Her eyes they shone like the diamonds You'd think she was queen of the land And her hair hung over her shoulders Tied up with a black velvet band (Traditional folk song "Black Velvet Band") Flanagan's Pub was crowded that Saturday night -- it was, after all, one of the rare times that St.

Her eyes they shone like the diamonds You'd think she was queen of the land And her hair hung over her shoulders Tied up with a black velvet band (Traditional folk song "Black Velvet Band") Flanagan's Pub was crowded that Saturday night -- it was, after all, one of the rare times that St. Patrick's Day fell on a Saturday and Baltimore's Irish community had turned out in full force, ready for a weekend long party. But he had arrived early in the evening and had found a seat at the end of the bar near the front window. From there he could see the stage and the band that night, the Wild Geese, one of the better local Irish bands. More importantly, he could see Renee, the new waitress. She had only started working there on weekends while studying at Towson State. His friend Cathy, the longtime waitress at Flanagan's, had introduced them to each other on Renee's first night there. He felt something that he'd never felt before when he shook her hand, almost an electric shock, losing himself in her dark blue eyes. Cathy let him know that Renee was single; she had broken up with her old boyfriend in Colorado months before moving to Baltimore. He and Renee spent the rest of that evening and many more talking, discovering each other. They both loved science fiction, art museums and galleries, long walks along the Inner Harbor and the quiet moments of the day. He wanted to ask her out for a proper date, but he was afraid; he'd been emotionally hurt in relationships and the scars on his soul were still raw and painful and needed time to heal. He looked around the bar and saw the friends who were always there on Saturday nights and they joined him, glad to see him and share his company. They all knew his fear of being hurt again -- and they all knew, even if he didn't himself, that Renee was the love of his life, the woman who could make him smile and laugh and be happy when no one else could. He looked up towards the stage and spotted Renee. She returned the glance with a bright smile and waved at him. The band began to play one of his favorite tunes; their lead singer's voice seemed to float over the crowd, the sounds of everyone talking, laughing, enjoying being Irish, enjoying being alive. Her eyes they shone like the diamonds You'd think she was queen of the land And her hair hung over her shoulders Tied up with a black velvet band A few couples got up from their tables and seats at the bar and began to waltz as best they could in the space in front of the stage. He watched them for a few minutes, then rose from his seat, making his apologies as he made his way through the crowd until he was beside Renee. She was lost in watching the dancers and hadn't seen him until he touched her hand. Oh, he was afraid, so afraid. He tried to think of something witty to say, but all that come out was "May I have this dance?" Her eyes grew wide, then her face --the entire world - lit up with as happy a smile as he had ever seen. "I promise I'll try not to step on your feet . . . I'm not a very good dancer. I've never really danced very much", he said as he took her hand in his. She laughed and shook her head. "Neither am I!", she said, with a joy he hadn't heard from anyone before. And so they danced, feeling as if there were no other couples sharing the floor with them, both lost in the other's eyes and smile. They danced well into the early hours of Sunday morning, when it was time to close and for the band and the crowd go home. They stopped and he took her hand in his and kissed it gently. He looked in her eyes, then their lips met, once, then again. He felt the scars in his heart and his soul heal that night and he felt whole and young and happy again. They would dance there each Saturday. They would dance there when he had finished law school and when she began teaching. They would dance there the night of their wedding. They would dance at the end of long and tiring weeks, she teaching English literature at a private Catholic high school and he arguing cases in Baltimore City Circuit Court. He could feel her in his arms, dancing a waltz. . .. "Grandad? Are you okay?" It was a soft female voice, a young woman's voice. But it wasn't Renee's voice. Who . . .? Thomas Charles Massey opened his eyes. In the window in front of him he saw his face, the face of an old, tired, and frail man, his shoulders sagging under the weight of time and loss, wearing a blue surgical mask. Next to his was the face of a young woman with brown eyes and long brown hair, the face of his granddaughter Debbie. She was also wearing a mask, covering her nose and mouth, showing only the concern in her eyes. He looked at the window and saw the name of the place stenciled in gold-colored