The Dancing Is Over

“How do I seem to you?” I asked him, breathless in anticipation as my body turned to face his, “How do you want me to seem?”

He shook his head slowly, “I don’t… I don’t know.”

My hand twitched, fingers flexing. There was this draw from this man that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, this eerie sort of presence that was familiar and yet foreign at the same time.

Swallowing hard I wondered once more what it would be like to kiss him. Pursing my lips unconsciously and tilting my head up to look at him.

Tall. He was tall. Tall and thin and higher up than anyone I’d met before. So tall and sharp and yet so present in my mind, there to protect and there to keep and there to want me, perhaps.

My eyes fluttered and I took half a step forward, butterflies flittering in my stomach. I was nervous. I was going to do this again. Was I going to do this again? Did I want to?

With him?

Something held me back, something about this didn’t seem quite right. Something in his body language that was inches away from me but pulling back even farther and I realized what it was almost too late.

His eyes were furtive but they weren’t looking at me with lust. His touch was absent because he held no interest in me, none whatsoever.

I was almost offended by that. Maybe it was just the night or maybe it was the dress I was wearing, but to have someone not want me flew in the face of all the expectations of the evenings affairs.

I looked good. Good enough for so many men to want me. Good enough to maybe even fool myself into believing that was what I wanted as well. Good enough to make me almost, almost want to be a woman.

And yet in spite of that he didn’t want me, not in that way. He wanted others, other girls maybe, but for me his attentions were those of a sibling, almost. A mild annoyance and a bit of condescension and though he was older I knew that wasn’t the answer. That wasn’t the reason that he kept me at bay.

But what it was, I didn’t know.

“Hmm,” he said, deliberately stepping back and recognizing the movement I’d made, shutting me down and shutting me down hard, “Maybe I didn’t recognize it after all.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked him, “You’re speaking in riddles.”

He sighed, then flashed a carefree grin and shrugged, “Probably just the drink. Pay me no mind.”

The moment, whatever it had been, was gone. I wasn’t going to get anymore out of him and he turned, as if to pay tribute to that fact, back to the party to stare down at the dancing mass.

I turned too, taking them in and closing my arms over my body, suddenly well aware of how cold I was. This mysterious gentleman proved not to be much of a gentleman at all when he didn’t so much as offer me my coat in spite of the shivers.

But I didn’t know that I wanted it. I got this sense that maybe there was an enormity behind those eyes and engaging with it would be a deliberate choice. That I’d need more information before I made my final decision, before I knew what the right choice would be.

Standing in silence wouldn’t accomplish that. To get answers I would need action.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Why do you want to know?” he replied.

I turned to him, dropping my arms to the side and looking at him. Wondering at this mysterious figure and wondering why he was standing here with me. His goals. His aims. All of it a mystery to me.

“Because I want to know,” I said.

But he shook his head, “That’s not reason enough for me.”

Below us the music faded out and the lights stayed but started to flicker. The crowd started to shift and a muffled voice spoke over the loudspeaker, the tones but not the words reaching us.

Stepping back from me, my mystery man gave a little half bow and though I stepped forward he still continued his retreat.

“Wait,” I called out, “Why are you going?”

“It’s late,” he replied as the darkness swept in and closed over him, “The dancing is over. It’s time to go home.”

And I let him go, my last question dying on my lips. Wondering why, if he had to go, he didn’t leave me with any answers.

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