The Dancer

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But don’t all stories begin that way?

I saw her. Through all those sheets of rain, I saw her. Whether she saw me is still debatable, but that’s not the story. I watched her, letting myself soak to the bone in the worst rainstorm I’ve seen in a decade. Despite all that happened, I’d still say it was worth it.

I was coming out of the five-and-dime – I’m actually not sure what a five-and-dime really is, but it sounds better than “grocery store”, doesn’t it? – and walked face-first into torrential rains that weren’t there when I had gone in. I tripped over my slippery leather shoes as I blinked the water out of my eyes. This wasn’t going to be an easy walk home.

I reached into my coat, holding it over my head to keep its contents out of the rain and hoping my cigarettes weren’t as saturated as I was, and found myself in luck. I stopped under an awning to light up, staring down into the small flame that practically stumbled out of the lighter. With my tools back in their proper places, I looked up as I inhaled… and choked on my own noxious by-product.

It was her.

My fingers began their perpetual nervous habit of tapping, one after the other, the air. I forget how it started, I suppose I thought it would look cool one day and decided to try it. It usually happens to my right hand, my strong hand if you will, but if the feeling takes me I can do it with both.

I taptaptaptapped with my free hand, blinking slowly between every few rounds, wondering if she could see me from where she was. My awning was in plain sight, but the black, unused doorway I had stepped into betrayed much less than my face did. I let myself fall back against the doorframe, my body focused as fully as my mind on her spot across the street. I stood there, as nonchalantly as possible, tapping, blinking and smoking -- drawing all the attention in the world. Except for hers.

She didn’t have an umbrella. She never would have. She used to say that carrying one would affect her stride, her self-proclaimed most important feature -- and it was. It hurt my eyes to see her there, letting things as insignificant as rain droplets speed past her. Her auburn hair was only vaguely recognizable under the layers of water it had accumulated, and I could only imagine how much it killed her to feel its weight on her head and shoulders. Excess weight hindered movement, and movement was her forte.

She was a dancer by day, a dancer by night and a dancer every time in between. Everything she did was set to some inaudible music, heavy or light when appropriate, flourishing or almost invisible where it counted. Her success had never matched up to her ability, but that was to be expected. Her body was a private temple, and those don’t get very far in her line of work.

She was impeccably dressed, a surprise considering it was a Wednesday night. Wednesdays were work nights, meaning she’d spend her trek home clad in sweats or leggings, not the black pantyhose and form-fitting red dress I had caught her in. I wondered out loud what could have caused such a drastic change in routine, and stopped breathing as I saw her head tilt up.

She could definitely see me now.

I could see her pretty face squinting at my ugly mug from across the street. When she was sure I was who she thought I was, she smiled and crossed the street with more grace than a champion cat. I couldn’t help but gawk as her damp dancer’s body filled more and more of my view.

“You look as dumb as a turkey about to drown itself in the rain, Harry. It’s not a good look, hun.”

I reluctantly closed my mouth, a little peeved that I’d let her catch me off guard like that.

“While you’re at it, you might wanna drop that stogey before it burns your pretty little hand.”

At her last syllable I felt the heat from the cherry of my cigarette make contact with my fingers, burning what was already scarred skin – she’d had me like this before. My hand snapped at the pain and the cigarette went flying into a puddle halfway across the street. She laughed as I felt the burn move up my hand to my cheeks and the backs of my ears. I was a mess. I let a rough “son of a *****” slip through my silence, which only added to her amusement.

She walked slowly out of the rain and into my dry world under the awning, dripping water and sex appeal. It came so easily to her.

“You going to gimmie a hug or what?”

I could barely breathe, let alone move.

“Aw, you’re a sweetie. It can’t be that great to look but not touch. You know that was never my rule with you. After all those years you spent looking after me, it would’ve gotten weird, don’tcha think?”

She never could get a good read on me. I wasn’t like the guys at the club. I might gawk and stutter like the rest of them, but there was one difference between me and all those other bozos that always threw her off my scent.

“You look beautiful, Nancy.”

She had this way of smiling with her whole body. Not only did her face relax and her eyes light up, her shoulders would loosen and she’d let her weight shift from one leg to another – like she was about to dance. A gust of wind blew through her hair, just to complete the picture.

She was the one to ruin the moment.

“Got a stogey for me?”

“You know I always wanted you to quit.”

“Well I did, you just weren’t around for it.”

I raised my eyebrow and reached for my pack anyway. I handed her my lucky, wondered if she’d notice, and started to pull out my lighter. She shook her free hand at me.

“Nah, I’ve got my own.”

I watched as the fire spread through the end of the cigarette, concentrating on the reds and oranges. I’d gotten lost in the colors when a sudden jolt of pain hit my sinuses and the bridge of my nose. I fell back a little and blinked hard.

“I didn’t know you felt that strongly about me smoking, Harry. You shoulda said something.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Go ahead and smoke. I just got this pain in my head. Sorta reminds me of the pain you used to cause in my ass.”
She smiled again and we both broke out in laughter. We stayed like that, laughing in the isolated dryness, until our faces began to settle and grow dark. The memories came back to me first, but hit her harder. She found the words first.

“He stills finds me, y’know. Once every couple of months I’ll see his face at a recital or my studio or outside my window and I’ll know I have to change again. You’d think I’d learn my lesson and stop dancing, but—“

“—you can’t.”

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

I stared into the patch of sidewalk between our feet. He’d been the reason I left. I got jealous and ran off before any of us could realize a guy nicknamed “The Mouse” could still cause trouble. It’d been 3 years and I still hadn’t forgiven myself. Only the most heartless of guys would after seeing all the cuts and bruises the son of a ***** had given her the day she left him.

“I never forg—“

“Forgot? Yeah, I don’t think any of us will. Better for me, though. Keeps me running from him. I may get tired but I sure as hell look better tired and alive than I do dead and beaten.”

“No, Nancy I never forgave myself. I never got into that fight and I never broke my leg. I put in my papers a month before it happened, and was packed and gone before Tommy even found the first bruise. I was jealous. I hated him because I wanted you. And you never noticed me. You’d always give me that look around him, like you were seeing right through me ‘cause I wasn’t there or something. Like right now…”

I saw her face before I heard the car. I turned, wasting precious moments, just to make sure. The obnoxious green and $100 bill decals blurred together as I lunged forward, making contact with Nancy’s body before I hit the ground. I never once noticed I’d rubbed up against her breasts or grazed her cheek with my lips. I don’t think she did either.

The car that would make Ben Franklin roll over in his grave went flying out of sight around the corner, and I slowly rolled off Nancy in the direction of the street. I checked the ground for blood.

“Well shit, I would’ve rather you kicked me in the nuts and been done with it.”

Lying there on my back, still under the awning and out of the heavy rain, I lit up another cigarette as I felt the life drain out of me. I smoked slowly and stared at the blood on my left hand. It flowed in between my knuckles and down my fingers, slow and smooth – like a dancer.