Suddenly Secondary Pt. 3
Toes tap under the wail of harmonicas, four feet or two pairs step across the creak of hardwood. The quartet stands on the stage with steel guitars making the sound of unison. My dusted boots cross through the steps of her Mary Janes, my hands twirling the girl with ocean eyes. Her dress catches air and spins following her movements. The bright lights above cast such a shimmer against her sand-colored hair that I thought she might be perfect. There are other souls in the barn of the big swing dance, but she’s the only one with any weight, the only one I want to see in the shimmer. She’s the one to calm my tremulous heart; she’s the one to calm my frenetic quiver. Her smile hones in on my weakest point and bursts my chest wide open.
Nice moves, kid.
Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.
Retrieving a drink from a bowl of punch, a band of sweat began to pool along my hairline like I had just railed a line, but there was nothing artificial this time. For once, my heart beat to the rhythm of a fiddle and not to the demands of the fear of coming down. I’ve been up most nights living low in the shallow. She has yet to see the devil in me as I project my angels against the cleaned stalls and broom-swept planks. I return to Miss Ocean Eyes and drown inside of them instead of a bottle. I clamor, pouring my whole self into her. I extend my digits, palm up, waiting for the most perfect fit I’ve ever felt. She takes my hand, and I feel no need for any shelter other than hers.
One more?
I really should be going; it’s getting late, and I’ve got a list of chores tomorrow longer than a grocery list.
What’s one more dance?
I suppose the list can wait. After all, what is one more dance?
One more dance is the precipice of eternity, the threshold of the rest of our lives. She follows the tracks carved out by my bootprints. All my mistakes culminate inside of this moment as the music slows and we collide, chest to chest, her head resting lightly on my shoulder, my hand straddling her lower back. We move side to side, swaying underneath a melody made of love and light. The banjo rips a solo, and we follow it intently, acting like we know how to perform this dance.
Do you mean what you said?
Depends, what exactly did I say?
About me being ninety and about wanting never to spend a day without me?
Darlin’, I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.
She broke from my shoulder and stared deep into the brown of my iris, saying nothing. No sound escaped her lips, yet I knew exactly what she wanted to communicate. She looked away and returned to her position on my shoulder, taking up the dance again, following my lead like I knew what I was doing. A strange confidence, a confidence felt for the first time, like a second nature I never needed to learn as every step was instinct and not a choice I’d ever need to make again. If I followed what felt right, I’d have this little number to dance with her, and she would follow me through the thicket of redemption. I didn’t have the nerve to tell her that I was following the beats of her heart and every position my feet made were stepped in the hope she followed.
Cover Art: Trouble - Ray LaMontagne
