Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: The BIG Dance.

F LoBuono

It was nothing short of a miracle; we, the boys at The Madonna Parochial School of Fort Lee, NJ, would be allowed to attend the annual Spring dance - with the girls not only from our own school, but from the so-called Fort Lee Intermediate School (our town's version of a Middle School). Only 7th and 8th graders would be eligible to attend.

I was in the 8th grade and maturing early. So, I would certainly be going. I was already shaving once a week and much to my embarrassment at the time, starting to grow hair in some very private areas! In other words, puberty was not such much knocking at my door as it was looking to break it down. So, the idea of meeting a new bevy of girls, ones not required to wear the proper, conservative uniform that Catholic school girls were forced to on a daily basis, was, shall we say, appealing to say the least.

We had dances before at Madonna but they were segregated to just the students attending our school. And, the nuns, like some type of fierce penguins, enforced order with the strictest of discipline, especially when it came to "slow dancing". If you asked a girl to dance, a proper distance would have to be maintained between yourself and the subject of your desire. That distance was measured by the length of your elbow to your fingertips. If that gap were to be closed, either accidentally or, god forbid, intentionally, one of the good Sisters was all over you like a cheap suit to re-establish order!

And, we didn't know any better - so, that's the way we always did it.

The BIG DANCE was scheduled for a Saturday evening at the Recreation Center on Stillwell Ave. - perfect for me - I lived up the street, so parental transportation would not be necessary. And, best of all, it was not necessary to wear our standard, Catholic school uniform: grey slacks, white shirt, and "clip-on", plaid tie. I could actually add a dash of style to my ensemble. I think that I may have even shaved. Needless to say, I could scarcely control my excitement as I walked down the block to meet my buddies at the Rec Center.

When I arrived, I noticed the standard prepubescent dance protocol: boys milling about on side of the room, girls on the other, and a DMZ in the middle. The lights were dim and the music loud. After some good 'ol fashioned male bonding, the dares began - as in "I dare you to dance with so-and-so". Seeing how pretty the girls were, especially the Public School girls, I didn't need much coaxing.

My eyes was drawn to a dark haired girl standing across the way, talking with a group of friends. I knew her a bit from town. She was an Italian-American girl named Loretta Costa (not her real name) and lived not to far from me. It took me a few moments, but I finally mustered the courage to cross the DMZ and ask her to dance. MUCH to my surprise, she didn't hesitate at all when I asked, "would you like to dance"? She said "sure" and approached me with great enthusiasm. Since it was a "slow dance", I prepared to take her hands and hold her at, literally, arms length. Instead of following my lead, Loretta grabbed me and pressed me hard against her body. She grabbed me so close to her that if she squeezed any tighter, she would wind up standing behind me! I may have been shocked at first but it didn't take me long to not only accept it, but truly enjoy it! Oh, my god, is this how a girl feels - AND, smells ( she held me so tightly that I could smell her hair)? I mean, I knew that girls had breasts but this was the first time I would experience them firsthand (so-to-speak). And, I liked it - a lot. Of course, we were just kids - but, we were on the verge of adulthood and these are the moments that prepare us for it.

After the song ended, Loretta released her grip and I stood back to catch my breath and said, "GEE, thanks"! She smiled and responded, "Sure. Anytime". I believe that she meant it, too.

And, I took her up on her offer - that night and for every dance for the rest of the year. It's been fifty years since that dance and I STILL think of her and the night that she helped me on my way to becoming a man. . .