letters outlined in red: El Toro Hambriento Café. And he remembered. The owner of Flanagan's Pub had died, long ago, and her two sons, one a doctor and the other an accountant, had sold it; the new owners had closed the pub, renovated and reopened as a Mexican café. He and Renee had stopped coming by then. They had bought a house in Towson after their two children, Heather Marie and Thomas Charles Jr. were born. Tommy had become a lawyer like his Father -- he was now living in Boston, a litigator with a large law firm. Heather had majored in business in college, working at a bank before marrying Franklin Alderson and moving to the Eastern Shore and having two children -- his Granddaughters Debbie and Jessica. He and Renee still danced on Saturday nights, waltzing in their living room, until he had lost her to cancer, just as his family was losing him to Alzheimer's now. He looked again at the window and saw, as if for the first time, the sign that read "For Lease". The Café beyond was empty and he could see the dust on the floor and tables and chairs. He remembered. It wasn't St. Patrick's Day all those years ago; it was a cold, grey day in November 2020 and the Café was another victim of the covid pandemic. The assisted living residence that his family had helped him move into as his mental and physical health declined was only a few blocks away, near the Basilica of the Assumption. Although they weren't supposed to, due to covid restrictions, the doctors and staff there let his family visit and on good days they took him for walks in the area. This Saturday had been Debbie's turn and while she loved her Grandfather, sometimes it hurt to see him slipping away and sometimes it was hard to hide the tears from him. "Is this where you met Grandmom?" He was silent, not reacting to her question, only staring at the empty café before him. "Grandad?" she said again. He turned to her, a small smile on his face. "We danced here that night and so many nights after. . .." He took his hand out of his coat pocket and looked at it. "Her hand fit so perfectly in mine -- like it belonged there. My hands feel so cold now, without hers to keep them warm. So heavy." he said, looking his hands, the fingers curled from arthritis. "How can they feel so heavy when her hand's not in them?" Debbie looked at her Grandfather, her heart breaking for him. Then she wrapped her arms around him, hoping the hug would keep him warm. She could hear him starting to hum, then singing in a low voice, more like a whisper. It didn't matter. She knew the words and began to sing them with him. Her eyes they shone like the diamonds You'd think she was queen of the land And her hair hung over her shoulders Tied up with a black velvet band She slid her arm into the crook of his and arm in arm they turned and walked up Charles Street to the assisted living residence. It was growing colder and dark and almost time for him to have dinner and his medications. They were met at the door by one of the staff, Henry, whose Jamaican accent always made them both smile. "Ah, Mr. Thomas, just in time for dinner. Roast beef tonight." Debbie leaned in to kiss her Grandfather's forehead. She'd be staying overnight with her cousin Phil and his husband Ron at their house in Fells Point, then driving back home Sunday morning. Her Grandfather started to walk inside with Henry, then turned to look at Debbie. For a moment he didn't seem to recognize her, then a brightness came into his eyes. "I hope someday you find someone whose hand fits perfectly in yours and keeps it warm." Then he looked at Henry. "Roast beef you said? Mashed potatoes?" "Streak fries and gravy! Nothing but the best for you Mr. Thomas." Laughing, the two of them walked towards the elevator. Smiling, Debbie turned and began to walk back to where she'd parked her car. It was early December when her Father called; she was just getting ready to write her last essay for her European history class. Thomas Charles Massey had died in his sleep during the night. "The doctors said that he went peacefully -- just went to sleep and never woke up again. They said he had a smile on his face -- guess he was having a good dream. Bad thing is that we can't have a funeral -- damned covid! We'll have a memorial service when everything gets back to normal, whenever that is. I know you're busy and I have some more family to call. Your Mom's taking it well -- she's having a Zoom chat with your Uncle Tommy. I think we all knew this was coming. Doesn't really make it any easier though. Give Vanessa a hug for me. Talk to you later Debbie." Debbie felt a small tear beginning to travel down her cheek, then smiled to herself. She'd make sure that, when they could, that Thomas Charles Massey would have a good Irish wake, and that one song in particular, a song to waltz to, would be played. Her eyes they shone like the diamonds You'd think she was queen of the land And her hair hung over her shoulders Tied up with a black velvet band rn"