Endless Dance

Synopsis

The short story “Some Enchanted Evening” opens at a fundraising gala where the protagonist, Gene Ballard, spots his first love, Halle Cunningham Bell. Despite decades of separation and divergent paths, they reconnect on the dance floor and reminisce about their past. As they dance to nostalgic tunes from their youth, they express regrets over lost opportunities and unspoken feelings. The story closes with a bittersweet acknowledgment that while they cannot be together romantically again, their enduring love will always remain.

***** The Story *****

Gene Ballard, dressed in a tux he hadn’t worn in years, was attending the First Annual Save Our Students fundraising gala. He sat facing the dance floor, with his wife next to him. The soft words of Jackie Evancho singing Some Enchanted Evening began to float above the din. Just as she sang, “You may see a stranger, … across a crowded room,” the crowd parted for a second, and he saw a woman on the other side of the room. “Holy shit,” he said to himself and excused himself from the table.

Gene threaded through the group and approached the table with his hand out. “Miss Cunningham, may I have this dance?”

“Oh, my God,” she exclaimed with a startled smile. “It’s been a long time since I was called that. It’s Halle Bell now. Mrs. Bell.” Halle’s smile faltered momentarily as a pang of regret tugged at her heart. Forty years and more had passed since they had last danced together. The two had been engaged to marry, but broke up. Their lives had taken separate paths, but here they were at the same charity gala. Regaining her composure, she said, “Yes, I’d love to dance with you.”

They stepped onto the dance floor to Dick Haymes singing Cheek to Cheek. After a few seconds, Gene said, “This music is perfect. It epitomizes the dreamy essence of the foxtrot with long, graceful strides and sweeping turns. We still dance well together.”

“The foxtrot wasn’t our best dance. We won our first trophy in cha cha,” Halle Cunningham Bell replied as she followed his firm lead in the turn and smiled. “You still lead well. Always did.”

They met in high school, a time when the world was one of endless possibilities, hormones raced, and love was the most potent force in the universe. They would laugh under the stars, dance, and read each other love poems they wrote to each other and about life.

Gene put her in a graceful side dip, his movements flowing and confident despite the passing of time. “It’s been forty years,” he murmured, his gaze meeting hers as he pulled her back into his arms. “You still dance as light as a moonbeam. We should have spent those years dancing together instead of apart.”

“Apparently, fate had other plans for us,” Halle said softly, her fingers tightening around Gene’s hand as they moved counterclockwise around the floor in perfect synchronization. “You quoted Rod McKuen to me then. He said, 'Love hasn’t any windows to see through, but so many doors to walk out of.'”

“I remember. We were too young to understand how profound those words were. As we dance now, more words from McKuen come to mind:

These long years later, it is worse

for I remember what it was

as well as what it might have been. 

“Wow, you remember the words,” Halle exclaimed, then sighed, “That’s from Listen to the Warm. I, too, have thought of them. Gene, I’m grateful for this moment, for the chance to dance with you again.”

Gene nodded, his expression thoughtful as he led her through a series of intricate steps he hadn’t done in more than four decades, and even then, not with anyone other than her. Halle had choreographed them. They executed the routines as if they practiced yesterday. “Me too, Halle. Me too.” 

As they danced, their conversation drifted to the past, to the days when they had been young and ambitious, filled with dreams of each other, following their own professions, and enjoying the world of competitive ballroom dancing. His lips brushed against hers, soft and sweet. Her body relaxed into his, and her cheeks reddened with warmth. They reminisced about the hours they had spent taking lessons and practicing, of winning their first trophy, and of the terrible moment when they realized their engagement had ended forever. 

Silence elapsed for a minute. “Why,” Gene asked rhetorically, “is it easier to forgive an enemy than one you love?”

“That’s William Blake,” Halle recalled aloud, nodding. “We were unstoppable in the day,” Halle said wistfully, her eyes misting over with memories of days long gone. “I was Halle Cunningham back then, and expected to be Halle Ballard. Even our parents approved. Nothing could stand in our way.”

Gene held a position for all four beats. “You made me lose focus on the world and see only you.” Gene paused again, “But we didn’t talk. You always said we were in love and there was no need for words because each of us could just feel the love. You even wrote a poem about that.”

Halle nodded, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “True. I was wrong. But I wrote another poem about us later.”

“Yes, my dear, you were wrong. I needed the later words sooner. I needed you to tell me. I had to hear the magic words of ‘I love you.’ I whispered sweet nothings into your ears because it made me feel good. To express my love — and I believed you enjoyed it.”

Stardust played softly on the dance floor. “This song,” Halle said, “is one we danced to when Les Brown and His Band of Renown played live at a school dance.” The romantic love song swirled around them, and the other dancers faded into the background. Gene and Halle became lost in each other’s arms, their movements seamlessly blending grace and passion. 

