A Midsummer Night's Fling

Four

Chapter Four

I didn't return to The Glen for the day like usual. I stayed in the woods, as close to my Emilee as I could, agonizing over what I had said. I felt incredibly stupid.

I'm your friend?! Why did I say that? If I'd been able to beat myself up I probably would have done it. I couldn't believe I'd told her I loved her either. What if she doesn't feel the same and now she'll want me to leave her alone? More than my physical desires were invested now. My heart wouldn't be able to take it if she asked me not to return. It was like she had enchanted me instead of the other way around, like every other time I'd entered someone's mind.

Should I not go back at all and save myself the heartache? I knew I would, though. There were a million questions and doubts running through my mind. I also knew that if she asked me to leave I would probably sit on the edge of the forest for the rest of forever and just wish to be with her.

Love was agonizingly and stupidly complicated.

It seemed like night would never come. When it finally did I refused to admit to myself how scared I was to return to Emilee. I felt like my world could fall apart at any moment. Her mind finally brushed lightly against my own and I took a deep breath—it was time to meet my fate.

We were in the dance hall once more. She was facing away from me, stretching in front of the mirrors, wearing a simple black dress. Her feet were bare, her hair in a ballerina bun. As usual, I changed my attire to match—black slacks, button up shirt, and bare feet.

She watched my reflection in the mirror as I walked in slowly and I held my breath. This is it! The rhythm of my heart pounded the words into my soul. She slowly stood and turned to face me, expressionless, her hand held out like the first night we met. I was confused; my heart didn't know whether to pound or stop dead in its tracks.

Somewhat deflated, I walked over and assumed a dancing form with her. Soft piano music began to play and our dance took motion. She didn't speak and I was too scared to even open my mouth and ask her anything.

"I had a bad day," she said softly after a few movements. I was caught off guard and remained silent—she wasn't starting with my confession from the night before. My heart tightened a little bit, as I wondered if it was my fault she was unhappy. After a few more moments of silence, she started again.

"I always like to come here and dance when I've had a bad day. I like coming when I haven't had bad days, but that's beside the point. Today was just a bad day. You know what I mean?" I managed to nod my head to avoid interrupting her—I felt she needed to say what was on her mind. It felt like something was crushing my chest as I listened to what she said next.

"My mother wanted me to take dance lessons," she started again, leaving me completely clueless as to where the conversation was going. I wondered if I was about to get told off or something. "She drove me to class every day, came to every recital, videotaped every little performance . . . She always told me I was the prettiest little dancer she'd ever seen," she laughed. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she stopped dancing all together and looked up into my eyes. "She got very sick," she whispered. "I was out of high school by then and there was no one but me to take care of her, so I stopped going to classes. She always said how much she wanted to see me dance again, that it made her so happy, but I never did. I was too worried about her." She swallowed hard, and looked down at the floor, her body beginning to tremble. A new type of dread filled me as I realized this conversation had absolutely nothing to do with me. I could barely hear her when she spoke again, her voice thick with emotion. "She died today."