# 41 I, Isabel Scheherazade have a painting of two dancers in my bedroom. It comes with a Way-Back-Seat memory that’s sweet. Just plain sweet.
Mom and Dad had a painting in their bedroom of a man and lady dancing. They’re at a sidewalk cafe. It looks like they just up and left the table and started waltzing. There are other people there, but it’s like this couple is all alone and happy.
Happy like the colors in the painting, especially the red in the lady’s bonnet.
The man can’t take his eyes off her as they twirl around. I can see by the way her skirt swirls that they’re really moving. The man’s got his right hand on the lady’s back. His left hand grasps her right and holds it up and to the side. She holds on tight for dear life as Mom used to say. If either one lets go, they’ll fly apart. But they don’t.
I love that painting. It’s in my bedroom now.
Mom and Dad danced a lot, too. In the kitchen, out in the yard–anyplace. Just like the couple in the painting. It didn’t matter if the space was small either. They Cajun-danced on our little front porch. Sometimes they’d pick one of us up and we’d dance around on top of their feet.
And as for flying apart?
I never worried that Mom and Dad would let go. Never.
I can picture Mom and Dad dancing around somewhere still, holding on tight.
For dear life?