what’s going on and have a split-second fear that I’m about to be thrown over someone’s shoulder and carted out of here for a ritual initiation into the family.
“Just go with it,” Violet calls out to me, but I have no idea what she’s talking about until someone catches my elbow with theirs and spins me. As I start to ask what’s happening, my other elbow is snared and I’m spinning with someone else.
Soon, we have two circles, the men in one and the women in the other. I’m doing this weird elbow thing that vaguely reminds me of square dancing in elementary school, and then we join hands and march around counterclockwise and then reverse to go clockwise. Every once in a while, by some cue I can’t discern, we all shuffle to the middle and back out.
It’s a loud, wild celebratory dance.
I look to the other circle and see Violet’s face beaming with happiness, which lifts my spirits even more. As we dance, even apart, I can feel her. She’s a part of me.
The circles surge and become one, and someone pushes me into the center. I have that middle-school fear of being in the spotlight at the school dance and freeze a bit. But Violet hooks her elbow in mine and spins me, and I relax. This I can do.
Her whole family surrounds us, and even some of the people from my side of the aisle get up to join the fun, all encircling us with joy and love and celebration. The music gets faster and faster, and we spin wildly. Every once in a while, the whole circle comes in close and I can hear their outbursts of congratulations before they spread back out to move around us once again.
It’s amazing, and all for us.
The triplets hold a long note, and the music stops with sharp freeze, and the whole group cheers and claps.
“Wow,” I say too loudly into Violet’s ear, but she smiles anyway.
“So, that’s the Tarantella, an Italian wedding dance.” Her laughter is bright and bubbly, music even more beautiful to my ears than the triplets’ singing. Even when she snorts, and chokes out, “You should’ve seen your face! What did you think I said?”
I laugh, vowing to never tell her I thought she had seen a tarantula, despite the fact that that’s highly unlikely.
The DJ takes over while Violet and I take our seats, catching our breath and watching everyone have some fun. The DJ’s good, mixing in songs for every age.
A few minutes later, a sultry guitar riff comes through the speakers and Violet smiles and says, “Oh, here we go again.” She’s up and pulling me to the floor when I recognize Carlos Santana’s Maria, Maria. She starts to sway, and I let her hips guide me as the dance floor fills back up with Italians, Italian-Greeks, Italian-Americans, and just everyone who feels the groove moving their feet and asses.
“I guess everyone caught their breath?” I whisper in her ear. We’re not exactly dirty dancing, but it’s as close as we can get with her in the poof of her wedding dress. Why does there have to be so much fabric?
Violet smiles as she looks up at me through her lashes. “This is Mom’s absolute favorite. She’s been obsessed with Santana since she was a kid, and when this song came out, she always joked it was about her. I think she watched interviews where Santana talked about the song just so she could hear him say her name.
“Your mom’s a super fan? Good to know if I ever need to get out of the doghouse with her." I’m just joking, of course, but knowing something personal about Maria and dancing around the floor with the family makes me feel welcomed and accepted into their crazy family. It’s a good feeling, even if it’s under false pretenses.
Later, Nana and Papa Russo get lots of ‘awws’ and a few tears as they slowly sway together to Sinatra, while laughs erupt when Archie and Aunt Sofia decide to do an impromptu dance off.
“I can out boogie your skinny butt any day of the week!” Sofia declares as she pops a few nifty steps that I have to admit are impressive for an old woman with a bad hip. “Challenge, honey!”
“Oh, it’s on now, lady!” Archie declares, doing a few shuffle steps before spinning and dropping into a half-split. I don’t know how he doesn’t split his pants or pull a muscle. “Now match