Memories of Days Gone By

Once upon a time in America people stepped out of their homes on a Saturday evening and took in the quiet evening air. They donned their hats and strolled by the light of streetlamps and picture windows, gravitating toward some street named after a President. There they'd meet neighbors and coworkers, the ones and twos would become fives and tens, a stream of humanity gravitating toward a common spot.


That spot would be the town square, a small patch of trees and grass surrounded by storefronts, civic buildings, and monuments. Through the patches of night that gathered under the big oaks and maples of the square would drift the sound of music, the pied piper melody to which they all were inexorably drawn. In the shelter of a small pavilion the band would tune up. They might be a travelling band playing the Midwest on a tour of bergs and boroughs, getting a percentage of the gate for gas and food and not much else. Or they might be a collection of moderately talented locals buoyed up by the sentiment of the townsfolk, their ready availability, and the ownership of instruments. Whatever the case, they'd warm up as the people filed in and found their usual seats.

After a little futzing, the music would start. Maybe the tune would be out of key or the tempo would drag at first but steadily building to the full measure of its potential. The usual couples would take the floor, breaking the ice for the shy and beginners. In twenty minutes there wouldn't be enough room for a dime to roll across the floor. Dancers old and young, talented and not, would fill the hardwood and the night air would be perfumed with music and laughter for a few hours.

Afterward weary feet would tread the sidewalks. Dancers would stop to window-shop by the light of the streetlamp, then continue strolling arm in arm and talking happily. Doorstop farewells would be said, maybe with a quick peck by the moonlight. Home would seem warm and still afterward, the ticking of the mantle clock a pale echo of the music that only played on in the dancer's memory. When the lights were turned off and the covers pulled up, the breeze through the bedroom window would bear dreams of strong arms, sure feet, and sweet music under the stars.