Free Part of Me by Kimberly Willis Holt

Pie.
    â€œOooh, no, ma’am. Thank you. That’s what got me into this mess.”
    â€œWell, I warned you. You should have stuck to the dancing.”
    Her words brought Merle Henry back to why he was home. He opened the book, then started to read and study the pictures. There was no way he was going to learn to dance just by reading. He threw the sheets back and stood on the floor, holding the book straight in front of his eyes. If the book was going to be his dancing partner, he’d have to give her a name.
    â€œHow you doing, Matilda?” he said to the open page. “Some nice words you got there.”
    Suddenly he heard someone snicker. He swung around and discovered Aunt Pie in the doorway. Her hand covered her mouth, but Merle Henry could tell she was smiling by the way her eyes had shrunk into tiny slits.
    He dropped the book. His ears burned like the day Coach had hold of one of them. His stomach was starting to really ache now.
    â€œOh, Merle Henry, I wasn’t making fun of you. I just never heard of a dancing partner named Matilda. Maybe Carol Ann or Suzie or Joyce Lynn.”
    Merle Henry turned his head and gazed out the window. He didn’t want Aunt Pie to think he was a fool that talked and danced with books.
    Aunt Pie walked over to him and picked up the book. She read the title and flipped the book open to the front page. She started to laugh again. “I’m sorry, but, Merle Henry, this book was written in 1914. That’s over forty years ago. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to learn to dance? I can teach you.”
    Merle Henry didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor.
    She had one hand resting on her hip and the other stretched toward him. “Well, are you going to ignore a lady offering to teach you to dance?”
    â€œBut I’m supposed to be sick.”
    â€œYes, sir, I can see that.” She was smiling at him and now Merle Henry smiled back.
    â€œBut Momma will—”
    â€œOh, she’ll be gone for a while. Besides, we’ve got the same genes. You’re bound to be a fast learner.”
    Grabbing his hand, she led him out to the living room where Cooter was laying on the couch, a washcloth over his head. She flipped on the radio. A tune played that he didn’t recognize, but the song had a good beat.
    â€œDoes that have to be so loud?” Cooter asked, his hands protecting his ears. He sounded like a whiney little boy to Merle Henry. Aunt Pie sure could pick them!
    Aunt Pie sighed. “Cooter, do yourself a favor and take a good long swig of that Jack Daniel’s. I’m telling you, I know what I’m talking about.”
    Cooter pulled the washcloth from his forehead and opened his eyes. “You mean you’ve been in this state before?”
    â€œNever. But I’ve known plenty of men who have.”
    Pie placed one of Merle Henry’s hands on her waist and the other on her shoulder. “Now, Merle Henry, pretend I’m your girl. Follow me, and soon I’ll be following you.”
    â€œAre you sure I should do that?”
    She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m sure, honey. You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead.”
    For the first three songs, Merle Henry was her shadow, following her steps and listening to the music and her voice carry him through the song. “One, two, three,” she said, first loudly, then by the third song the words came out in a whisper. Aunt Pie’s voice was spun sugar on a paper cone. Merle Henry heard it as if it were his own heart beating. And standing this near, he could smell her sweet perfume.
    At first his hands felt like putty and his feet were heavy as bricks, but by the fifth song he was leading, spinning her around the room.
    â€œOh no,” Cooter cried, rushing off for the outhouse.
    When he returned, they were slowing their pace to a ballad. Cooter braced the doorway. “Where’s that