The Waltz

Journal

The old man taught the teenager to waltz — in the grocery aisle.

Jake was seventeen and terrified. Prom was Friday. He'd asked a girl. She'd said yes. He had no idea how to dance.

Mr. Alvarez, eighty-four, watched him from the cereal aisle. He remembered being seventeen. He remembered the exact same fear.

'Son,' he said, 'you're doing it wrong. Put your hand here. One, two, three.' Right there, between the soup and the pasta, the lesson began.

They waltzed past the canned beans. Past the bread. Shoppers stopped and smiled. Nobody told them to stop.

Friday night, Jake danced. Not perfectly. But he didn't step on her feet once. She laughed. He laughed. It worked.

The next week, Jake came back with a prom photo. 'Mr. Alvarez,' he said, 'the first dance is yours.' And they waltzed again, right there in the aisle.

Mr. Alvarez still waltzes in that aisle sometimes. He says his wife taught him, sixty years ago. Now he's just passing it on.