A Pocket Full of Stories

A Pocket Full of Stories

Dancing Alone

            She wore a light blue dress that quivered about her ankles as she moved, balanced perfectly in her matching shoes.  The silk and taffeta rustled gently.  She had been dancing all evening, with a young man from a different company.  A company that was not yet waiting to die.

            Andrews was in his formals and they were still spotless and pressed as he had first received them.  The starching was only beginning to fall out of his collar.  He sat at his table, alone, safe behind the remains of dinner.  From here he could observe their dancing.

            The two stayed almost in the same spot as they danced, merely turning around each other.  It was because the man couldn’t dance like the others spinning in the middle of the floor.  Andrews could tell she did not love the young man.  He was one of many soldiers that called at her house and had been fortunate enough to have been the first to ask her to the ball.  Andrews knew she was the type of girl who enjoyed that.  She loved to have a dozen boys follow her around, allowing each to believe he was getting closer to her heart.  Yet she knew none of them.

            Andrews knew because did the same thing with every girl he met.

            Nothing was permanent.  Not anymore.  Since he had been swept up from school five months ago, he had hurtled blindly toward tomorrow.  Everything that was not directly in front of him was a blur.  He couldn’t remember any of the people he had met or the things he had done as they rushed past.

            But now he was sitting there, fingering the golden insignia patches on his coat sleeves, and watching her.  And she wasn’t blurred at all.

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