UNREQUITED

She danced in his strong arms. They whirled around the parquet floor. Fairy lights twinkled above, and she could see flashes of herself in the floor to ceiling plate-glass mirrors.

The Strauss waltz played, and Jane threw her head back the way they had taught her. Her left hand on his shoulder, the right arm up and out to the side, almost rigid. His strong handsome features were above her. His salt and pepper hair glinted in the lights. She didn’t really need to look; she had his face memorized. Nearly seared into her brain, in truth. They spun around and around.

Her new dance shoes were holding up well. Her feet didn’t even hurt. The new dress was  gently used from the top-end resale shop in the area. When, one of the girls told her about it. Jane jumped in her old Chevy and zipped down there as soon as possible. She was happy with the purchase. It was clean, fit and the little rhinestones glinted nicely in the semi-dim lights.

Larry, her dance partner, was dressed in his usual all black attire. That is all he ever wore. It suited him Jane decided. It showed off the silver in his hair and the icy blue of his eyes. She couldn’t look into those eyes without haven’t the physical sensation of falling backwards. Wow! He was something. Where had he been her whole life? Tall, strong, handsome, caring. Whew!

There were other people on the dance floor also dancing and others sitting on the cushy benches to the side of the floor. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything else in the world. While they were dancing everyone else ceased to exist.

Jane let out a happy sigh. His wife would never know.

Continued in Part II

Read more of Courtney’s writing in:
https://sites.google.com/view/webbywritercom/page-5?authuser=0

and Amazon/Kindle.

Looking down,
I noticed the shoes.
Very sparkly with lots
of rhinestones,
four inch leather heels.
“Little early in the day isn’t
it?” I think.
My eyes travel up, nice legs,
good outfit.
Pretty face? Not exactly, just nice.
About thirty-five years old;
she’s going up in the hotel elevator
with a man twice her age.
She’s not his wife,
she has settled in life.
She’s the number two girl.
He pays the bills, she gets nice things.
He gets to feel younger for a while,
’til he goes home to his wife.
She’ll go back to her apartment,
and wait, until the next time.

Read more of Courtney’s writing in:
https://sites.google.com/view/webbywritercom/page-5?authuser=0

and Amazon/Kindle.

TWINKLE, TWINKLE

I shuffle the cards,

and gaze at the stars.

Jupiter is next to the

moon, they say,

Saturn and Antares are

on the way.

But, twinkle, twinkle you are my star,

how  I wonder where you are.

The Hanged Man needs some

attention now,

but I  consider the Fool

and stare at that card.

As the moon goes down

and the sun comes up,

 know this,

I am the moon to your sun.

 Venus on the horizon is

fated to be impatient but

The Knight of Pentacles has not come. 

I reshuffle the cards and lay them out

straight and remember that

Jupiter follows the moon tonight.

         

She stared and stared at my shoes.

I looked down at my feet – leather
sandals with blue, rhinestone straps.

My fresh pedicure winked back at me with
the gold sparkle polish.

I looked back at her. Now her head was hanging
way down like she was thinking.

“If I could just have the shoes, it would all be okay.”

I looked away, she made me uncomfortable with her
shabby clothes and dirty hands, holding the handle of the old
metal shopping cart.

It was filled to the brim with stuff… flotsam and jetsam, boxes and bags
in all mis-matched colors and styles. They matched her clothes.

Her head hung down so you couldn’t see her eyes.

I glanced at my Seiko watch to check the time, didn’t want to be
late for that hair appointment.

She had on an old visor, stuck in her hair that mostly hid her face.
I readjusted the ear buds on my Apple I-phone four.

I didn’t want to look at her and share her shame, irresistibly my
eyes were pulled back to her riding on this crowded subway.

Why so many bags and boxes? Ah, this is her house that she carries with her.
Of course.

She blends in here, with all the other people, all going somewhere.
She looks like anybody else.

It’s when she leaves here and goes up to the street;
that’s when she has to become someone who has
somewhere to go, someone to meet.

But there is no one and nowhere. Just the street.

I check my lipstick in the mirror in my handbag,
the train is slowing down.

Time to get back to my life.

THE DATE

She laughs

a little too hard.

She tries a little

too much.

She is supposed to be out

enjoying this thing.

But she can’t stop thinking

of him and how much she

wishes he were here,

instead of this guy,

who makes her laugh

a little too hard.