Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Now that Jackson’s here, I’m relieved and nervous at the same time, but really, I’m glad he came.
He approaches and I push to my feet, giving him a hug before introducing him to my uncle.
“Hey, Randy. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Randy’s eyes are already on Jackson, his expression eager, excited even. He rises quickly to his feet, smiling. He appears more energized than I’ve seen him in a long time.
I hadn’t considered how pleased he’d be to see a stud like Jackson in this place, though Jackson is pretty much the hottest thing around aside from a handful of nurses and doctors who Uncle Randy and I ogle together from time to time.
“I’m Randy,” he says. “But you can call me whatever you’d like.”
“He tells that to all the hotties,” I tell Jackson.
I think it was his pickup line back in the day, and he still sees himself as quite the charmer.
Jackson chuckles as he takes Randy’s hand and shakes. “Nice to meet you, Randy. I’m Jackson.”
We make small talk before the hands on the clock at the front of the room assure me that it’s 10 a.m.
“Time for the show, Randy. Wish me luck.”
“Break a leg.” Jackson sits beside him as I head to the front of the room.
“How’s everyone doing today?” I ask, not expecting much of a response, and I can see the annoyance in some of the residents’ expressions.
It’s nothing that I’m not used to dealing with.
“I know some of you are really excited about my little tango lesson. And for those who want to try, don’t worry, I’ll go slow. I always like to start slow. Well, maybe not always.” As I look at Jackson, Maggie, the woman who asked about tango last time, bursts into laughter.
“Derek, you’re terrible,” she calls out.
I talk through a few of the basic moves before saying, “Everyone, if you could give my buddy Jackson a big round of applause, he’s going to be assisting me today.”
A few claps, which is what I expected, but the show must go on.
I demonstrate the movement with Jackson, showing how we will promenade around the room. “Now the best way to learn the tango is for everyone to get up and give it a go, so if you want to come up, now’s the time. Come on, Maggie. You can get a turn with big, beefy Jackson, but you have to give him back.”
She giggles. “I don’t think I will.”
I head to Uncle Randy and help him to his feet. Jackson takes Maggie’s hand and leads her onto the area we’re using as the dance space while a few other residents and a couple of family members join us. I start the music, and we begin.
I work with Randy, keeping it simple because I don’t want to frustrate him by doing anything that might throw him.
“Oh, dammit,” he says as I step on his foot.
“That was my fault,” I say. “Calm down. It’s fine.”
“No. It wasn’t right. Just give me a minute. I was really good at this.”
Jackson’s dancing with Maggie, making their way in a circle around the room with some of the other dance partners. “Oh, what strong hands you have,” she tells him.
Don’t I know it?
Randy and I start up again and get back into our rhythm.
He smiles as we start going pretty good, but then he stumbles another time.
He stops where he is, glancing around uneasily.
“Why am I off? It’s just not working. Is it you or me?”
“You’re doing fine. We’re fine. Let’s keep going.”
He breathes heavily as he glances around the room. “Where’s Tim? I want to dance with Tim. Is Tim here?”
His tone is harsh, aggressive. I glance around the room, noticing the nurses eyeing us. One gets up and starts our way.
If he loses it, they’re going to make this worse.
But my palms are sweating as I try to keep it together for him. For all of us.
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re just learning a dance right now, Randy. You like to dance.”
“Why isn’t Tim here?”
A nurse approaches. “Randy, come on. I can take you back to your room.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere right now!” he shouts.
And the others in the room have stopped dancing, everyone waiting to see what happens with Randy.
“Come on. Nothing’s wrong,” the nurse says. “We’re just going to take a break, all right?”
I look to Jackson and then eye my laptop, hoping he’ll understand my cue. He excuses himself with Maggie and heads over and cuts off the music while the nurse and I continue working to soothe Randy. But he’s becoming increasingly agitated.
“Stop talking to me like a kid,” he tells the nurse.
I pull out my phone and hit my emergency backup, blasting Barbara Streisand and Donna Summer’s “No More Tears.”
This is my go-to song for him because it’s one he’s listened to for as long as I’ve known him—one he enjoyed well before I was even in his life very much, so it’ll take his disease that much longer to tear it from his memory.