconds.
"Goodbye Gabe."
Hanging up the cordless phone
She looked down into a box she had pulled from Rebecca's closet
Old albums with scary boys on the front
Big hair, from the 80's no doubt
When Rebecca had brought home a sideshow attraction a week
And tried to pass it off as a boyfriend
"Sweetheart, exactly how many swords can he swallow?"
Rebecca never found this funny.
On a whim
Miranda took the album and brought it downstairs to the basement
Where she kept the old record player
For cold Sundays doing laundry
Listening to Nat King Cole
She put the record on
Dropped the needle
And waited
"Come on feel the noise..."
Satan
"Girls, rock your boys"
But an old Satan
Satan with a cane
Cruising the boulevard for chicks
Still doing his hair like Bon Jovi's
And saying tubular
Sorry old pal, she thought
Not fearsome anymore
There are so many greater worries
Than loose morals
And hairspray
She felt her foot tapping along with the music
Just listening to it felt like flirting with a man
Too young for her
And she actually giggled and blushed
Miranda picked up the laundry basket
And started throwing clothes in the washer
But she didn't remove the album from the record player
She let it go on, and every once in awhile
Would catch herself swaying ever so slightly
As if she was listening to Count Basie
And not some awful group called Quiet Riot
After a few minutes, the washer was going
And the dryer was full
That meant it was time to go upstairs
But rather than pretend she had other things to do
Because after all, she didn't
And because after all, who would she be pretending for?
Miranda Davenport did something unexpected
She began to dance
Not pretty dancing
Not ballroom
Not what the nice man who wasn't gay
Had taught her
But silly, stupid dancing
The kind she used to see Rebecca do in her room
When she would barge in unannounced
And ask about the condom wrappers in the garbage
Rebecca would always appear to be punching some tall person in the face
And then kicking them in the shin
This is what Miranda thought it looked like
And so this is how she danced
She found herself laughing at her ridiculous
Jerking movements
And so she started spinning around the basement
Doing the moves over and over again
Wondering at what point someone was going to stop her
But nobody did, and nobody would
She could stop when she wanted to stop
Or she could keep dancing
She could let the record play itself out
Then put on another
She could finish the laundry
Or let it soak
She could clean and cook
Or she could run around naked
Like a nymph in the forest
It was her life now
Not anybody else's
She was beholden to nothing and nobody
And it felt...
Like dancing to music you weren't supposed to like
But did
She felt herself shaking the top part of her body
The wiggly jiggly part
Like a hussy at a hoedown
The very thought of these terms
Made her fall onto the floor in a fit of laughter
That was nearly orgasmic
She looked up at the ceiling of the basement
Part of her swore she could see footprints
Little footprints getting bigger as they moved across the room
They looked like steps blocked out, a pattern
To teach someone how to dance
The steps
The moves
The maneuvers
She wished things had been mapped for her like that
All the pacing and decisions
Go here, do this
Step touch
Stop and turn
Do these things with fluidity and grace
And you'll get perfect scores
A ten from Elijah
A ten from Rebecca
A nine from Duncan
Because he'd always give her something to strive for
Instead her scores were most likely considerably lower
And there was nothing to be done about that
But get up and try again
She turned the music up so loud
That she didn't hear the phone ringing
Elijah asking if she'd called the caterers for the reception
Rebecca checking to see if she could loan her money
Duncan asking if she'd packed his favorite sweater since he couldn't find it
Gabe crying because the waitress had finally left
And he wanted to know if he could come home
She wouldn't hear any of these phone calls
And when her children and her husband
Would ask why for the first time in her life
She was firmly unreachable
Miranda Davenport would laugh and say--
I was downstairs doing laundry
And see the footprints begin to materialize in her head
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