washwords

When I was a little girl, my grandma and pop-pop, (self-proclaimed) excellent dancers, taught me all the moves to “One” from A Chorus Line.

A Chorus Line – One ( Finale)

Dancing around her living room in my pink panther pajamas, my sister as my reluctant dance partner, we practiced each night one summer week while my parents were away.

“(Step together, step together…) One… singular sensation…”

We also did cross stitch, ran in the backyard under the sprinkler, and played in a basement that cried out for us – kid visitors at last to slide on the black and white linoleum, investigate all the cupboards. But it’s the dancing I remember most.

“Every little step she takes (lead with the hip, lift of the hat)”

Saturday, A Chorus Line was in town and Grandma had a great idea. Wouldn’t my honey love to go with her and I for his birthday??? He could bring a friend, too! Sure, we laughed, pondering the luck of my sweetie, getting to drive Grandma and I to A Chorus Line; maybe he could bring his imaginary gay boyfriend, Ernesto. Secretly I was a little sad she thought of it first as I mulled the idea as soon as I saw it was out.

“One, thrilling combination, every move that she makes, she’s a special girl…”

So one clear crisp morning, round about 11 (it’s a long ride to the world of leisure,) we were off. Grandma was a flutter, at the door when we pulled up, bouncing out, a spring in her step.

On the way there, down 16th street, she pointed out her old haunts, the places where she’d been a little girl dreaming of New York and the theatre, and a young woman, dreaming of dances and my grandfather.

“One smile and suddenly nobody else will do…. you know you’ll never be lonely with you know … whoooooo…. ONE…”

Several hours later we were there and grandma leapt from the car to the foyer examining t-shirts and CDs. “Would you like one?” she asked my love. “Oh no, no. you’ve done enough.” he chuckled.

We got to our seats and she was bouncing, exploding with joy, detailing past shows, her longtime friend who worked in the theatre, her trips to New York. I asked her for her alltime favorite musical and she was pensive. “Oklahoma,” she said, “for sentimental reasons.” My grandfather had scored them tickets on their honeymoon, citing his war bride’s (true) long wish to see the show before he shipped out (not quite right but … poetic license.)

The curtain came up, the music started. (a five six seven eight….doo doo do doo do doo doo do do ) I knew every word to every song  finding I had to restrain myself my singing too loud or tapping my foot too hard. Nothing could stop the smile spreading across my face, however, as I watched grandma bouncing and singing, and moving literally to the edge of her seat.

“Moment in her presence and you can forget the rest, for the girl is second best to none…. son…..”

When they got to One, she leaned over to my honey, stage whispering… “now this is where they really steal the show!”

And they did. But I had trouble taking my eyes off grandma as my own heart filled with melody and crescendo and tears, watching her well with joy.

“Oooh, sigh, give her your attention, do … I … really have to mention….”

We began the long journey home, teary eyed and after many hugs, walking past the stage door and the families taking pictures. Grandma said to me “you did really good.”  She meant in love, but I looked around and thought, yeah, I did, over all.

“She’s the …. ONE”

Later she called and said it was one of the best days of her life.

Me too, I thought. Me, too.

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