The Man in Row Three

The spring dance lasted about three minutes. Twelve little girls in pink trying to stay in a line. Ava was in the middle of the front row, and she was good.

Not perfect. She was a half-count late on a turn and one slipper ribbon came loose. But she was good, and she knew it.

When the music ended, the girls all took their bow together, holding hands in a line the way Miss Renee taught them, and the audience clapped, and the stage lights stayed bright. Most of the girls started filing toward the wings.

Ava didn’t. She let go of the hand of the girl next to her and walked straight to the very edge of the stage, right up to the lip where the lights were brightest.

She looked out at the third row. She found me. Then she tapped her nose and wiggled four fingers, right there in front of three hundred people.

I tapped mine back and wiggled four fingers, and I was smiling and crying at the same time, the roses in my hands.

And then Ava did something none of us expected. She went to the little set of wooden steps at the side of the stage, and she came down them.

Miss Renee was standing in the wings. I saw her start forward, and then stop herself and let it happen.

Ava came up the aisle in her pale ballet slippers, soft on the wood floor, in that pink sparkly costume with the tutu bouncing, right past the first row and the second row.

She stopped beside my seat and lifted her hand in our wave one more time.

The whole auditorium went quiet. Then she climbed straight into my lap, crushed roses and all, and put her arms around my neck.

She said into my shirt, “You came to every single one.” I said, “Every single one, kiddo.” She said, “I didn’t mean it. On my birthday. I didn’t mean goodbye.” I said, “I know you didn’t. I always knew that.”

The lady behind me was crying. Kim was crying. Tom had his hand over his face. Somebody started clapping, and then a lot of people were clapping, and Ava didn’t let go of my neck for a long time.

I gave her the roses. She said they were the most beautiful roses she had ever seen.

Then Miss Renee came down the steps herself, very kindly, and held out her hand, and said the big girls needed the stage now.

Ava kissed my cheek and went back with her, carrying her grocery-store roses over her head like she’d won something.