THE LAST DANCE

Back when I was in the 7th grade my mom said I was a little clumsy and she decided that going to social dancing class was the answer. So every friday night I took the Lakeview bus and headed downtown in Augusta, Georgia to the YWCA ballroom to face the incredible torture of learning to dance. All the boys wore suits and the girls had those big frilly dresses. I wore my only suit to church two times a week and to dancing class. The suit gave me sort of a Jerry Mahoney or Howdy Doody look with freckles. Having yet to discover hair tonic my hair style was a lot like Alfalfas. Being the worst possible dancer in the class also brought on a medical condition known as "sweating buckets syndrome." Most of the time the teacher, Mrs. Price, was my constant companion on the dance floor where everyone could snicker at my ineptness, but once in a great while I would dance with my actual dancing partner named Henrietta. She had a great personality but was not much to look at. The music for the classes was stuff I hated like Papa Loves Mambo by Perry Como, Sway by Dean Martin and Blue Tango by Leroy Anderson. After an evening of stepping on many, many toes I would leave and go buy a Coke to help with the dehydration problem and wait for the bus in front of a store I loved called Bowen Brothers. This store had all the latest things plus Augusta's first escalator. I remember that the "The life of Riley" was always on the tv in the store window.
The other day I happen to pass the old "Y" and did a double take. It was reduced to a pile of rubble and machines were scooping it up. Someone said the new library would be taking it's place. As I stood there gazing at it I suddenly realized I never really danced again after that class. I wonder if that kind of social dancing still exists. I kinda hope it does.