Lace, Clock, Nose

Lace, clock, nose. Lace, clock, nose.

How many times had they gone over this with her? It seemed like a million, but if Steve was honest, it was only like 20,000. He turned to the left and smiled as he saw Meg, in the dim light of the auditorium, silently mouthing those three words that had become a family mantra over the last few months.

He shifted his eyes back forward. He couldn’t stare at his wife as long as he’d like- tonight the most important thing in the world was on stage, but he did reach down to grab her hand. He wasn’t sure the pencil-etched wooden arm rest would survive her white-knuckled grasp. Sadie’s part was coming up.

They had argued when Meg first insisted that Sadie could handle a dance class with more cognitively developed girls. She’d said it would be harder to be the biggest one in a class of younger girls, even if they were… more on her level. In the end, meaning after a five-minute “discussion”, she had won.

Steve remembered the first time they’d made up the jingle to help her remember the movements of her part. Lace for touching her toes- Sadie always had to wear white lace-frilled socks. Clock for grabbing her wrists. It still rankled a little bit having to reinforce her confusion over the difference between a watch and a clock, but the distant performance date had started looming ominously for them months before other parents even put it on their calendars, and fighting two battles at once was not worth it. And nose, that one had been easy; it was her first word.

Sadie took the stage, sidestepping only a half-beat off from the other girls sharing the number. Lace, clock, nose. She remembered. Steve began to cry.