“Let’s try again. One, two — two, three. One — forward right — two, three — side right. One, two — back with your left — three . . . .”

Lucinda could not believe she was actually teaching someone to dance. A million years ago in another lifetime when she was a gangling teen-aged girl with undeniably bulbous eyes she announced to her mother that she was going to ask her father when he came home from his job that night to teach her to dance. The school was holding the homecoming dance in the gymnasium on Friday night, and she had decided this was the year she was going to attend and be held in a boy’s arms. Her mother’s mouth flew up, and then she informed her daughter she would do no such thing. Her father worked too hard all day to have to put up with some silly little girl with impure intentions involving reckless young men. So Lucinda’s mother took it upon herself to teach the girl how to dance a proper waltz. It was a short lesson, but Lucinda felt confident she had learned the basics. After all, Lucinda was a bright student. In the end, however, it was all for naught because Lucinda spent the entire homecoming dance standing under the basketball netting with a handful of other girls deemed too irretrievably plain to ask to dance. A couple of the girls decided to dance with each other, but Lucinda sensed that was somehow intrinsically wrong.

“Very good Vernon. Now let’s repeat those steps a few more times, and I think you will have it.”

She allowed herself to close her eyes and pretend she was back in the school gymnasium at the homecoming dance, the band was playing, and Vernon Singleberry had rescued her from a long evening of embarrassment. The bedroom door creaked open, and when Lucinda’s eyes opened, she found herself back in the boardinghouse and staring at her landlady Emma Lawrence who had a cigarette hanging from her lips.

“Hey, I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Vernon said just as he disappeared into Lucinda’s past.

“Dancin’ by yourself?” Emma took her cigarette from her mouth and flicked ashes on the rough wooden floor. Her faded print dress hung oddly on her undistinguished frame.

“Just — just remembering some — some happy times,” she replied and then laughed which she thought sounded hollow and frightened.

“Hmph.” Emma arched her unattractive bushy eyebrows. “You seen Cassie?”

“She brought me some boxes a few minutes ago.”

Emma blew smoke in Lucinda’s direction. “There’ll be a charge for them boxes, you know.”

“Of course.”

“Fruit boxes like that don’t come easy, you know.” She waved at the corner where the boxed books sat.”

“Of course.”

An obvious sneer dominated her wrinkled face. “You can finish your dance.”

“Yes.”

“I always knew you had no common sense.” Emma turned and left the room, shutting the door with more force than was necessary.

Lucinda closed her eyes, lecturing herself that it would be foolish to cry because of what an unpleasant person like Emma Lawrence said.

“I’m getting better.”

Thank God, she thought. Vernon was back. She opened her eyes, and there she was back in her classroom and in her student’s arms. She winced as his large left foot landed on hers. “Not quite. You stepped on my foot again.”

“I told you I was uncoordinated.”

“You’re getting better though.” She smiled. “At least you can say it correctly.”

“Oh, Nancy will never go out with me again.” Vernon turned away in despair.

“If you’re lucky,” she muttered.

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing.” Lucinda sat at her desk, unconsciously rubbing chest.

“Maybe I’d do better with the modern dances where you don’t have to be so close.”

“Then you’ll have to find someone else to teach you. I don’t know them.” Her jaw dropped slightly, indicating her disapproval. “Frankly, I don’t think they’re very moral.”

“Mama says the same thing.” Vernon sat at a student desk. “Of course, mama thinks slow dancing is sinful too.”

“Oh no. Waltzes are too graceful to be sinful.” A brief image of a Viennese ballroom crossed her mind.

“You know, what always confused me about that is the dance where you’re far apart is supposed to be bad while when you’re actually touching each other, well, that’s supposed to be okay.”

“So you agree with your mother, that all dancing is wrong?”

“Heck no.” Vernon flashed a big country smile. “I think all dancing is great — if you can do it. For a long time I said I didn’t dance because I thought it was wrong, but it was really because I was so clumsy. But I can’t really see being dishonest about it anymore. Don’t you think being dishonest about how you feel is worse sin than dancing?

Lucinda stood to go to the window right. Fresh green leaves covered the trees. Soon the Texas heat would wither them almost unto death, but not quite. Alive but without life. “You amaze me with your theology, Vernon.”

