Fancy Dancer

by Dale Neibaur

She was an armful of early morning sunlight, and she sparkled when she laughed. It was his first dance (though he'd die before he admitted it to her) and he was as nervous as a cat on roller skates. He stood her in front of him at a full arm's length. Then, ignoring the music, he began pacing out the box his mother had taught him that morning. STEP, SIDE, TOGETHER. STEP, SIDE, TOGETHER. STEP, SIDE, TOG ... She giggled, and he looked up from his shoes straight into her deep blue eyes. His left foot, abandoned by its owner, promptly squashed her right toes.

"Ow! You don't dance like that, silly. Relax!" She reduced the distance between them to something slightly less than the length of his tie pin. "Now you hold me like this -- No, move your hand up a bit higher. That's better. Now listen to the music." Obediently he raised his head to better hear the orchestra, then immediately snapped it down again in confusion. She was swaying lightly against him, moving her feet softly. "Can't you feel the rhythm?" He could indeed.

"Move with the music. That's the way. And relax a little, can't you? ... No, don't look at your feet, look at me. After all," she pressed against him a bit tighter, "you came to dance with me, not your shoes. Right?"

There were half a dozen hesitant half-steps. Then a few more, executed a bit more boldly. He was concentrating so hard he didn't notice the grin that began spreading itself across his face, but she saw it. Then an overbold Oxford descended squarely on her sandalled toes. He blushed clear to the lobes of his ears.

"Maybe," he stammered, "maybe ..." He gulped a deep breath, then launched on. "What I mean is, how would you like a drink of punch?"

Merriment waltzed with understanding in her eyes. "Why sure." She took his arm. "That sounds just great. And Dale, can we take off our shoes before we dance again?"

[There are many firsts in a young life, and though I came to my first dance very late, I couldn't have asked for a better partner than Dianne. I wrote the poem Dianne's Song a few days after that first dance. This piece was written about a year later, as a creative writing assignment in a BYU English class.

Dianne was a wonderful friend. But she was elected a cheerleader in our senior year, and I was too self-conscious to pursue her into a world where I felt so completely awkward and outclassed. I did run into her later, though. For a variety of reasons which are too complex to explain here, I didn't know the exact date I would be returning home from my LDS mission in Japan until just a few days before the event. When I got on the plane in Tokyo, I literally didn't know if my parents would be there to greet me in Salt Lake. So there wasn't much time for the word to circulate that I was coming home. While I was gone the home ward boundaries were relocated; less than a week after returning home I found myself reporting my mission to a sacrament meeting group filled mostly with strangers. Not only had there been almost no notice that I was coming home that week, but most of my male friends were still out on their own missions. I was leaving the stand after the mission when I heard a cry of "Dale!" and dear familiar Dianne literally launched herself into my arms. She gave me the best welcome-home hug I could have wished for. Then she dragged me by the hand to meet her new husband ...]