Save the Last Dance

Having talked myself, with the help of a couple friends, a bit of chocolate ice-cream, and an hour or two of prayer, out of the blues or the reds or whatever they were, I am ready to be myself again. I would like to share with you something that made an impression on me as a teenager. Now, it’s going to get sentimental and mushy in here, so this is your last chance to escape if you need to.

About 14 years ago, (hold on while I adjust to hearing myself say such a thing) I had a friend who taught me a wonderful lesson. She was married to one of those men who never meets a stranger. One of those people who is an instant friend to everyone. A comfortable man who, even in the ranks of holiness, had no concept of the 6 inch rule. (I’m not even going to go into how I feel about the holiness paranoia of physical contact. That weird mental attitude that makes a guy watch you fall on your face instead of giving you his hand over a rough spot. Immaculate conceptions do not occur anymore. I have a rock-band drummer friend with more manners....OK, I’m really not going into this.)

Anyway, one day as this man was joking around with people and just being his artlessly friendly self, a woman asked my friend if she ever worried or was ever bothered by her husband’s outgoing ways. She looked in his direction with a joyful smile and said, “No, I’m wearing his ring.” The inquirer raised her eyebrows in that way that says “I don’t believe you.” and walked away.

But I believed her. When she said “I’m wearing his ring,” she meant “I have his heart.” That was enough for her. Let others enjoy his company, laugh at his jokes. Let him grasp onto the hand of whomever he was talking to. She’d even wait while he chatted with friends who had called to talk with her. She knew she had his heart. I watched her rest securely in this knowledge and tucked her comment away in my pocket. I took it out every now and then and turned it over and over until it made perfect sense to me. She knew he loved her and colored all of his actions in that light.

I don’t have a husband (So I should probably kick whoever that is on my couch watching the Matrix out. And make him take his pop can with him.) But I do have friends. Some I have had for many years and some are rather new. I could easily ruin one of these wonderful friendships with suspicion and jealousy. I could become the pestering friend who is always asking “Are you mad at me? Because you haven’t talked to me since Thursday.” Yes, even at my age this happens. I could become jealous of other friendships and demand attention. (And I do love attention. It’s my sanguine half.) Or I can choose to believe that whatever time has passed, or whatever things have come between us, I have their affections as they have mine. When they marry and homes and children take up their time, I say “I have their heart.” and rejoice with them. When I move far away and communication is hard because of jobs and the fact that no one lives in my time zone, I believe that I am loved and remembered as I love and remember.

There’s a song sung by some very bad ladies that I really like. It says that you can spend all the time you want with others. You can give them your smile and dance till dawn with them, as long as you save the last dance for me. And I know I’ve mixed my metaphors a little and thoroughly blurred the platonic and romantic, but you can overlook it, yes? (We’ll just blame that on my melancholy half.) I’m trying to make a point here about true affection. It doesn’t mind sharing and it trusts the one upon whom it has been bestowed.

So, old friend, here’s to you. You have my heart today, tomorrow, a thousand years from now. New friend, you have it, too. Save me a dance or a cup of coffee or a chair at you kitchen table and I’ll be by to get it when I can. I’ll be saving one for you, too.