NASA Image of the Day

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Watching the Clock for St. Patrick

"Hi there, beautiful." He sidled up to her. The band was playing the nearing end of night songs, and the music had slowed down some.

There was a tired sway to the quiet dancers on the floor.

There was a curious detachment which drew him to her. She turned to him, and their eyes locked for an instant of electric current. He stepped back, a half step. The green flashed out of them, just before he smiled, and he cleared his throat.

"Ah, the sweetness of a hopeful liar." Her eyes were kind, and so was her voice, which sounded like a curious kind of honey in the dark. They smiled at each other.

"The thought of a smile so real made me sad to think that the body attached to it was not dancing," he said, smoothly, in a voice that did not belong to his heart. He felt both a liar, and an alien. She was quite disconcerting.

She laughed a low purr, with her head tilted back to stare up at him, unafraid. He had better not step on her foot, he thought, rapidly, not used to an absence of being impressed with stature. She stood her ground, cocking her head to one side.
Then she winked.

"A dance, Oh Tall One?", she said, quietly, the grin flashing out beyond the removed quietness he had seen in a private space, just a moment ago, as she sat silently, listening to the music. What an unusal woman: he had better not blow this.

"Ah, of course." He held out his hands, smoothly, grinning a boyish grin which he had not expected from himself. He had been about to buy her a drink. They stepped out on to the floor.

As the music began, he drew her towards him. She seemed a comfortable warmth, there, keeping step with him, leaning against him gently in the darkness. Her hair smelled of freesia, cropped close against her head in a kind of curling cap defying both tomboyishness and enforced girliness. She did not force banal conversation; just glided around the floor with him, breathing...comfortable.

He rested his mouth against her temple, and felt the pulse beating there, steadily, as if they had done it for years.

"You smell lovely", he said against her temple, ridiculously.

"Freesia", she said, quietly. "Quite out of date." She chuckled, not moving her head. She liked the way his voice made her ear buzz. She sighed, unapologetically.

He smiled, breathing in her hair. He had not stepped on her foot, as they twirled that last bit, despite talking to him at the same time. He found that rather attractive, in an oddly provocative way, and he was proud of himself for not trodding upon her instep, despite feeling very silly, all of a sudden.

She began to hum to the music. It was quite endearing, since he knew she wasn't hammered. Always so nice when someone knew the actual song, and didn't ruin it by yowling drunkenly, while cavorting about the floor like an idiot. She just hummed, and swirled, like rum.

He breathed, relaxed. They moved about the floor, silently. He raised her palm in his hand, moving his head back to look down at her face. She met his gaze, tilting her head back, and gave a laugh, stepping back, so he had to follow her. She took a quick step to one side, and then the other, not letting go of his hand.

She smiled at him.

"Happy St. Patrick's Day", she said, gently, swaying and stepping gently, as the music crooned quietly around them. " I got my wish."

"And what was that?" he said, gently.

"I wanted to dance with Love", she said, quietly. She touched the side of his face, stepped forward, kissed his nose, laughed.....

and walked briskly from the room.

There were, thankfully, still some women who knew that Time was Precious.