Dance Like No One is Looking

Husband picked me at work about 8 P.M. last Tuesday, and I asked if he had eaten supper.

“No, I’m kinda hungry.” He has a way of rolling his eyes toward me when he hoping for an additional offer.

“So where would you like to go? I’ll take you out since you are driving for me.”

“Let’s just go over here to Jimmie’s Diner. It’s close, and they have pancakes.”

Pancakes have always been one of his favorite staples. I know he is not feeling well or is feeling depressed when he refuses pancakes.

This night he was in a more normal mood. Besides Jimmie’s has a long standing in our personal history. It used to be called Kings-X after Jimmie King.

Kings-X holds a vital role in Wichita’s dining history.  In 1938, King, a cook for the old White Castle Hamburgers, which also started in Wichita, bought several of White Castle stores and opened one of the finest hamburger, milk shake, and breakfast traditions ever seen in the city.

Forty years ago, Husband and I went to Kings-X for many breakfast dates where he ordered the five-star special including fried apples. I know he knows his pancakes. It suffices to say pancakes and Jimmie’s means much more to him than a simple and inexpensive breakfast meal.

Jimmie’s utilizes a 50’s theme where waitresses wear pony tails, poodle skirts, and when they can find them, saddle oxfords. The restaurant follows the Kings-X tradition of being a type of neighborhood place to eat.

Best of all they play pop tunes from the 40’s and 50’s.  Diners don’t even have to get out of their cars before they hear the blast of oldie tunes and rhythms such as Purple People Eater, Only You, and The Stroll to name only the first three that come to my mind.

This night, Husband’s eyes lit up as we pulled into the parking lane. He didn’t even wait to get out of the car before shaking his head and gyrating his shoulders. His blood was starting to pump, and I think he was tapping the pavement as soon as his toes touched it.

“Is it speaking to you?” I laughed.

He didn’t even respond. As I rounded the front of the car he was already striding into the building with his head slightly down and his feet crossing over each other in a Stroll. He moved his shoulders, arms, and hips in fluid motion in time with his feet.

He never minds that the entire world may be watching because he dances as if he is alone in the universe.

“That’s the man I know,” I encouraged as he smiled and winked. I’ve seen him dance in public many times, and even have pushed away when he grabbed me to dance with him in the aisle of a grocery or drugstore.

Happy moments like this don’t often crop up these days, but for a few minutes he reverted back to the young man I married, full of humor and ready to clown around.

Depression doesn’t often let him be that jovial person, but I consider it a blessing that for a short time that evening, he danced, enjoyed his pancakes, and remembered other instances of what went before. He was dancing as if no one was looking.