Dance with My Father Again

by Bethlorr

Jim crept down the dark hall and knelt at his parents’ bedroom door. His mom was crying for his dad again. She didn’t think that he knew she cried. By morning her tears were gone and there was little redness in her eyes to betray her. But Jim knew. He knew she cried; he just didn’t know how to help her. At ten years old he was as tall as his mother and stronger than she was, but he still couldn’t take his father’s place. She loved him dearly, but her heart truly belonged to his dad.

With tears streaming down his own face, Jim stumbled back to his room. Once there, he carefully closed his door. By the faint light of the moon he made his way to his bed and knelt down. One of his earliest memories was of his mother teaching him to pray.

"Dear God,

Please make my mom happy again. Send back my dad or something. We need him so much more than you do. We need him! Amen."

He choked out the last word among his tears, and trying to hold back louder sobs, climbed into bed.

This was the worst part of the day or night. When he was at school or doing chores he managed to keep his mind occupied with other things. Once in bed, he fought the memories. Tonight, he was too tired to fight and lay there and cried as he remembered.

"No."

"But, Mom," he wheedled, "Everyone has a Rubix cube. I only need another dollar to buy one."

"James Winthrop Frayne the Second, did you not understand the word ‘No’ the first time?" Katje Frayne turned form the soup she was stirring on the store, "I said, no and no it remains."

Jim stomped out of the kitchen and into the family room where his dad was building a fire in the fireplace.

"Dad, can I have a dollar?"

"Why?"

"For this really educational thing," Jim stressed educational, thinking that would cinch the deal.

"Is this what you and your mom were just discussing in the kitchen?"

Winthrop Frayne carefully lit the newspaper and kindling and then tossed the match into the fireplace. Turning to his nine year old son, he repeated, "Is it?"

Looking at the floor, Jim muttered," No, well, kinda’…not really."

"What did Mom say when you asked her?"

"No," Jim said indignantly. "She said no I couldn’t just have a dollar - she said that I had to earn it."

"What’s wrong with that, Son? Don’t you usually have to earn money so you can buy things?"

"Well, yeah, but it’s just a dollar. It’s not like I’m asking for a hundred dollars."

"True, but you know the policy…"

"Yeah, well, when I’m a dad if my son asks for a dollar I’m going to give him a dollar."

"Sure, but with inflation by the time you have a nine year old, when he asks for money it’ll be a hundred dollars that he asks for like it’s no big deal."

"Right, Dad, like that’ll be true!"

"Of course it is why one dollar now is like a hundred when your mom and I were kids."

"You’re not that old."

"Oh, we’re ancient, Son, as old as the hills."

Jim laughed as his dad made an old man face and groaned as he stood up from the hearth.

"Nice acting, Dad."

Win forced a smile, not wanting his son to realize that it wasn’t an act.

"Thanks Jim. Now help out the old man and go bring in some wood for the fire. I need to keep an eye on it so that it doesn’t go out."

The next morning Jim had found a dollar on his pillow.

Rolling over in the darkness, Jim swallowed more sobs and rubbed the tears form his face with the sleeve of his pajamas. How he missed his dad!

His favorite memory, the one he played over and over as he tried to sleep, was dancing with his parents. His dad was so tall, when he held him up in the air Jim had felt like he was flying.

When he was encircled in the loving arms of his parents, swaying back and forth to the soft music flowing form the stereo, Jim had never felt safer or more loved. They’d dance until he was asleep and then his dad would carry him upstairs and tuck him in. A few times he had faked being asleep so he could enjoy the loving touch of his dad’s big hands as he tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. On those occasions, he’d snuck back to the stairs and watched as his mom and dad had continued to dance. Just seeing them like that had reassured him that all was well in his world.

What he wouldn’t give now to have his dad downstairs dancing with his mom. He’d make sure to find the longest song in the world and have his dad play it. If the song never ended, then his dad couldn’t ever leave.

Finally, spent of tears and energy, Jim began to drift off to sleep. There was music and his dad and mom were holding their arms out to him. His tear-stained face broke into a grin as, in his dream, he remembered the love and security he had always felt in his parents’ arms. He didn’t ever want it to end.

I used Mr. Vandross’ song title for my story title w/o permission, and the basis of the story comes from his song also. The characters belong to Random House and I borrowed them sin permiso also. But being as I make no profit from this, it shouldn’t be a problem.

TBH Main