Mind the beat and the book

White hat, white shirt, white jacket, white skirt, white shoes. The brightness contrasted the drab gray sidewalk and dark skies. Small and slightly stooped with age as she approached the club I was entering, I assumed she was walking to her home on one of the side streets nearby. I turned back to climb the first of several sets of stairs.

Leaning against a wall on the second floor, I bobbed my head in time to the familiar verses that I'd never before heard live. As I sang along, a mass of white caught my eye and I turned to see her cross in front of the stage. I noticed J also following her progress with his eyes - he seemed as surprised and pleased as I. I lost track of her for a few minutes until I saw her descend down the stairs.

After the set and a series of hellos, toasts and congratulations, I moved to the first floor, where I saw her sitting alone on a bench, directly below the space on which I'd been dancing moments before. She was reading the Bible and nodding her head in time to the beats pulsing from upstairs. I passed quietly.

During another pass, she continued to read, but also danced in a circle by the bench. Her shoulders were swaying back and forth, I imagined, at nearly the same rate her eyes moved across the page.

We'd waved to the taxi a few hours later when she walked up to us. "Did you girls have a good evening?"

We looked at each other in surprise. "Yes, ma'am, thank you." Recitations like well-trained schoolchildren.

Mrs. Jones said she was glad we'd enjoyed ourselves. She asked where we were from and said she hoped we would have a fine weekend. Our replies during this brief exchange were short and succinct, with "ma'am" tacked on to the end of every phrase. The courtesy came naturally in her presence.

She raised a hand only slightly weakened by age and walked away, rounding the corner as we began to smile in surprise.