The Dancing Girl

“You can do it! Just follow my lead.” The dancing girl spun in a circle and flashed me a grin. She reached to take my hand and I let her. I had only known her for a few minutes and already I knew there was little I wouldn't let her do. “One step forward like this, then slide to the side and twirl.” She demonstrated the movements of the dance and I clumsily followed along. The second I walked into this bar and saw her twirling around in the dim and colorful lights, gracefully completing each movement as she glided across the dance floor, I knew there was no way that I could compare to her level of mastery. I made no attempt to even try. How could you? Her skill was unmatched.

I had decided earlier, when she slid next to me to order another drink, that she could be nothing other than a demon born in the fiery pits of hell, for she was bathed in sinful allure. With her inky black hair and deep brown eyes, she could make the most righteous of men turn their backs on their convictions. Now, as we danced—or rather—she danced and I stomped around like my limbs were made of wood, I found truth in my decision. The loud, jolly music in the background did nothing to diminish the dark, intoxicating aura that surrounded her, drawing me in with every breath.

Her laughs were coated in sweet honey and her words were laced in lustful prose. She was a storm, a hurricane sweeping through my defenses, effortlessly destroying everything that I ‘d built.

We twirled for hours, dancing late into the night. The bar eventually closed but she didn’t let that end our encounter. “You wanna do something really fun?” she asked as we stood outside of the bar, the city lights dancing around us in different hues.

She left no room for any other option, and I made no effort to fight for one. My heartbeat picked up in speed as I anticipated what she had in mind. With no hesitation the words, “Of course,” tumbled out of my mouth as if they’d been impatiently waiting in the crevices, praying for their sweet release. 

A sultry, wicked smile slid across her lips and she grabbed my hand and took off running down the street. The buckles on her black leather pants glittered like lost stars as we ran through the city, ducking through alleys and crossing streets.

My eyes stayed glued to her silhouette the entire time. I cared not where we were going, nor what she intended so long as I was with her.

Some may think it foolish of me to be so enraptured with her after only a few hours, however those who believe that have clearly never met this dancing woman. Life to her, was a performance, a choreography that only she could create, and when she danced for you you couldn’t help but join. You stood mesmerized as she spun around on her stage, and desperately hoped that you could come even a little bit close to what she’d created. You danced on the sidelines, not caring if it was in her shadow as long as you got to dance with her. There was nothing she could ask for that you would deny. From the moment she started to perform, you were hers.

It was no surprise then, that I couldn’t help but follow her as we did our own dance through the streets. The purpose of it was unclear, but you didn’t need one when she led.

She eventually brought us to the top of an abandoned building where we stood hand in hand, overlooking the city, and a deep, content laugh bellowed out of me. She joined in and for a moment it felt as if nothing could be more perfect, however rain began to fall from the sky and she spun me in a circle on top of the roof, proving that to be wrong. Together we danced, creating our own little performance. One that was beautifully clumsy and offbeat. 

Under the pouring rain, I pulled her in and kissed her with everything in my being before pulling away. She wrapped her arms around me, threw her head back, and laughed. Around us, the cold rain droplets transformed into the loud applause of a crowd satisfied with the dancing girl and her new partner.

Many nights and stolen kisses later, I was just as captivated with her as I’d been the night we met, however it had become clear to me that she was no demon, but a fallen angel cast out of heaven for rivaling the likes of god. Her intentions were too pure, and her smile too genuine, to be a creation of evil. 

This time the stage was a beautiful golden sky over an ever expanding field. Together, me and her sat on a baby blue blanket, the soft hue a delicate contrast to the emerald grass beneath it. Today she’d shed her sinful grin and replaced it with that of a graceful smile. The darkness in her had been tamed, if only for a short while.

Her hair gently blew in the breeze as she told me of her past, her childhood. Words fluttered out of her mouth like fallen leaves, a small piece of her on each one. I stared at her, transfixed, and picked up every leaf, tracing the pattern she had spent so much time creating. I traced them back to the tree they had fallen from, and came to appreciate it even more.