But you didn’t answer my question.”

She turned to smile. “I didn’t know you wanted an answer.”

“Don’t you think people should be honest about their feelings?” He did not know the searing truth in his question.

“Sometimes it’s best to keep your feelings to yourself.”

Anyway, I don’t want mama to know, but I think when I get out on my own — you know, after the university and I get a job in computers—“

“Computers? You’ve decided on computers?” She was relieved to talk about other matters.

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you?”

She walked back to her desk, returning to her professorial attitude. “No, you hadn’t. But you were telling me what you were going to do after you got your degree.”

“Yeah, well, once I got a job and a place of my own to live in Dallas or someplace neat like that—“ . . . .

“Please watch your slang, Vernon,” she interrupted. “Dallas is not neat, per se.”

“I’m sorry.” He paused to reflect. “I think exciting is the word I’m looking for.”

“Yes, I’d say Dallas is definitely exciting for a young man out of college.” She sat. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t think I’ll join a Baptist church. You know, I might hunt around for something that isn’t so — Baptist. You know what I mean?”

“Turning your back on your religious heritage is not something to be taken lightly.” Lucinda thought of Nancy and how she would be taking her place at the dance. “Have you talked this over with Nancy? What church does she attend?”

“Heck, I don’t know. And I wouldn’t talk to her about anything like this. She might think I’m — well, some sort of church weirdo. You know?” Vernon looked directly into her eyes with complete sincerity. “I mean, I only talk about personal things like this with you.”

“Why, thank you, Vernon. I hope I always merit your confidence.”

“Miz Cambridge, lunch is ready!” Cassie’s voice boomed from the hallway.

He looked at the door. “That sounds like Cassie Lawrence. That’s right. You said you were living in her mother’s boarding house.” He wrinkled his brow. “I told you Nancy used to live here, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Vernon.” She pursed her lips.

“I drove her home yesterday and asked her to the dance right on the front porch.” He sighed. “I guess Nancy still isn’t here, is she?”

“Hardly anyone is here anymore except Cassie’s aunt and me.”

“I hate to see you living in this firetrap. I hated to see Nancy living in this firetrap.”

“That was ten years ago.” Her eyes twinkled in a less-than-funny irony. “It really is a firetrap now.”

“Then why do you live here?” Vernon could not hide the irritation in his voice.

“I can’t afford anything else on my pension. Last December I collapsed in the classroom and was forced to retire. My sister she died of a heart attack in February, so I moved in here about four months ago.”

“The one you stayed with during the summer? The one in Galveston?”

“Yes.”

“So she died of a heart attack.” His eyes lit with alarm. “Do heart attacks run in your family?”

“They gallop.” She stood in an effort to end the conversation which had grown too personal for comfort. “I suppose you must go now. Mrs. Lawrence will give me the most withering stare and announce the vittles are cold because the teacher woman tarried too long with her books.”

Vernon stood and headed to the door. “You’re taking good care of yourself, aren’t you?”

“As well as I can on my pension.”

“Well, do what the doctor says.”

“I do.”

The background slowly melted from classroom to bedroom, and Vernon’s voice began fading. “I know this sounds silly. But I want you to live a long time because us memories—“

“We memories.” She was hardly conscious she was verbally editing his speech.

“. . . we memories only live as long as the person who has the memory lives. And I like living in your memory.”

“Why, Vernon, don’t worry. Your memory will live.”

“It will?” he asked with hope.

“Even after I die because of all the other people who have these same memories of this sweet, dear young man. I know your mother has them.”

“Is mama still alive?” he persisted with another question.

“Yes, and I’m sure she visits with her memories of you every day.”

“I wonder what kind of memories Nancy has of me?”

Lucinda turned abruptly. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I guess I better go and let you eat lunch.” He was almost out the door and into the mists of yesterday when he stepped for one last question. “You wouldn’t happen to remember if I had a good time at the dance?”

“If I did I don’t think it would be ethical to tell you.” She knew her reply was evasive, but her emotions would not allow truth.

“Miz Cambridge!” Cassie called out again.

“I’ll see you later.”

Vernon’s farewell was hardly audible and when he was finished, Lucinda found herself firmly affixed with her sad present tense.