Dancing Diamonds
April 9, 2008 by lisaalpine
From the day I arrived home from the hospital my mom would pick me up, place me on her hip and dance around the living room to music from the radio before my dad got home from work.”Think like a feather,” mom would say as she bent down to lift me into her arms for our daily dance.
Without knowing it, she brought out my genetic penchant for dance. I’m adopted and found out much later in life that my birth mother was one of Fred Astaire’s dance partners. This shall be another blog entry for sure!
Not only am I a dancer and teacher of dance, I’m also a writer and writing instructor (www.lisaalpine.com). Many of my short stories have appeared in anthologies. I’m currently writing a collection about dance which I will self-publish. Here is a story I wrote about one of my dance experiences as a child. It shows my devotion and innocence of experiencing dance as a form of prayer and gratitude:
Dancing Diamonds (by Lisa Alpine)
Her sea green eyes are pointedly focused on me as I sit next to her on the couch. Her dry, cold hand lies over mine, and tightens. I squirm as her platinum wedding band digs into my knucklebones. It hurts. She is stiffly grinning at me.
In a measured tone she says, “My dear, I have a gift for you that no one else in the family wants. They are too cheap to insure it so I’m giving it to you, my youngest granddaughter.” My grandmother doesn’t give anything without strings attached. Even at 8 years old, I know this.
My mother and father sit in wingback chairs across the room by the fireplace. They look mystified at this interaction. My grandmother is not a generous person.
“A girl must have this,” she pointedly says, as she dramatically reaches behind her back and pulls out a black velvet case. My blue eyes become rounder as she inches toward me. Not quite giving it to me…she breathes on me, “It was my wedding present from my late husband, Mr. Forbes. I was very young when I married him. Now it is yours.”
The touch of velvet on my palms is like reindeer antlers on a moonlit night in Antarctica. My imagination is awhirl with fairytale images of what could be inside. The top flips open and there lies a delicate lacy diamond shiny glittery necklace.
“It’s Victorian,” is all she says. My parents sit in stunned silence. They have never seen this necklace before.
Speechless I rise from the couch, the velvet case lays flat on my palms like an offering. I glide toward my bedroom and close the door. I gently open the case again, mesmerized by the twinkle and wink of Austrian cut diamonds and platinum lacework that sparkle against the black velvet. Placing it around my neck, the cold of the diamonds feels exquisite against my pale skin. Shivers of pleasure run through me as I realize it is real. And MINE! A fairytale princess necklace that has come true. Rarely in my vast imaginary world do objects actually materialize.
Words are not enough to show my awe at such a gift. Words are dull stones, nothing compared to the beauty of the necklace. I know what to do to show Grandma how I feel about this gift. I wrap several silk scarves my mother lets me play with around my slight frame.
“Mama!” I call from my bedroom. “Please put Dolly Dawn on the record player.”
Shuffling sounds come from the living room and muttering and then the sunshine pulse of Caribbean steel drums and honey butter voice of Harry Belafonte heralds my arrival as I snake my way down the hallway entering the living room with a leap and spin. I twirl around the furniture. I shimmy and shake as inspiration grabs me and one by one I throw the scarves off as I gyrate like a dervish moth in the flame of joy. All that is left on my naked body is the sparkly gorgeous diamond necklace.
Raising my arms up to the heavens in salutation, I turn and bow to Grandma, absolutely convinced I have given her the PERFECT dance of gratitude. She sits stiffly upright on the couch, hands tucked lightly under her soft thighs, mouth wide open, gaping like a fish on land. Staring at my exuberant nudity.
She is Victorian, after all.
END –Copyrighted 2008
