They Used to Dance · 22 November 2014

Dance at Bougival by Renoir
This work is in the public domain.

“I remember dancing with you for the first time.”

He looked up from his book into the glistening eyes of his beautiful wife. “I remember too.” He took off his reading glasses and continued, “I saw you from across the room at that first dance class and was excited when we were paired up to dance for the mock competition. We were only about thirty seconds into the dance when the referee tapped me on the shoulder and we were out.” He shrugged, put his glasses back on, and started to read again.

“They’re called judges.” He shrugged again without looking up. She sighed. “I know it’s cliché, but it was the start of a beautiful relationship.”

He grunted in reply. Again without looking up.

She mumbled to herself as she gazed into the roaring fire, “What happened to us?”

He looked over his reading glasses. He knew the look. She was not just reminiscing. She was missing the kids. She was missing their old life together, first as a couple and then as a family. She was thinking that life was passing her by. She was wondering if he still cared.

He made a decision. He took off his glasses and carefully placed them down on the end table. He marked his place in his book and set it next to his glasses. She turned her gaze from the fire and watched with curiosity as he stood up from his chair and moved the ottoman out from in front of her, where she had been using it before curling her feet up under her. He reached beside her to her end table, turned off the light, and turned up the volume on the stereo. He took her book from her lap and placed it gently on the end table next to the stereo remote. She was shocked when he stood up to his full height and reached down with one outstretched hand. He looked deep into her eyes and asked, “May I have this dance?”

She looked up and blushed. It had been a while. Years, in fact. She stood and nervously curtsied. He took her right hand in his left and pulled her close. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Then, they danced.

She was taken back to that first time as they twirled around the fire lit room. So was he. He had teased her about them being the first ones eliminated in the mock dance competition long ago. But they both knew, then and now, that the dance and its lasting memory, were just the first of many.

#TwitterFiction (on Twitter from 11/17/2014 – 10/20/2014)

© 2014 Michael T. Miyoshi

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