Her sea green eyes are pointedly focused on me as I sit next to her on the couch. Her dry, cold hand lies over mine, and tightens. I squirm as her platinum wedding band digs into my knucklebones. It hurts.

But she is grinning stiffly at me.

In a measured tone she says, “My dear, I have a gift for you that no one else in the family wants. They are too cheap to insure it so I’m giving it to you, my youngest granddaughter.”

My grandmother doesn’t give anything without strings attached. Even at ten years old I know this.

My mother and father sit in wingback chairs across the room by the fireplace. They look mystified by this interaction. My grandmother is not a generous person.

“A girl must have this,” she says pointedly, as she dramatically reaches behind her back and pulls out an antique black velvet case. My blue eyes become rounder as she inches toward me. Not quite giving it to me, she breathes on me saying, “It was my wedding present from my late husband, Mr. Forbes McCreery. I was very young when I married him.  Now it is yours.”

The touch of velvet on my palms is like reindeer antlers on a moonlit night in the Arctic. My imagination is awhirl with images of what could be inside.

The top flips open and there lies a delicate lacy diamond shiny glittery necklace.

“It’s Victorian,” is all she says.

My parents sit in stunned silence. They have never seen this necklace before.

Speechless, I rise from the couch; the velvet case lays flat on my palms like an offering. I skip toward my bedroom and close the door.  I gently open the case again and am mesmerized by the twinkle and wink of Austrian cut diamonds and platinum lacework that sparkle against the black velvet.

I place it around my neck and the cold of the diamonds on my skin is exquisite. Shivers of pleasure run through me as I realize it is mine. A fairytale princess necklace that has come true. Rarely in my vast imaginary world do objects actually materialize.

Words are not enough to show my awe at such a gift. Words are dull stones, nothing compared to the intricate beauty of the necklace.

I know what to do to show my grandma how I feel about this gift.

I wrap several silk scarves my mother lets me play with around my slight frame.

“Mama!” I call from my bedroom. “Please put ‘Dolly Dawn’ on the record player.”

Shuffling and muttering sounds come from the living room and then the sunshine pulse of Caribbean steel drums and honey butter voice of Harry Belafonte heralds my arrival as I snake my way down the dim hallway, entering the living room with a leap and spin. I twirl around the furniture. I shimmy and shake as inspiration grabs me, and one by one I throw the scarves off as I gyrate like a dervish moth in the flame of joy. All that is left on my naked body is the sparkly gorgeous diamond necklace.

Raising my arms up to the heavens in salutation, I turn and bow to my grandma, absolutely convinced I have given her the perfect dance of gratitude.

She sits stiffly upright on the couch, hands tucked lightly under her soft thighs, mouth wide open, gaping like a fish on land. Staring at my exuberant nudity.

She is Victorian, after all.

This story is included in my book Dance Life: Movin’ and Groovin’ Around the Globe.