A Weekend At Home

As she pushed the couch against the wall, she tugged gently on my arm. "C'mon Autumn", she urged, "Let's dance". I rose from the couch with an elongated sigh, grinning from ear to ear, "Well, if I have to".

We joined hands, giggling uncontrollably over who would lead. I patiently walked her through the steps, humming along with Blue Skies as it echoed through the living room. The music looped as Frank Sinatra narrated our faulty and hesitant movements. Mom read the paper on the couch, occasionally glancing up at us to comment on our obviously professional skill. We perfected our twirls and counts, putting on a final performance for a zealously applauding audience of one.

I walked over to the couch, moving the paper from her lap. "You know you want to", I laughed. I had forgotten the almost thirteen inch difference between our heads, as I attempted to dip her back toward the floor. It was then that Mother let out that whole-hearted he-haw laughed that I hadn't heard since childhood.

I hadn't danced with my sister in almost a decade, ever since we became sisters instead of friends. It hadn't danced with my mother since the difference in our heights was reversed. The age and miles between us had created a gap that at times seemed vast enough to swallow the essence of our relationship. The music carried on until we all could no longer stand. When it faded to silence, stillness returned to the house.

I wondered if all houses occasionally broke out into fervent dancing. My eyes swelled as I scanned the room. Mom had returned to the paper, and Rachael to the television, as if we hadn't just emitted light onto the normally bleak backdrop of silent fields.

We had had a moment of pure joy. We had, if only fleetingly, been slumber party girlfriends. We were joined by more than blood, but a common bond of femininity. I couldn't believe that we were moving into an era in which we could all be sisters solely because we were women and not because lineage had predetermined it.

It may have only been a dance party of three, but I couldn't help but feel that under the cloud of Frank Sinatra in that dusty country living room more had moved than just three pairs of feet.