You'll Just Know

Chapter 10

            I returned home just before dark. Despite the intriguing and eventful day, I couldn’t shake the cloud of depression fogging my thoughts. Walking down the dark hallway towards my room, I almost ran into my dad who was coming out of my room with a screwdriver.

            “Casey.” he said, with an edge of parental sternness to his voice. I could see only his silhouette in the dusk-lit hallway. “Where were you? You missed dinner. You can’t just stay out all evening without telling us where you are.”

            My mind stumbled dully. I couldn’t argue right now. “I guess... I just lost track of time.”

            And something must’ve shown on my face, or carried in my voice, because my dad eased off a little. “Is... everything okay?”

            “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just tired, I guess.”

            Dad hesitated. “I… uh… noticed the light fixture in your room was broken. I just finished getting it back into place. It should hold for awhile.”

            I had forgotten all about the light fixture. Had that been today? Seemed more like last week. Forever ago. “Thanks.”

            Sensing that the conversation was over, I began to move back towards my room. My dad hesitated a moment longer. “Casey?”

            I turned back to him. I could sense that he wanted to ask me something... to get me to open up to him.

            I loved my father and I wanted to tell him. I wanted to try to explain to him the whirlwind in my mind, hoping that he would know all the answers and make everything right. And I knew that he would listen and he would honestly try to help. I knew that he might even understand a little... but I also felt that that would be... I don’t know... cheating  somehow, I guess. These were my private struggles. My victories and losses. I knew that they were an essential part of growing up and that despite my mistakes and my fear, I would have to do these things alone.

            After the awkward silence, my dad finally spoke again in the darkness. “You’d better shave again soon. That stubble is looking kind of rough.”

            I smiled, and for a moment the clouds lifted. “Thanks, Dad.”

            Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway.

*               *               *

            I couldn’t sleep.

I looked at the clock at 1:05 a.m., drifted off to a deep, dreaming sleep, then woke up what seemed like hours later to find that it was now 1:08 a.m.

One of those nights.

So I gave up trying. There was just too much on my mind. I got up and began to wander towards the kitchen for a snack (I had never actually had a snack in the middle of the night, but television always made it look so good). Instead, I made a detour in the hallway when I noticed that Sandra’s bedroom light was still on. I approached the closed door and knocked lightly.

Sandra called from inside: “I’m not tired, Mom! I’ll go to sleep when I’m ready!”

“It’s Casey.” I whispered, then pushed the door open softly.

Sandra was sitting at her desk, writing a letter (probably to Lucas, the sometimes-boyfriend she had left in Jersey). She still had on her green striped Sandwich Shoppe outfit, and the stereo was playing a light, jazzy rhythm. She looked up at me as I came in. “Your sleeping habits are getting very peculiar, little brother. Are you on drugs?”

“Why? Do you need some?”

She conceded a laugh, but rolled her eyes. “To what do I owe the honor of this late night visit?”

I walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. “Well... um....”

“’Well, um’? What does that mean? Why are... uh-oh... wait a minute. Are you going to ask me for a favor or something?”

“Something...”

She put her pen down. “Ok. Get it over with.”

“I was kind of... invited to a party on Saturday night.”

She nodded. “Ok... what... do you want me to be your date or something? I thought you and this Wendy girl were really hitting it off.”

“Oh yeah... we have! I mean... we are! It was just wondering...”

Sandra nodded impatiently, pretending to look at her watch. “Yes?”

“I was thinking that they were probably going to have music there...”

Sandra gave me a stupid look. “Good guess.”

“And if there’s music, there’s usually dancing...”

“Hey! Sherlock’s on a roll here! Dancing usually follows music. But... hey!... don’t you know how to dance?”

“Of course!” I answered hastily. “Do I know how to dance? HA! Of course I know how to dance!” I smiled nervously.

“Yes, of course. Silly of me to even ask...”

I cleared my throat. “It’s just that... I’ve never really... ah... danced with somebody before... really... ever...”

I looked up at Sandra, hoping she wasn’t going to laugh. She sat there, looking like she was trying really hard to hold back. She was appraising the situation, considering an appropriate response. The steady beat of jazz filled the moment’s gap as I waited for her reply.

“Ok...” she said at last. She hadn’t laughed, and I was glad. “We’ll start with the fundamentals. First: if you are going to dance with a girl, you must brush your teeth. Wear deodorant and shave closely. There’s nothing worse for a woman than pressing her cheek against the scruffy, smelly face of a man.”

I nodded. Personal hygiene: Check.

“Now stand up,” she said, getting out of her chair.

I did what she said and she walked over to the stereo. After a minute or two, she had tuned into the local “oldies” station. The Lion Sleeps Tonight was playing.

“Now,” she continued, coming back to me, “this area around my toes is an off-limits zone. Keep out under penalty of death, comprende?”

Got it. No toe stomping: Check.

Then, with slow and deliberate patience, my sister proceeded to teach me the basics of every dance she knew. I was a slow learner, but eventually I began to catch on. Side-step, spin, dip, roll, shake, shuffle...

Guided by the rhythms of Frankie Vallie, The Beatles, and the Supremes, we hardly noticed the time flying by until the first tendrils of dawn slipped in through the window and a new day began.