Starting Over

The Square Dance

The old gymnasium at St. Joseph’s School buzzed with the chatter of children and the occasional squeak of sneakers against polished wood. Bunting hung from the rafters, and a record player crackled in the corner, playing a lively tune that made everyone’s feet itch to move. Sister Helen, her habit swaying as she clapped in time to the music, stood at the center of the room, calling out the steps.

“Alright, children,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “Find your partners!”

Joe didn’t hesitate. His eyes darted across the room, scanning the clusters of boys and girls giggling nervously, until they landed on Nelly. She stood by the bleachers, smoothing her dress, her cheeks pink with excitement.

“Nelly,” Joe called, holding out his hand. “Dance with me?”

Nelly looked up, her smile brightening the dim gym lights. “Sure, Joe.”

They joined hands, his rough from climbing trees, hers soft and warm. As the music began, they moved together, spinning and stepping in time with the rhythm. Joe felt a strange kind of joy, a mix of pride and something he couldn’t quite name. Holding Nelly’s hand felt like holding a secret, one he wanted to keep forever.

The dance was chaotic and full of laughter, with children bumping into each other and missing steps. But Joe and Nelly stayed in sync, their connection unspoken but undeniable.

“Swing your partner!” Sister Helen called, and Joe spun Nelly around, her dress twirling like a flower in the breeze.

“Change partners!” Sister Helen announced, her voice cutting through the music.

Joe froze. He tightened his grip on Nelly’s hand, his heart sinking. He didn’t want to let go. Not now. Not ever.

“Joe,” Sister Helen said, noticing his hesitation. “You need to let Nelly go and find a new partner. That’s how the dance works.”

Joe turned to Sister Helen, his expression one of quiet defiance. His eyes, usually so lively, now held a weight that seemed far too heavy for a boy his age. It wasn’t anger; it was disappointment. Disappointment that she, of all people, would ask him to let go of something so important.

“Do I have to?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Joe,” Sister Helen said gently. “It’s just a dance.”

Reluctantly, Joe released Nelly’s hand, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. She gave him a small, understanding smile before moving on to another partner.

Joe shuffled to the side, pairing with a boy from his class. But his gaze kept drifting back to Nelly, her laughter ringing out as she danced with someone else.

The music played on, the steps repeated, but something felt different. Joe realized it wasn’t just a dance to him. It was a moment—a fleeting, precious moment—and he had wanted to hold onto it.

When the music ended and the children clapped, Joe found himself standing near Nelly again. She looked at him and grinned. “You’re a good dancer, Joe.”

“You too,” he said, his cheeks reddening.

As the children began to scatter, Sister Helen approached Joe. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said softly, “Sometimes, Joe, we have to let go, even when we don’t want to. But that doesn’t mean we lose what matters. Do you understand?”

Joe nodded, though he wasn’t sure he did. All he knew was that he didn’t want to let go of Nelly again, not in the dance, not in life.

And as they left the gym, their laughter mingling with the evening air, Joe made a quiet promise to himself: someday, he’d find a way to hold onto her hand for good.