Her Steps

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. A gust of warm autumn wind blew past me and carried my hair with it. A leaf came to rest on my temple, wedged between my brow and glass, but I could not be bothered. The leaves were on fire. Never before had I seen such a gracious sight. It was more beautiful than the explosion of a supernova, warmer than my grandmother's cooking, and yet icyer than the driest ice in Antarctica. The leaves moved in the breeze and crinkled in my ear. It was not the leaves that moved me, but they added so well to the ambiance as I gazed at the ethereal being before me. 

She danced. Skip, skip, hop. Kneel, drop. Rise, bow, spin, and stop. Her hair did not dance, but through her eyes I saw all the colors a child can catch in a fly's bottom. They were the dark you would expect to find under your bed at midnight, but that was what made them so alluring. I do not know why the slightest instance of my gaze meeting hers gave me such a rush of serotonin. I could not bring myself to stop, and she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Her ruffled tutu jumped and swayed, her arms stretched to pluck at the hiding moon, and her mouth lifted slightly at the corner. Twirl, twirl, jump, twist, stop. As I stood there, entranced by her, I could not help but wonder where she came from and why her spirit danced so freely. I would never know these things, however, because just then it started to pour. The leaves were no longer on fire, and she stood drenched. 

The beautiful being I spent so long gazing at no longer looked ethereal, gracious, or joyful. The women I saw before me looked nothing more and nothing less than a human. After a moment's hesitation I remembered I had an umbrella and walked out to stand in front of her, shielding her from the downpour.  

No longer staring into the sky, but at my crimson umbrella, she turned her head to lock eyes with me. Perhaps it was not her dancing, or looks that had captivated me for so long, but her gaze. The rush was too great to hide and as soon as she looked I was the same shade as my umbrella. I could not stand to explain to her why I blushed so, so I left her my umbrella and caught the nearest bus going anywhere. 

Two months passed and she lived in my mind. I could not forget her no matter how much I wished I could. The aching feeling above my lungs would not stop either. When I asked my friends about this and explained the whole thing, they only laughed and said I was drunk. Perhaps I really was drunk, and she did not exist. Somehow, that thought only intensified the dull ache in my chest. I pulled myself out of my thoughts at this and took a look around. A puddle settled outside my window and reflected the happenings of the outside world. Facing the world all at once has always been too much for me, so I just studied small aspects of it individually. A small paper boat floated atop the puddle, clouds drifted softly, and a little boy played with a beetle as it tried to escape certain death. The beetle looked about a inch big and had purple wings and a large horn. It was tied on a string, which the boy held. He looked to be five years of age and wore a soft-yellow raincoat paired with duckling rain boots. I smiled at his childish innocence. Here he committed murder, but it was just a game. 

Someone sat across from me and placed a vanilla-coffee down. I had always come here, to Little Bean’s Coffee, alone and sometimes strangers- mostly men, would join me. Perhaps it was to make me look less of a loner. I turned away from the boy to give my greetings and thanks, but was met with a familiar upturned smile. It was her. My mind had not been playing tricks on my drunkard self, she really existed. She placed my red umbrella down on the table and pushed it towards me. I had not paid mind before, but now I made it a point to check. I tore my gaze away from hers and watched her hands. She wore two silver rings and had eight of her nails painted a snow-white. A small bubble of joy bloomed and I noticed that my chest no longer ached. In excitement I placed my arm on the table, raised my forearm, and dropped my hand. Two seconds passed and I felt guilt building inside me, what if she were deaf or only spoke ASL and I had just mocked her? 

“Yes.” 

My worries were for nothing! We talked for hours over coffee and the sun came to rest. I had never felt such a deep connection to another person before. It was like finding a lost part of myself, a carrot for my snowman, the water to my sea. My joy was not short lived, this blessing of a human grabbed hold of me and dragged me back to the place we first met. 

She tied her hair, pulled on a tutu, and removed her coat. Swoop, twirl, twist, twirl, bow, swish. Sparks scattered across the floor and the puddles evaporated at her touch creating more sparks to lace the air. Suddenly I was laughing, and she smiled. We danced together, myself less graciously, and together we lit the autumn leaves afire. They not only drifted along the floor to our steps, they picked in the wind and danced with us. Her steps, light as they were, carried such weight the pavement could not hold us and we floated into the night. Together like twin dragons we danced in sync, showering sparks on the world below. And I could not have felt any happier than I did at that moment.