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Suzanne Twadell is a sixth grade humanities teacher and aspiring author. She writes YA fiction that is inspired by her students and the interactions she has on a daily basis in her school. She is also lover of nature, so the settings in her stories take on an important role, often becoming characters in and of themselves. Suzanne hopes to publish her first novel, Heading for the Hills, within the year.
The Dance
Oct 20, 2019 4 years agoI can feel him watching me from across the room. It's crowded — a sea of people — and it's tense. His eyes bore through all of it right to my soul. He wants me. I know it. I feel awkward and shy. It's been years since I've had this kind of attention. It feels invasive. I push my hair away from my face in an attempt to do something. I glance down and pretend I don't see him, but he knows. He knows a lot. I twirl my ring. I want to run away from him. I don't need him or the complications he'll bring with him into my neat and organized life. I want to run. But I just can't release his goddamn eyes. They are impossibly beautiful and they see everything about me. I am repelled and magnetized all at once. We start to walk towards each other. I have no choice. My soul is leading me to him. We meet in the middle of the room. I think the room is a gymnasium. Or is it a ballroom? Either way, it is where all these people are gathered. It's crowded. I begin to realize that there is no way I can ever escape this guy. He knows exactly what he's doing. He does this all the time. I start to feel an overwhelming sense that maybe I do know him after all. At least he strikes me as viscerally familiar, like some stranger I once shared an intimate moment with back when I thought the world was charming. But I can't remember any details about him. Maybe I met him in a dream? I definitely know this guy. I'm trying to grasp the glimmers of memory, but they keep floating away, just out of reach. A piece of me can recognize the scent of his skin. I also think I remember they way he walks and his confident stance. I can definitely recall the way I wanted to run but couldn't. I'm certain I've been here before. We are face to face. ”You know, you really should just walk out the door with me. It's no use resisting," he whispers in my ear. I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. I close my eyes and inhale him. No. I look him right in his beautifully calm and mindful eyes. ”I have a life. A family. I can't just walk away from everything." I am play-acting though. He and I both know he has me. He sighs and gives me the sweetest smile. He is attentive. “Then just dance,” he says. “Dance with me and we'll take it slow." He has adjusted his tone and his body language to meet me. He knows exactly how to handle me. He gently pulls me close, and the music is so so sad. His arms settle me. Harbor me. I'm going to have to surrender to him. I already know I'll be leaving with this stranger and trusting him with my life. I am weeping. There's no telling when I'll come back. I'm leaving with this man. We are embracing. He leans in so close and says, as if I hadn't gathered, "My name is Grief. I'll let you go when I'm finished with you. For now, let's just dance."
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