Come and Dance with Me

Short Fiction

Photo by Brandon Erlinger-Ford on Unsplash

Life had been different since the car accident.

Penelope could finally go to the bathroom on her own, but she still needed assistance taking a shower. Getting dressed was a battle, too.

“Need me, Penny?” her husband Paul asked one morning. She was in the bathroom but taking an unusually long time.

He heard her crying from the other side of the door. A lump formed in his throat.

After she coughed and blew her nose, she said, “Yes.” So, he went in.

Some days dragged. Others were better. Paul tried to keep Penelope’s spirits up as they adjusted to their new life.

“Duh, you idiot,” Paul said to himself one morning as the idea hit him like a crash cymbal. He immediately logged on to Ticketmaster and started browsing local venues. The show was tomorrow—thank God. He thought he’d missed it.

The next evening, Paul and Penelope hit the road.

“You’re taking me to a concert, aren’t you?” she asked him, smirking.

“Why in the world would I do that?” he replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“Because I love live music. And so do you.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Please tell me it’s Dave. Is that where we’re going?” she half-screamed. Paul couldn’t help but bust out laughing.

“You’re taking me to a concert, you son of a bitch!” Penelope thwacked him on the arm as he turned on the Dave Matthews Band playlist he’d queued up earlier that morning.

After they arrived and parked, Paul pushed Penelope through the rugged terrain at Bethel Woods. It was a hell of a workout.

He parked Penelope near the top of the lawn seats for the best view and pulled out his camping chair to sit beside her. They probably wouldn’t see much at all, but that was okay. Before long, smoke in all varieties filled the air, and the contagious atmosphere planted a smile on every soul’s face.

When the band came on and began to jam before the first song had ended, Penelope’s hands were in Paul’s. He stood and tried twirling, failed—fell over. She threw her head back in a bout of laughter.

“Come and dance with me, baby,” Paul sang to her from the ground amidst the cheering crowd. No one noticed them. They were in their own new world.

Paul stayed on his knees, eye level, and pulled her wheelchair into him. They kissed and danced and laughed as the sun set over the mountains in the west.

Three or four songs in, an old-timer—and long-time concertgoer by the look of him—said to one of his grizzled buddies, “Well would you look at them…aren’t they just two peas in a pod?”

Thank you so much for reading “Come and Dance with Me” and for being a subscriber in this tiny corner of the universe.

I was out driving the other day and “#36” by the Dave Matthews Band came on. It inspired me to write this story.

If you must know, the Dave Matthews Band is hands-down one of those guilty pleasure bands for me. I love ‘em. I think they are an incredibly talented set of musicians, and Carter Beauford, their drummer, is one of my favorites of all time.

Do you have a “guilty pleasure” band or singer? Maybe one of those groups you wouldn’t care to admit listening to? Let us know! (Or don’t…it’s fine. Take your secret to the grave!)

I’ve included a link to “#36” in case you’re interested. (I highly recommend listening to the first 2:00 at least, especially if you enjoy insanely fun drum beats!)

Thanks again for reading, and a special thank you to all those who read and wrote some fifty-word stories this past weekend. It’s always a pleasure seeing you by the fire.

Have a great week!

- Justin