Page 90 of Born to be Wilder

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, and moved on.

“Wow. You may have permanently ruined him.” I swallowed a snort while watching him slink away. “That poor boy will never look at another woman’s breasts again without imagining his mother staring at him.”

“Good.” Doris stomped her foot like a prize bull. “He should. And this right here is why I know my children would never come down here and misbehave this way.”

Sylvie’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah. Maybe they didn’t, because if I had to think about my mom with me every time I was, uh, we’ll call it misbehaving, I probably would have been a little less wild back then. That is not an image you can unburn from your mind easily.”

Doris lifted her chin with pride, as if she’d been vindicated from raising a litter of feral delinquents like the ones running wild and free around us. “Exactly.”

“Okay, so now that Doris has burned an image into our minds that we can’t unsee, let’s go have some drinks and try to forget it. Onward, soldiers!”

Marge spun and led us deeper into the street party, dancing her way through as we followed.

It was intoxicating. Like a siren’s call luring you to ignore your better instincts and give in to every temptation. If I had been young and single, no doubt I would have already kissed half a dozen men just milling about the street and been topless, screaming the lyrics of the music at the top of my lungs while perched on some strong man’s shoulders.

But I wasn’t single, and I didn’t want to be.

And I wasn’t young, and I… had breast cancer.

There it was again, like Doris’s vision of a mother there to ruin all the fun, I had a different kind of cold water tossed on me on repeat. Just when I’d forget about it for a moment, lose myself in the world around me, it was right back again, whispering in my ear, reminding me of what was coming.

And along with the I have breast cancer stuck on repeat in my mind, now I had a fortune teller’s words echoing along with them.

Do not take long to decide your path, for it will then choose for you.

I pushed the invasive thoughts away, shaking my head as I refocused on the wild fun surrounding me.

We found a gap near a low stage where a band had set up. The crowd pressed around them, moving with the music, the trumpet guiding everyone with its catchy melodies.

In the center of the dancers was a little old man, thin and wiry, wearing a worn-out purple suit and dancing in front of that stage like the band was put there just for him. He moved and twirled, somehow not losing his battered top hat with a dozen colorful flowers sprouting from the top like a perfectly potted plant.

He was dancing—full-bodied, absolutely committed, every part of him, from the tips of his white-gloved fingers to the heels of his perfectly shined shoes, engaged. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be somewhere else entirely, somewhere the music had taken him that the rest of us hadn’t been invited to.

Marge saw him at the same moment I did.

“Now that is a man who knows how to have fun!” She pointed. “Look at him go!”

“He looks like he’s been coming here for years. Decades, even.” Sylvie smiled as she watched him.

“And by the look of his suit, he’s been wearing the same one all those years. It could really use a few patches,” Doris added.

Even though he lacked skill, I knew exactly how he was feeling. Music did the same thing to me when I danced. It transported me to a different time and place, just me and the music as one.

“Come on. We’re dancing.” Marge didn’t wait for us to answer. She pushed forward through the crowd and tapped the old man on the shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked at her without missing a step.

She held out her hand, folding into a half-bow.

He looked at it. Then he grinned, a wide, gold-toothed grin that rearranged his whole face, and he took it.

Marge let out a rebel yell. “Yeehaa!”

Wild and unhinged, whooping and spinning, we cheered for Marge and her companion as they danced like no one was watching, even though dozens of people were.

“Come on! Join us! Dance like we’re back in Africa, ladies!” Marge called before breaking into the tribal dance we’d all done that night we’d spent with the tribe during our safari.

I couldn’t stop my feet from moving, my body vibrating with excitement as I danced my way toward her. Sylvie and Doris danced behind me, and then, the four of us and our purple-suited man tore up the pavement on that street in New Orleans.

I wasn’t thinking about the fortune teller.