Dancing Lessons

Chicken Soup for the Soul: True Love

BY: Cynthia Bilyk

Dance is the hidden language of the soul.
~Martha Graham

I learned about true love when I was very little. Every night after I was tucked into bed and kissed goodnight by my mom I knew that something magical would happen very soon. I found it easy to believe in true love when I witnessed it night after night with my very own eyes.

The sound of my mom in the shower would always awaken me shortly after I drifted off to sleep. Through the thin walls of our home, I could hear the shower running. I would hear the water turn off, and after a few minutes I would hear the hairdryer come on. The smell of my mother's perfumed face powder would come through the walls, filling my room with its scent. I could picture my mom putting her make-up on in the mirror: putting on eye shadow, lining her eyes to perfection, curling and darkening her lashes. Not that my mom needed all that -- she was a natural beauty who became movie-star beautiful every night after we went to bed.

Just as my mother was done in the bathroom, I would hear the door open and my father would walk in. The smell of the oil on his clothes would overpower my mom's delicate perfume. He would walk in and they would meet in the hallway, repeating the same ritual every night. Out my mom would step from the bathroom, wearing a beautiful dress, hair falling softly around her face, her heels sparkling from the light cast by the living room. My father would take her hands in his and twirl her around. They'd smile at each other and then he would go into the bathroom. Once again the shower would come on, and the strong smell of the soap he used would fill our room. I could hear my mom putting a record on in the living room. The soft music would fill the air as my father finished getting ready in the bathroom.

My father would step out of the bathroom, dressed in his best slacks and a crisp shirt. Gone were the oil and grime that covered his hands, face, and clothes from a long day of working at the oil rigs. He looked so handsome and strong. Old Spice would tickle my nose as I looked on. My mom would meet him in the hallway. She would come to him and they would stand for a few moments, looking at each other. Then he would softly kiss her. My mom would always smile and laugh after the kiss, and take my father by the hand as she led him to the living room.

Once in the living room, the music would be raised a little -- although not much, so as not to disturb us children. From my angle in the bedroom I could not see them as they danced, but when they neared the hallway, I could see their shadows dancing on the walls. Slowly they danced, on and on, sometimes silently, sometimes whispering and laughing. Every night I would fall asleep to this beautiful sight. I never had to wonder if true love existed. I saw it every night dancing upon our walls.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/04/Dancing-Lessons.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter