Brigits Flame Wk 4, "butterfly whirl" prompt

[riotheclown]

 

The summer Hunter was ten years old he learned to square dance. He would take his Gran to the community center every Saturday night. Nobody made fun of him dressed up in a cowboy shirt and hat and cowboy boots. His cousin was the caller which he would do with a country twang. His uncle played the fiddle. You had to be tall enough to join in with the adults. He was. He had felt proud.

Twenty years later, sitting beside him in the bucket seat of his sports car, was Marilyn, or “Mouse” as he called her. She had her eyes closed, feeling the breeze on her face. She had a look of contentment. Out of all his “girls” she was the only one he thought Gran would like. She didn’t say much. That was good.

The Munsee--Delaware Reservation was made up of small parcels of disconnected land adding up to 70 or so houses. His grandmother’s house was on its own down a dirt road. It had a big front porch and lots of kids running through it.

Hunter parked the car and got out without saying anything to Mouse. His Gran was on the porch in a rocker with a yellow dog sleeping beside her on the floor. 

“Brian! Look at you! Now who is this you got with you? Don’t be rude Brian, tell her to come up. Oh you look handsome! Come on!”

Hunter’s Gran was a barrel-chested woman of no discernible age beyond “old”, dressed in a flowery print house-dress and apron. She wore ankle socks and tennis shoes. She refused to call him "Hunter" and stuck to his given name Brian.

Her brown hands rested on Hunter’s cheeks as she drank in a look at him. He was olive skinned and without blemish. His face was oval, his nose aquiline, and his eyes almond shaped and dark. When he smiled he had a dimple on one cheek. A newly placed gold cap (paid for by one of his girls) shone on his left incisor.

Gran turned to Mouse, smiling. “Brian never told me he had a girlfriend. Come in, come in!” Her house, though needing paint and full of worn-out furniture, was tidy.

 She went and filled a kettle for tea. A light breeze played with the apple print curtains above the sink.

 The afternoon filled up with stories about Hunter as a boy as they sipped tea and munched on cookies.

 Children came in and out constantly, the screen door slamming loudly.  Hunter occasionally picked up a child and turned her or him upside down, to their squealing delight.

 “You have to take me and your girl friend dancing tonight at the community center. Its square dancing and they have a fiddler coming in from St. Tomas. You know Henry makes money calling now? He’s good, goes all over North America, even the States and Mexico! Do you like Square Dancing Marilyn?”

 “I don’t know how.”

 “Brian will teach you. I was like you when I was a girl: shy, nice.  He shouldn’t go with those crazy girls. Oh yeah, I know ... Lots of our young people go to the city and get into trouble, drugs, prostitution, alcohol, and then we have to raise their kids for them.” She raised her hands in a gesture to signify helplessness. “Still, it’s better here for kids than in the city. I don't mind. But we old people aren’t going to live forever. We need our young men and women to come back now.”

 Hunter was looking disdainful.  He got up from the table and let the door slam behind him.

 “I wanted him to stay here with me all year round but his mom wouldn’t have it. Oh she’s nice. I don’t say nothing against her. It’s just hard …”

 Mouse spoke for the first time. “Hunter’s mom is in hospital. She’s dying of cancer.”

 “Oh. I shouldn’t ‘a said nothing. Oh …” Gran looked out through the screen door. “You 'scuse me?”

 The Gran went out and put a fat arm around Hunter. 

 They walked down the road together. The yellow dog, jumping off the porch, ran after them. Hunter stopped picked up a stick and tossed it.  

 When they were out of sight of the house Gran pulled his arm to stop him. Standing in front of him she placed her leathery hands on his face and pulled it towards her. He bent down and gave her hug. Resting his head on her shoulder he cried. Nothing was said.  The memories of losses they had shared on this dirt road swarmed like flies on shit.

 As they walked back towards the house, Hunter put his arm around his Gran and stepped backwards, swinging her around. Mouse watched from the porch but retreated into the house before she was seen.  

They didn’t stay for the dance, whatever Hunter had needed from the visit he had found. Kids and dogs and dust followed them part way down the dirt road as they drove off. When they hit pavement Hunter gunned it, only slowing down to the speed limit when they got close to town.

"If the universe was a piece of music, the banging of Gran's screen door would be the percussion." Mouse said.  

 “And we would all dance ‘The Butterfly Whirl’ forever.” Hunter said.