Day 35
There’s something dangerous about her.
“I want to go!” She springs from her seat and holds out a
hand.
“Where?” I ask.
“Dancing! Let’s go dancing!”
“It’s midnight and pouring. There’s nowhere to go,” I
protest, curling back into my half asleep haze on the couch.
“Lies. There are always places to go,” she walks out of the
room, throwing her sleeping clothes to the floor. She returns a few minutes
later wrapped tight in a teal dress and walking tall in her stilettos. Her eyes
are as dark as the clouds, the irises like little raindrops. I sigh. As usual, I’m
her umbrella.
“Let me get dress,” I groan.
Twenty minutes later, she’s dragging me through the pouring
rain to a club. Her hair’s curled out past her shoulders and her makeup is
halfway down her face. Gripping my hand as if she’s pulling me up to the sky,
she pulls me in.
We’re dancing in the mass of people. We’re pushing and
pulling from the world. One minute we’re here in the midst of every other rain drenched
body. The next, we’re twirling on our own little cloud.
I watch her pirouette like a tornado and crash like thunder.
She’s everywhere. Sliding her hand down another man’s chest. Winking as she
shakes her hips with some girl. But she always holds out a hand and comes right
back to me. Her umbrella.
I could hate her for all that she puts me through. I could
let my little storm go. Instead, I shield her from the sun when it’s too bright
for her eyes and protect her from her own destructive nature.
Wrapping her arms around my shoulders, she beams up at me
with that lightening smile. I smile back and pretend it’s sunlight warming my
icy skin. She comes in bursts of good and waves of bad. Now, she’s wonderful. I’m
going to count my stars and hold her in my arms. I love her and, at least for
now, she loves me.
There’s nothing wrong with dancing in the rain.
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