Dancing with the Bride

As the bride spun me about the floor, my focus roamed the room. Every face my eyes landed upon seemed to be looking our way. In hindsight, I'm confident this was the case; who could fail to notice the two of us on the floor by ourselves? Just as disquieting as the stares was the sound my ears detected; or more appropriately, the sound my ears failed to detect.

Where moments before there had been a din of conversation to be heard even above the loud, fast song, I now heard nothing but the slow, soft melody. My eyes tried to find Lynn as we rotated, but she eluded the search. Thus the bride and I spun across the floor, all eyes upon us.

In spite of her loose embrace, I felt quite alone.

Perhaps Rachel sensed my anxiety. "You're quite pretty," she said. "I always thought us brunettes looked good in lavender. You and Lynn make such a cute couple."

I stiffened. She sounded sincere, but I was reluctant to believe it. "I, uh," I stammered, "was just telling Lynn how beautiful you were earlier." My eyes widened. "In a good way, I mean!"

Rachel chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean; and thank you. Do you not dance much?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"With who?"

Rachel tilted her head as she continued to move the both of us in gentle circles. "Why Lynn, of course."

"Oh," I stammered. "I guess I never was much for dancing."

"You should give it some thought," the bride suggested. "You're a natural, and it is rather fun; no?"

I felt my spirits perk up as her words registered. Can she really enjoy dancing with me? I dared wonder. But it is rather fun, isn't it? Within a minute I had admitted to myself the experience was a pleasant one, even given the awkward circumstances.

As the final notes of the song ended, Rachel stopped, but she did not release me. If anything, the arm around my waist exhibited a stronger hold than before. Her other hand grasped my palm like a vice. We stood alone, clutching one another, in the center of the floor.

Then I heard it. A clap. It echoed like a gunshot in the silent hall. A half-second later another followed from the same direction. Then a third one, louder and more emphatic than the previous two.

I started to spin my head to seek the source, but Rachel's voice stopped me.

"Don't look," she whispered. "It's the best man. This is the moment of truth. Keep looking at me."

For a fraction of a second my soul begged me to break her grip and flee. Then the trust I felt for Rachel suppressed my cowardly urge. Still unsure what she meant, I did as she requested. She simply looked back at me. Her expression did little to calm my nerves. There was no confidence, no smile. My eyes started to wander again, but I reined them in before they had roamed far.

After the sixth clap, I heard it; another clap from a different direction. Though Rachel's head did not budge, her eyes shot to the source of the second echo. Her lips curled upward, but just. Within a heartbeat, a third set of hands responded from another compass point. A second later, the hall erupted in applause.

Only then did Rachel dare to flash a full smile. In that instant, what the woman had done became clear to me. It was the farthest thing from a joke. I felt like the lowest slime of the planet for thinking she was even capable of such a thing.

And I was the lowest slime on the planet. On the night of her life, she had done the most compassionate and courageous thing I have ever personally heard of, let alone witnessed. She'd risked her reputation, perhaps even her honor, for someone and something she had no personal stake in. My lips formed a hard white line as I realized I was most unworthy of the risk she had taken on my behalf.

When we imagine bravery, our culture leads us to conjure images of heroes in battle, risking life and limb; or a fireman rescuing a baby from a burning building. I mean no disrespect to soldiers or firefighters, but that's their job; to be brave and take risks, it's expected.

No one expects a bride to take a stand on a volatile social issue on her wedding night; in front of her friends and family. In hindsight, I am sure Rachel did not know what the reaction would be when she took me onto that dance floor; more so when the best man demanded that everyone in the hall get off the fence and choose.

No, Rachel did not have to do anything. She could have ignored me and gone on with her life. Not a soul would have thought the less of her for it. But she didn't; and that is what makes her courage so extraordinary.

I began to pant through an open mouth as all the pieces fell into place within my insufficient intellect. My eyes welled, then overflowed. "Th, th, thank you," I managed to utter before it was all I could do to breathe.

Rachel grinned. "It truly was my pleasure."

I moved my moist eyes around the room once, across the host of standing people, all of whom still both stared and applauded. With a shudder, I broke down and began to sob. Rachel embraced me, cradling my face to her shoulder. There I wept, my tears bleeding into the white of her dress.

Thus I cried in front of a town I thought hated me, but I found did not. It was only a few, a vehement few, who had felt such animosity. And they had lost. Before they even knew what was happening, a valiant young woman had through an act of utter compassion exposed their hostility for the evil it truly is.

Though most of my tears were of joy, there was also shame in my sobs; for I also had judged others, and my opinion too had been found wanting.

Rachel released me as the applause subsided. "You should dance with Lynn now," she suggested.

"You're right," I managed between breaths. "Thank you again."

The bride put her hand to my shoulder. "Don't mention it." With that, she issued a gentle nudge, urging me on my way.

