The Valentine Symphony

1 Like every other night, Millie read for a few minutes then turned off the light and slept. A few hours later, she awoke to “Moonlight Serenade.” She smiled and turned on her side as she pulled the covers around her shoulders. Millie couldn’t stop her feet from tapping on the bed when “Moonlight Serenade” faded into “A String of Pearls.” In the middle of “My Funny Valentine,” the scent of Old Spice and the roughness of Jack’s uniform against her cheek brought Millie fully awake. She was in his arms again as they danced, the only people in a ballroom like she’d never seen before. And there was no band though the room was filled with music. Multicolored ribbons shot up and down along what Millie guessed must be the edges of the floor although she couldn’t tell where it began or ended. The rainbows constantly rearranged the boundaries as the dance floor continually tilted and flowed, expanded and shrank, in response to the music. With every crescendo, chrysanthemum bursts of color exploded, showering down like Fourth of July fireworks. Suddenly, the chug, chug and whistle of “Chattanooga Choo Choo” burst into the room. Jack propelled Millie away from him into a spin then pulled her back. They danced face-to-face, swung apart and together again. Her hair, now long and dark, curled in victory rolls and bounced on her shoulders. She wore the same Mary Jane pumps, blue skirt, and white blouse as the night they met. Laughing, they danced all around the ballroom, in and out of the ever-changing open spaces, alcoves, and hallways, never breaking a sweat or missing a step. “Chattanooga Choo Choo” wound down and faded just before their song, “The Very Thought of You,” filled the room. Jack pulled Millie to him, their bodies’ pressed so close, they moved as a single unit. She looked up at Jack as he bent down to kiss her. “Mildred. Mildred, wake up.” The nurse gently shook Millie’s shoulder. “It’s time for breakfast, and you need to take your medicine.” Millie opened her eyes and looked around the room. Jack was gone. “Do you hear the music, Sandra?” Millie asked as the last notes faded away. “I heard some music a few minutes ago. Probably it was Mrs. Winfield’s radio, although she usually has it tuned to talk shows or preaching. But what’s going on with you, Mildred? You’ve always been awake, every morning, when I come with your medicine. Today you were dreaming, your eyes were going back and forth under your lids, and you were smiling. Was it a good dream?” Sandra helped Millie sit up and handed her a small cup of pills. “I don’t remember,” Millie murmured and swallowed her medicine. She eased out of bed and pushed her walker to the bathroom before Sandra could ask any more questions. She threw her gown in the hamper and limped into the shower stall. Millie hardly noticed the water spraying down on her head, into her eyes, and across her shoulders as she sat on the plastic chair. Sandra was wrong; it hadn’t been a dream. Jack had come to her. She saw him, smelled his Old Spice, felt his arms around her, and even heard his heart beat. In sixty years she hadn’t allowed herself to think of Jack. But he came to her last night. Millie forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand. She turned off the shower and dried herself, grasping the rail with one hand and toweling with the other. “Do you need help, Mildred?” Sandra called as she pulled a soft cotton shirt and knit pants from Millie’s closet and laid them on the bed. “No thanks, I’m fine, Sandra, just a little slow this morning.” Hopefully, she’d be able to sneak in some time later today to think about last night. 8 Vicki hurried into her apartment. She put away the clean dishes and fixed her lunch for the next day. After she finished her chores, she settled on the sofa and picked up her knitting. She looped yarn around the needle, slipped it through the next stitch, and continued to the end of the row. The layette she’d chosen for Hannah, a teacher at her school, was almost finished. She adjusted the pillow behind her back on the sofa and checked the pattern, running her finger down each step. She couldn’t silence her thoughts. Is this how it’ll be for me? Am I going to spend the rest of my life crying over Brian and making stuff for other people’s babies? Will I end up a bitter old spinster who taught all my friends’ kids and grandkids?