Halle tilted her head to make eye contact and said, “It feels as though time is standing still. We’re young again. Our lives yet to live, an endless dance.” Tears leaked from her misty eyes as she looked up at Gene. “If only we could rewind time and start anew.” 

Gene’s gaze softened. He pulled her closer as they danced, his heart swelling with emotion. “I’d like that,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like nothing more. But now we bear hearts heavy with the weight of unspoken words—unfulfilled promises, and real life.”

Gene positioned his legs apart at hip-width to maintain balance. “Do you think you can do our wet dip that you choreographed?” 

Halle giggled, “I can if you can.”

His forearm firmly held her waist. Halle’s arm tightened around his back as he bent forward and lowered her, bending her backward. She took her weight on her left leg and straightened the right between his legs until it struck his pubic bone, a point of contact for balance. It was a fusion of tango, ballet, and ballroom dip. Gene shifted his weight as he brought her back up. “Beautiful,” he said. “Did it work?”

Halle’s face reddened into a broad smile. They had named the routine the wet dip because she got so turned on by it that she lubricated. “I haven’t wet my panties since years before I passed menopause.”

Gene grinned a wiley smile, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Okay. Yes. Not much, but yes I had the same feeling. By the way, I didn’t detect the woody that should have been there.” 

Gene shrugged and gave her a semi-smile. “I didn’t take a blue pill. Sorry.” 

Their dip concluded the dance. As the final notes of the music faded away, Gene and Halle came to a stop in the center of the emptying dance floor, their hearts pounding. They gazed into each other’s eyes. The world was so silent that they not only heard the silence but also felt it. 

Halle said softly, “I have a confession to make. During all these years, my emotions ran the gamut of anger at the breakup to tears of despair to longing. I didn’t tell you in time, but I’m telling you now, my love for you never ended. I wish I had told you back when you needed to hear it. Back when it would have been the glue for our relationship.”

Gene pulled her close to his chest. “Reality is hell. We’re no longer the same people we once were. Too much has changed, too many bridges crossed. Then we had no responsibilities or commitments to anyone other than ourselves. There was only the two of us. Now we have responsibilities and commitments. You love your husband. I love my wife. We have the moral duty not to harm innocent people. People such as spouses, in-laws, nephews and nieces. Our extended families. When we were young, we blew our opportunity to have it all.”

The dance floor was empty, the music gone as the DJ took a break. The two were alone in the center of the room. “Yes,” Halle said. “I think we both know, deep down inside, in our hearts and souls, we can never be a couple again. Not in the way we once were. Our paths have diverged too far, and we arrived at different destinations in life instead of one destination together.”

Gene lowered his head and said, louder than a whisper but lower than his normal voice, “Halle, we will both carry the bittersweet memories of a love that transcended time and space. Ours is a love that will forever be our greatest dance, an endless dance, and will remain in the corridors of our hearts until the end of time.”

“I remember you as quite the romantic poet.”

Gene presented a warm smile. “I speak from the heart. I stopped poetry when I stopped dancing. I stopped dancing when we broke up. I can’t do ballroom dancing alone. But I still love all three: you, poetry and dancing. Does Mr. Bell enjoy dancing or poetry?”

“No. You were the only one.”

“My wife either. You, too, were the only one.”

Gene escorted Halle back to her table and Mr. Bell. Yet, as they bid each other farewell, a sense of peace washed over them. 

Halle’s husband watched her return with a curious expression, noticing a glimmer in the red puffiness of her eyes. Gene kissed her hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Bell, for the wonderful dance.” Releasing her hand, Gene walked away.

 “Who was that?” Mr. Bell asked, his tone troubled with palpable jealousy.

“Just an old friend,” Halle replied softly, offering him a reassuring smile as she watched Gene walk away. “An old, old, friend.”

When Gene returned to his table, his wife had obviously observed them on the dance floor. “Well, I take it you knew her, and it looks like you two had a lot to catch up on.” The voice was casual, but her eyes betrayed more than a hint of suspicion. 

Gene forced a smile to mask the turmoil of emotions stirring within him. “Just reminiscing about old times,” he said nonchalantly as he could muster, though his heart still echoed Stardust and the rhythm of the dance with Halle.

As the night wore on, amid laughter and conversation, Halle and Gene couldn’t shake the memories of their dance. Each wondered what life could have been if they had chosen a different path. Their main attention was to their spouses, but each stole glances across the crowded room. 

They knew that some connections were meant to remain in the past, cherished as bittersweet reminders of a love that once was. That time had passed. They could not be lovers, yet their love for each other, a different type of love, would always remain, a timeless beacon of warmth in the vast expanse of their lives.

Following the meal, the attendees became quiet, and everyone looked at the MC at the podium, about to speak—everyone except Halle and Gene. Their eyes met from across the room. Even at that distance, they could see the other’s eyes glistening ever so slightly with tears as knowing smiles crossed their faces in a vanishing moment—a moment when there was no need for words. It was their silent and endless dance.