I spun. My still-soaked eyes found my Lynn. Her beaming and ruddy face said more than words could. Another slow song started as I scurried across the floor. But I never made it to my beloved.

"Could I have this dance young lady?"

It was another feminine voice, a familiar one. My spine stiffened as I turned to face an older lady in a yellow dress. My lower lip fell, quivering as I recognized the woman. I snapped my eyes to Lynn. The little blonde's head bobbed in the most adamant of fashions. I returned my focus to Mrs. Radcliffe, tonguing my lips once before gasping, "I'd love to."

Lynn's mom and I had made but one circle before each of us began to sniff back tears. We both muttered, "I'm sorry," at the same instant and then shared a chuckle before trying to figure out how to dance with no one leading.

Rachel was not honest to a fault. Upon the point of me being a natural, she had lied. I'm still an awful dancer. But that didn't stop a half-dozen women from the small town from dancing with me just the same. Nor did it stop me from enjoying each one more than the last.

We didn't see Lynn's father again that night, or ever for that matter. He and those few of a similar mind had made a hasty exit, like cockroaches running from the light. I'm sure they thought of themselves as the vast majority, but a single act of compassion had revealed the truth to be quite the opposite.

No one seemed to miss the few departed as we danced what remained of the night away. My string of female partners was interrupted as the evening waned by a tap on the shoulder and a masculine voice, "May I cut in?"

Spinning my head, I found the best man behind me. My eyes flushed the instant they met his. I nodded through a sniffle before I could speak. "Yes, please."

The man grinned as he took my hand. "Please?" he quipped. "It's the man who should do the asking, especially with one as lovely as you."

I knew he was just being a country gentleman, but I couldn't stop myself from beaming through a blush anyway. "Thank you," I said as we began to move. "Justin, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it is I who should thank you for the privilege of the dance."

"No," I replied. "I meant for earlier. What you and Rachel did. Thank you."

The man smiled. "Oh, that. I must confess it was her idea. Chad mentioned something about you two sitting off in a corner by yourselves and next thing I knew she'd pulled me aside with the most incredible scheme."

Just when I thought there was no higher pedestal in my mind, there was Rachel upon it.

"No matter whose idea it was," I began, "you helped. It's so amazing it still feels like one of those dreams; the ones where you wake up and wish it was true."

Justin nodded. "Yeah. We all have those."

"You don't know how much it means to us that this dream is real."

The man twisted his lips. "Oh, I think I do."

"If you do, then you must accept our thanks," I insisted.

Justin nodded again, this time with a smile. "Ok. You're welcome."

Lynn and I finally got our chance to dance; by then we were both drained, both physically and emotionally. We looked into one another's bloodshot eyes, shared a chuckle, and then embraced. Thus we hugged more than danced our way through the final song.

"I can't believe it," Lynn whispered. "Do you realize Rachel did that almost on the spur of the moment?"

"Yes," I gasped as I nodded my agreement. "She certainly knows how to strike when the iron is hot!"

"Someone else did too," Lynn said. "At least better than me, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"We're invited to a get together at the bar tomorrow," Lynn whispered in my ear as the music faded. "Kind of a post-reception party."

The bar? The words thundered through my consciousness. Images followed. A smoky, poorly lit old building with dusty wooden floors. Country music. Old men with wrinkled bronze skin and cowboy hats drinking bottled lager. Everyone giving an evil eye to strangers; especially strange strangers.

I pulled away from Lynn to look her in the eye. "The bar?"

She grinned as her head bobbed in a brisk nod. "Yes. The bar."

"Isn't that, like, the last bastion for the narrow-minded?"

"I know," Lynn said, almost squealed. "Isn't that amazing? All the more reason we should go."

My head moved in a slow nod. "You're right; it is amazing and we should go."

"I was right about a couple things," Lynn noted. "Wasn't I? Including how somebody I love was being narrow-minded. Especially toward Rachel. Do you suppose you owe her an apology?"

I nodded. "Then I'd have to admit what I was apologizing for. I'm not sure I could."

"You do want her to know how you feel about what she did, don't you?"

I looked to the bride, then back to my love. "If me bawling on her wedding dress in front of everyone didn't say everything about how I feel, what else will?"

Lynn issued a single chuckle. "Good point."

* * *

Lynn and I slept much more soundly that night than we had the previous one. We slumbered well through the morning until the motel's cleaning crew stirred us just prior to checkout time. The midday sun found us driving back to Melville instead Pennsylvania.

Main Street looked exactly as it had but twenty-four hours earlier, yet it seemed like a different place. I told myself it was my perception that had changed, but I didn't believe it. The place felt warm and welcome. Deep inside, a part of me knew that while I looked upon the town with a new sense of respect, it did the same to me.

Faces aglow, Lynn and I strode into the bar hand-in-hand. Those friends we had made the prior evening welcomed us at once.