For hours we sat in the cool evening air, exchanging stories and tales of different genres. Eventually, we came to a point in our exchange that was hard for me to complete. The story I was set to tell, the performance I meant to reenact, was stuck on the tip of my tongue. Disappointment slowly seeped into my being. I’d wanted to share this with her in confidence. She had stripped herself bare already, who was I to deny her the same courtesy? Yet no matter how dearly I wished the words would fall from my lips, they stayed glued to the roof of my mouth. To my dismay, the ocean of tears I kept locked inside chose to take this wasted opportunity and make an appearance. I choked on the strength of their tide, and it was all I could do to keep them down. My eyes stayed glued to the blanket as I waited for her to reprimand me for ruining the night, however she never did.

Quietly, she placed her hand on my cheek and softly pecked my lips. “Do not rush, darling. We have all the time in the world.” The sun had already set and the hour was getting late. She knew as well as I that we didn’t, but she didn’t care. When I looked into her eyes they were confident and sure. She would wait for hours if she must, for my sake. 

As fireflies sparkled around our blanket, I pulled her to my chest and allowed the tears to fall. She asked for nothing, only held me tightly and rubbed soothing circles into my back. Eventually, when the tears had stopped, I allowed the words to fall in their place. She listened quietly and contently. I could tell by her eyes that she was gathering the words in her hands and storing them in her heart.

That was the night our performances began to synchronize. My movements were no longer so far behind, and her grace was no longer so far ahead.

Our next moment of synchronization was at a funeral. The set wasn’t as pretty as before, and the mood wasn’t as bright. Together we sat in the church pews, our seats in the front. Before us laid a black coffin, a woman resting inside. She had been sleeping for a while now, yet her features still contained warmth. There was an everlasting comfort in them. One death could not take away. 

Beside me, my dancing girl wept. She was draped in black from head to toe, the color creating a startling contrast to the paleness of her skin. Her features were similar to that of the woman in the coffin, though where the sleeping girl was peaceful and content this girl was the exact opposite. There was no peace in her features. How could there be, when she had been left behind? Death always behaved that way. It took from you, it stranded you, and then life demanded that you get over it. 

I grabbed the dancer’s hands and covered them with my own. She let out a cry, a wail and pushed herself into my arms. In her eyes laid the hope that I could solve this issue. That if she held on tightly enough I could squeeze this reality away. I could not however, and so I simply held her tighter and cursed my mortality. I held her fragile, shaking body in my arms and wished more desperately than I ever had that the body in the coffin would reanimate. I prayed that this would turn out to be a big, cruel prank so the noises the woman in my arms relentlessly made would cease. Of course, I received no answer and could only try my best to comfort her.

Defeatedly, I glanced at the coffin and allowed my eyes to fall on the woman who had passed, the dancer’s beloved sister. I had to quickly avert my eyes upon seeing the likeness of her and my dancer’s faces. It was all too easy to imagine her lying in that coffin instead, my shattered soul sobbing beneath it. It was an image I didn’t want to see, yet one I couldn’t avoid. It haunted me throughout the entire funeral service. Possibly even after.

I do not recall when we arrived at the cemetery, however I do recall the dark gray sky that greeted us. A storm was on the horizon. 

The sleeping girl’s coffin was carried to her final resting place and lowered into the ground. Silently, the mismatched group of family members and acquaintances watched as it made contact with the dirt beneath it. 

The dancing girl walked from where she stood at my side and stepped up to the grave. I allowed her to go on her own, knowing she needed this space to herself. Standing before it, she crumpled to her knees. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed and weeped, soft, strangled cries escaping her lips. 

Rain began to fall around us and she turned her face to the sky, her cries coming to a momentary halt. She was silent for a while. 

Just when I was about to step forward and offer my aid, she let out a low, bitter laugh. She stared at the sky like a crazed woman, a violent grin on her lips. This wasn’t a joyful moment however, there was anger laced in the quiet melody. She was bitter. Resentful. 

Her laughter eventually transformed into more heavy sobs and she knelt over the ground. This time she cried with seemingly no end. Around us, the people said their words of farewell and made their way back to the comfort of their homes. Within minutes me and the weeping woman were the only ones left. 

When I could bear her sobs no longer, I walked up to her and got to my knees. I looked at her rain drenched face and stared in silence. We sat like that for a while. Me engraving her image into my heart so that I would remember to protect her from this pain, and her crying to her heart's content in an effort to come to terms with her reality. Eventually, she looked at me and one word fell from her lips. “Why?” She searched my eyes for answers, anything to save her from this truth, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t save her, and that alone broke my heart. 

