The Dancer

The Dancer

Though I’ve tried many of times to capture the way she feels when she dances, my words are never sufficient. I can paint pictures with words but never have I ever been able to paint her dancing. It wasn’t love at first sight with us, no, in fact she thought I was repulsive. However, I told her after her third show, and third interview, that I would marry her. Of course she laughed, she rolled on the floor laughing. It was not her intent to be rude, it’s just what our relationship had come to consist of. After all she was desired by all, and I, no one. She was beautiful, eyes as blue as the aquamarine jewel she wore around her neck. Brown hair that flowed around her as she did her twirls under the spotlight. She was a shining diamond meant for the stage and I a lowly reporter, meant for a desk.

I knew I was in love with her after our second interview together. I asked her the usual questions but halfway through the interview she asked me one.

“Can you express through your words how music makes you feel?”

I was dumbfounded, and the best response I could come up with being a journalist was of course a question. “Can you express how music makes you feel?”

She squinted her blue eyes at me as if to pierce me with them and said, “I love music, the reason I dance is to show the world how the music makes me feel.”

I spent the next two months obsessing over what she said. I slaved over a desk trying to write the feelings of music, but I couldn’t. I was stumped. The only solution in my crazy mind was to marry this puzzle.

It wasn’t easy getting Penelope to fall for me, I had to bust out every single joke I had. I couldn’t win her over with looks or money, humor was all I really had. After I tricked her into a date with me I used every penny I had to make it incredible. However it all fell to bits, and she laughed at my attempt.

To this day I’m not sure if she liked laughing with me or at me. I didn’t mind though, I just loved to see her smiling.

When she fell ill, and couldn’t dance anymore, she stopped smiling. I would bend over backward to make her laugh again, and sure she would, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t have that glimmer in her eye.

She fought for months and months, and you wouldn’t believe how many times I saw her out of bed, trying to waltz alone. I would always put her back in bed and say, “If you love me please just rest.”

And she would always respond. “Sorry dear, you will always and forever be my second love, for I lost my heart long ago to the rhythms and the beats.”

I looked up and saw the teary eyes of our kids, and their kids, and their families. I could fill my eyes overwhelmed by tears of my own. “If we cry, we cry tears of joy. She is dancing with Angels with now, and I’m sure they are watching her, showing the heavens how the music makes her feel.

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