"So, baby, you come here often?" Justin asked of me, his eyebrows bouncing in an obvious jest.

"No," I replied, turning to his wife with a sly grin and a bounce of my own brow. "But for the right person I could make an exception."

Everyone shared a laugh. If it had not been already cracked, that broke the ice completely. Lynn and I felt like celebrities as we fielded the simplest of questions, the subjects of which grew more forward as everyone became comfortable with us.

"So," one woman eventually began, "does either of you, you know, act like the man in the relationship?"

Lynn chuckled. "Wendy has the job and I tend the house if that's what you mean."

"Well," the woman stammered, "I sorta meant, well, you know..."

"In bed?" Lynn asked.

"Yeah, that."

"No." Lynn replied. "We're both girls there."

"When did you know you liked girls instead of boys?" one of the younger women inquired of me.

I was still considering the matter when Lynn answered for me, "Actually, Wendy's bi."

I turned to my partner, my mouth just agape.

"What does that mean?" another lady asked.

"It means..." Lynn began.

"It means," I interrupted, "that when seeking a partner for a serious relationship I do not discriminate based on the genitalia a person happens to have been born with."

The silence caused me some concern that I had with my haughty reply undone any goodwill we might have fostered. I need not have worried. Lynn bailed me out. She leaned my way, draped her arm around my neck, and flashed that wonderful smile. "But I do discriminate!" she declared. "Wendy's the only one for me!"

I often envy the way my partner can relieve what seems to be the most odious tension with a quip and a smile. I could almost feel the anxiety dissolve as faces once again brightened around us.

"So, if you're bi, does that mean you have a boyfriend too?" the younger woman eagerly inquired.

"No!" I responded, giving my head an adamant shake. "Lynn and I are completely monogamous, as faithful to one another as any couple. Just because I'm open to the idea of a male as a partner does not mean I need one!"

"But, what if you broke up?" another asked. "With Lynn, I mean."

I twisted my neck as I attempted to consider a situation my heart told me was an impossibility. "I never really thought about that," I said, my eyes on my lover.

"And you never need to," Lynn whispered in the most reverent of tones.

I felt the corners of my mouth draw upward of their own will. "I suppose," I began, "if Lynn was to die and I didn't perish of sorrow, then I'd consider another love interest. In that case, I suppose I'd be open to either gender, but I'd still give and expect complete fidelity."

"I hear you have a daughter?"

I spun and opened my mouth to reply, but I never spoke. Closing my lips, I turned my head and moved my eyes to Lynn.

My partner's blue eyes brightened as our gazes met. An instant later she shifted her attention across the table. "Yes," she declared. "We do have a daughter."

"Where is she?"

"Our Denise is staying with my mom," I said. "In Pittsburgh."

"How old is she?"

"Seven."

"You should have brought her!"

"We thought about it," Lynn replied. "But we decided she might be bored, not knowing any of the other children and all."

"Well, you should have brought her," the woman repeated. "We'd love to have met her and the local children always like having someone from the city visit. The kids out here feel like they're missing everything."

"We'll bring her next time," Lynn said.

Next time, I thought as I snapped my face toward my lover. I saw her smile and realized my knee-jerk reaction was most out of place. I turned my attention back to the lady. "Yes," I agreed. "Next time we'll all come."

And we did.

* * * * *

I like to think we'd still visit Melville even if Lynn's mom had not moved back to her hometown, but who can say? Regardless of our motivation, we look forward to our semi-annual trips to rural Ohio and the friendliest small town on the planet. It is hard to imagine the place once frightened me so; but, like most who experience fear, it turned out I was really just afraid of the unknown.

On our third trip to Melville, Lynn and I had a modest ceremony in the local park. We both wore white and said what we wanted to say in front of those most dear to us. Our daughter was our flower girl. An old high school friend was Lynn's maid of honor. Rachel was mine. Both mothers gave their daughters away. Afterward we had a party at the community center and everyone danced with both brides.

I don't know that Lynn and I will ever wed in the eyes of the law, but we don't care. We are married enough for us and that is all that matters.

It is comforting to witness the day fast approaching when all of society will recognize that love comes in many forms, all of them benevolent, all of them valid.

I know too how that change will occur. I have seen it. There will be no great battle waged or momentous debate won. Instead the revolution will progress a mind, or maybe a town, at a time. It will happen each time a good person stands up for what they know to be right; in spite of the narrow-minded few who still hold themselves to be a righteous majority; even though they were never the former and are no longer the latter.

I will always think it something of a pity that there will be no great statues raised or epic poems read in honor of all the unheralded individuals who simply do the right thing at the right time, but their deeds mark them as heroes and heroines nonetheless. To this day, when I hear the word heroic, I always picture a gracious young brunette twirling in a flowing white dress.

THE END

Dancing with the Bride

Copyright 2005 by Penelope Street

Posted with permission at Literotica.com

All other rights reserved.