BOOTH BOY

The Last Dance...

There's an unknown melancholy tune playing on the radio, Martha is humming along to it and it just adds to the magical atmosphere that's descended upon me and now courses through my veins.

I feel as if all the universe resides in my very own skeleton, stars tucked into the nooks and crevices I've never before known were there. Behind my earlobes, between my toes, at the tips of my fingers and the edge of my nose. At this rate, I should be a poet.

Across from me, Colby looks just as magical and melancholy and perfect. I keep remembering how perfect this all is.

I expect to blink and wake up, finding myself staring at my ceiling and wondering how it was possible for a dream to feel so real.

Except I don't wake up. I remain here as the hands of the clock tick on and on and on. Here in this little diner booth, time stands still.

"What you thinking?" Colby flips his straw between two fingers, alternating between watching it in the air and watching my face, "You get so quiet and reflective all the time."

He drops the straw and leans forward until we're almost nose to nose, "I'd kill to know what's going on in your head." I'm sort of frozen thoughtless. A moment ago I had been floating high up above, spectating like a spirit outside her body and now, Colby's pulled me right back down to earth. Somehow, he worked like gravity. Magnetic, compelling, present. And I? I remain spellbound. "What are you daydreaming about, Island Girl?"

His eyes are piercing. Intense. I shake my head a little and twist my fingers nervously, "Nothing much."

He smirks like he doesn't believe me or better yet, he already knows what I've been dreaming about. It makes me flush with embarrassment. Will I ever stop blushing?

"Sure." He winks at me and plops back in his seat, sighing quite loudly. I lean back as well.

"What are you thinking about?"

He thinks about it for a second, resting his chin on his fist, "You"

"What about me?"

"How odd this is. We've lived next door to each other for years and now we're here, together, getting to know each other for the first time."

I nod. "I was sort of thinking the same thing."

He has his hands splayed in front of him on the table. I stare at the rings. One particular one catches my attention most. It's a thick silver ring with a black line running through the middle. I reach out and touch the ring, careful not to touch his hand. "Can I see it? It's really pretty."

He smirks, "Pretty?" He takes the ring off and looks at me through the middle, "I never thought it was pretty before." He puts the ring down on the table and tilts his head in the most adorable way, "Do you think I'm pretty too?"

I laugh and nod, "You're beautiful." Even though I say it in a light tone, I'm not really joking. He is sort of beautiful in the way of broken things.

The smile he sends me stops my heart for a second. He reaches across the table and grabs my left hand. I look up at him, surprised and curious. "What are you doing?"

He picks up the ring and then, as if it means nothing at all, he slips it on my ring finger. My eyes widen in what must be a ridiculous expression and I stare at him open mouthed.

When he looks up and sees me gawking at him, he laughs aloud. "I just wanted to see how it looks on you."

I twist my hand and study the way the way the ring is a little too big for my finger but not enough to slip off. I decide I sort of like the way it looks on me.

Colby's watching me for a reaction so I smirk and fold my fingers into a fist, crossing my arms and tucking it away from his line of sight. "I hope you know you're never getting this back."

His expression relaxes and he shrugs at me, "You can keep it."

I'm so eager, I slant forward to read his face. "Do you mean it?" He looks affronted I had to ask, "Of course. I have so many." He spreads his fingers and stares at them himself.

He appears so pensive and vulnerable, I open my mouth to ask before he can clam up all over again. "When did you get the tattoos? Did they hurt?"

I want to reach across the table and hold his hands in mine. I tighten my fist instead. He peeks out at me from between his bangs, his blue eyes filled with some strange emotion. "They did. I feel it was worth it though."

"What do they mean?"

"The cross means misconduct or a failure." He turns his thumb over and shows it to me. Then he spreads his fingers and points all the other tiny tattoos, "one for strength, guidance, death. My father's initials. Just some random stuff. A star and moon for hope and light."

Suddenly, his face is closed off again and he mirrors me, crossing his hands on the table and hiding his fists. "What about you? Want any?"

I did but I shook my head, "My mother would probably kill me."

"Mine wanted to." He pushes his hair back and then tucks his hands away again, "How was Prom? Everything you dreamed of?"

I frowned remembering the few dances I'd shared with Cassius and the anti climatic feeling of leaving early. "Not really. I barely even danced."

He looked affronted. "You didn't dance!?"

I waved a hand to brush it off. "It's okay."

"No it's not!", He insists. "The whole point of Prom is to dance in your pretty dress." He looks determined. He stands up and extends a hand, "Will you, please, milady?"

I hide my mouth behind my fist and laugh. "Don't be silly, Colby."

"Come on", he urges me, "I like this song. It's my favourite."

On the radio, a slow country song has just started. I tilt my head at him, "No it's not". He grins, "Okay it's not but I really want to dance to it so, would you please?"

My fists are trembling behind my elbows and I'm afraid if I reach out and take the hand he's extended towards me he'll see them. He's so persistent though, he keeps staring at me until I feel I have to give in. So, even though I'm shaking like a leaf, I reach out and let him pull me out of my seat.

Up close, he smells of honey and cigarette. What a weird combination.

He pulls me into his chest, then intertwines our fingers and places his other hand at my hip over the silky material of my dress.

He leads me into a simple routine , one-two-three-four, spin, one-two-one-two, out and then under his arm and again and again. He spins me four times in a row and I'm so dizzy, I fall against his chest with my fists between us. He wraps both arms around me and then we dance like that through two more songs.

Everytime he steers us around, I catch Martha smiling at us from behind the counter.

Magical.

This diner. This morning. All magical.