The college up the road hosted a Roaring 20's Ball. I hopped in the car with my son and daughter, and entered the dimly lit hall. At first glance I knew no one. Then a woman with hair like a flapper approached me. She talked as if we were friends and eventually I recognized her as the woman
who had served me tea earlier that week. She looked fabulous! Her husband sauntered over with shiny hair and a double breasted suit. I texted John. "I hope you come!" I had only sprung the idea on him five minutes before I walked out the door but he was willing. He showed up in a robin's egg blue bow tie.
Another woman I did not know joined the crowd on the dance floor, which was packed with students dressed to the nines. She had a white bob. Who could it be? Probably a third year international student.
I was entranced with the costumes. Feathers, necklaces, wiggling fringed dresses and headbands adorned women in black, red and creamy white. One woman was dressed like Amelia Earhart. When I got
home I read a bit about her adventures in the sky.
One couple ripped up the dance floor with their fast moving feet. I felt so alive just being in the same room with them. They communicated without words, about twirling, timing, turning, shifting direction. Plus they were having fun. There were plenty of younger people there, college students who could still stay up all night finishing a paper and
make it through the next day on coffee and doughnuts. But this couple had three small children at home. They have something even better than a twenty year old body. They have shared history. Years of explaining themselves on the fly of full time life with work and children builds a communication system that travels faster than words.
The Roaring 20's. Did they call it that while they were living
through it? Or did the name only stick looking back when quiet returned? Couples with children have their own version of the Roaring 20's. I sure did my share of roaring at errant toddlers, and they roared back. By the time John and I plunged into our thirties the era was more of a Scramble. Getting to piano lessons, and play dates, was less like the noise in a train tunnel than the train leaving without me.
I eventually figured out who the woman in the bob was. My next door neighbor. Maybe if I buy a wig I can look young again too. But on second thought, if I wait a few years my hair will be white all by itself.
