One night replayed like a stuck 78. One evening when all the world was a dance, a song, and a tragic end when this evening became all the world for an eternity. That's what keeps playing through my head when driving down this Archer Ave. corridor. I see this face, frozen and pale framed by yellow hair. A frantic attempt to play it out again and again till some night when it might make sense, but it never does. Never a reason, never an answer. The arms of a dozen dance partners, but never the comfort of an embrace. Following the road on past the I-55 to where it turns off, the darkened woods take a stronger hold. Around the bend, and the Willowbrook Ballroom stands as a bronzen tribute to another time, another era, someone else's youth.

On the occasional Sunday night my ex-girlfriend and I would spring for the extra twenty bucks it took to indulge in martinis while twelve-year-olds cut a rug the way their grandparents wished they could. Not that the golden generation isn't well represented by dapper grey-haired gentlemen escorting their twilight ladies onto the dance floor for a bit of the current memory. It was usually the three of us, myself, my ex, and our friend Bones. Bones is bound and determined to take Mary to Denny's should she loom in his headlights. He's pretty sure all she needs is a Mountain Dew. Anyway, Bones, being the hep Swing King, always tended to find a partner or two although being the perfect gentleman, just for the dance . And he always took note of the temperature of their hands. So between us guys you'd think Mary'd be flattered and ask us both back to her place, right?

M. (she wants to stay anonymous) had to pee. The bathroom, as she said, was as cold as if she had stepped outside, but this didn't seem uncommon for late December and merely accented the need. She said it "smelled like a forest...like dirt" which was at this point merely just an another annoying aside to her situation. She checked for a stall and found all unoccupied. So she took the first one. Afterwards, she went to the sinks on one side of the washroom to wash her hands. All the sinks on this side were without soap, so she moved to the opposite. Looking into the mirror, no one appeared behind her. She was still alone.  Turning to dry her hands at the driers attached by the door, a blond woman was suddenly at the opposite sinks, the sinks without soap, washing her hands. Startled, as no one had actually entered the washroom, M. turned to face her directly. She wore a black lace dress with an empire waist. The woman continued to wash her hands without a word staring straight ahead. M. finished and left the woman still at the sink, stunned by the appearance, but putting little weight on it.

When she came back to our table, she had an odd look on her face. "Something weird happened," she said. "Feel my arms." I didn't have to. They were covered in visible goose-bumps. She related her story, although calmly. I don't think it fully registered to her until she told us. Bones and I both adopted large shit-eating grins and simultaneously proclaimed, "Mary!" "Stay here and see if she comes by this way," I said. Bones and I circled the ballroom searching for anyone matching the description. We found a couple possibilities, and so came back to the table. Then I stayed put while she and Bones circled 'round to validate. They came back with a negative. There's only one way in and out of the ballroom, and she hadn't gotten out that way as I kept an eye on the door. The two blondes in the building were in pants-suits, not dresses, and M. said neither were the woman she had seen.

She never claimed it to be Mary. Bones and I were more than happy to do that for her. The ballroom itself wasn't excessively cold, but she was freezing, and the goosebumps didn't go away till we left.

But,

there are a couple of things that still make me skeptical. This woman was dressed in a black dress, not a white gown. Secondly, I've never heard of Mary appearing to a woman. I have talked to a friend who grew up in that area who had heard stories of the bathroom being the site of several encounters with a blond woman often found crying or mocking the actions of the one she appears to, but I have not yet found an official source documenting this. These encounters are said to be accompanied by extreme cold and the scent of flowers. Maybe her mockery extended to the black dress M. was wearing that evening. Maybe she's taking fashion tips.

Now, it could have been just a fellow flesh 'n' bone dancer with anti-social and unhygenic bathroom habits. A single grave validated as holding Mary has not yet been assigned. The area of Resurrection Cemetery reputed to hold the remains of the Mary holds more Marys than one could dig up with a back hoe (Bielski, p.9, -1st ed.). A couple graves even come close to fitting the bill as far as dates go. Whether it was Mary or not? I don't know. If it was than it may be that she's come back along with the revival of the music which dominated the first era of her life (?) as a fledgling ghost. Maybe that's Gabriel blowin' his horn up there on the band stand. Maybe she is back...
 

"...to jump

...jive...

...and wail"

© 1999 C.T. Thieme all rights reserved