She read the answer in my eyes and her shoulders sagged. The life drained from her all at once and she collapsed on the stage, no longer having the energy to go on. 

I silently took her into my arms and carried her back to our car. As I walked, I pulled her as tightly into my arms as I could. I hoped that if I could meld her body with mine I could carry her burden. That if we could join one another she wouldn’t be so alone. 

That of course, didn’t happen physically, but with each step, I felt our souls intertwine and connect. Our spirits fused together in perfect synchrony, and we were no longer so separate. She snuggled in closer and I could tell, even in her grief-addled state, she felt it too.

Days passed. Months. It was not easy for the dancer to get back on her feet, but slowly and surely, she did. She eventually worked herself back up into full performances, and the honey sweet themes returned.

During this time, I stayed patiently by her side. She often asked me why I did, but my answer was always the same. From the moment I’d stepped into the bar that night, I was hers. Nothing could ever change that. As I stood at the end of the aisle, church pews spread out before me, I was only more sure of that fact. 

The church was buzzing with the quiet murmurs of friends and family, similar, yet completely different than the last time we had been in a church.

Gone was the gloomy atmosphere, and in its place was excited anticipation. The rest of the guests and I were eagerly waiting for my beautiful bride to walk down the meticulously decorated aisle.

Luckily, not too long after I had taken up my spot, a small flower girl stood up with a basket of flowers and began to throw them across the path as she approached where I stood. The flowers she threw came in various hues and laid delicately across the path.

When the little girl finished throwing them, she took a seat in the front of the church and I gave her a small smile. In the background, a wedding bell rang and I snapped my head back towards the aisle. Soft music began to play as the bride, my bride, walked through the doors, her father at her side. . 

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the scene before me. I took in her radiant smile and her golden aura, and decided that she could be nothing less than an angel. With each step she took I was even more sure.

Her skin sparkled as if it were covered in stardust, her eyes were like deep pools of honey, and her smile… her smile was the most beautiful thing of all. Its radiance could be compared to nothing, for even the sun paled in comparison. She was like a deity gracing the room with her benevolent presence. 

I wanted to say something, to tell her, but the words wouldn’t come. I could only stand there, enchanted by her beauty.

When she reached the end of the aisle, she kissed her father on the cheek and stepped onto the platform in front of me. She looked me up and down, studying my outfit, my features, everything. I did the same to her, needing to take multiple glances to ensure that what I was seeing was real. I desperately wished to say something, to compliment her, but my mouth was glued shut and I couldn’t, for the life of me, get it to open. 

I felt a hint of guilt creep up on me for not being able to assure her, however when our eyes met all the things left unspoken passed between us. She smiled at me and I could tell she knew everything that I wanted to say. 

Next to us, the priest began to finalize the marriage. I was worried that my mouth would fail me again, however I was able to say my vows without any problem. 

When it came time for the rings, I smiled as we slid them on each other’s fingers and said our “I do’s.”

The priest looked each of us in the eye and said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Before I pulled her in I asked her, “Will you be my dance partner, my love?”

She looked at me and smiled, her brown eyes clear and sure, “For all of eternity.”

I pulled her in for a kiss and as our lips met I knew that meeting her was the best thing that would ever happen to me. She was forever my beloved, and I would cherish her for as long as I lived.

When I first came up with the idea of sharing with the world this beautiful woman, I came up with several extravagant ideas. A video, a painting, spoken poetry, however I soon realized none of these ideas were worthy enough, in fact, I don’t believe anything in this world could ever be worthy of her. It stumped me for some time since nothing could fully capture her spirit, however after contemplating it heavily, I concluded that honesty was best. No embellishments, no fancy designs, just her, pure and untainted. These short memories in no way reflect her true essence; however they are as honest and real as one can ever be. I hope that through them you will come to learn of her, to appreciate her, to recognize her. And by her, I mean those like her. The other dancers twirling around on their personal stages. If and when one of them spins into your life, be ready to catch them, to hold them, and to cherish them. I promise you, you will never regret it.