Dancing Through The Night

Chapter 9 - Cohen

She's dancing along with the music. It's too cute. I have now seen her a few times walk by, thinking she has a very soft, nearly flowing stride, but she's actually dancing along with the music she listens to. I wonder what kind of music make-up girl with the pug listens to. Probably some girly mainstream pop. Not that I'm an expert, but I do appreciate good music, and by that I don't mean the stuff they play non-stop on the radio. A song needs to have meaning, a flowing chord and melody. It needs to be original and not just mindless boom boom, ladida. She actually just did a little twirl and now looks around to see if anyone noticed. I bet she's blushing. Make-up girl is too funny. Watching people walk by has become one of my favourite pastimes. There's predictability and surprise in it. The pooch stops to sniff and they're off, sadly without anymore twisting and twirling. A smile creeps along my lips as her footseps become lighter again in the distance.

For the next minutes, I'm finding it difficult to concentrate on anything apart from wondering about the dancing dog walker. I need to stop calling her make-up girl. Dancing dog walker might be a suitable name. After all, I started naming all my regular stalk victims. Ever since that first morning I saw her, I've never noticed smudged make-up on her again. She also hasn't been jogging past my house anymore. At least not that I would have noticed. With the time I'm spending watching the life outside my four walls I'm certain I would have seen her pass by. But everyday I see her walk that dog, most days twice. It's not always the same direction she comes from, so I'm guessing she likes change.

Change! I suddenly feel like suffocating inside. The streets outside are empty, my house is empty, quiet apart from Winston's and my breathing, which is like noisy turmoil to my ears. The verandah out the front overlooking the beach is entirely open and everyone walking by can see me. It's dark now and I need the feeling to be outside, to be part of this world. I need to feel the sea breeze, the salt on my skin. Tomorrow, I will finally look up builders who can do something about my privacy here.

I wipe over one of the chairs to get the leaves and twigs off which have been collecting over the past weeks. Jayden has last used the verandah two weeks ago to do his homework. He's not bothered sitting in full view. Neither was I until I started looking like crap.
It's a wonderful feeling breathing fresh oxygen. There's just something to the cool, salty ocean air.

An elderly couple walks along, arm in arm. Annika always used to link her arm with mine like that. As I watch those two slowly walk by, I think that maybe this was a sign. Linking arms like an old couple at twenty? Maybe I should have grabbed Annika's ass or something, brought more pep into our relationship. Oh well. It doesn't matter now anymore. She's happily married and I will grab asses again after kicking cancer's. I keep on watching the couple, stabilising each other with their bodies. They walk in synchronised unison, looking straight ahead as if they need to focus on the way in front of them. Just under the large tree she places her hand in a familiar way onto his arm, stopping him. She points at something on the ground. It takes him a while to bend down and pick up whatever he then places on top of the fence along the road. Then they tribble off, her hand petting his arm as if to tell him how well he did. It makes me sad to think that my sister wasn't lucky enough to get a guy who'd encourage her, balance her and would be there to grow old by her side. When I'm back at work in a few weeks I'll introduce her to Brad, one of the doctors. He's a good guy and I think they could be a match. I have to make sure she doesn't notice it's a set-up. I don't think she'd be up for it. Her friend Nat tried setting her up countless times. Vicky went on several blind dates: Disaster dates preventing cyclone relationships. She told me that she'll never again go on a blind date. But maybe if I have a party here at the house....

I get distracted by dog walking girl coming back accross the street. That's unusual. She's no longer dancing or floating, rather disoriented with her head bend low towards the ground. She walks along the road, looking at the ground from side to side, left, rigt, left. She's searching for something.

"On the fence," I call into the dark. She shrugs. I hope I didn't scare her too much. The pug looks briefly in my direction. Dog walking girl looks up but doesn't seem to get the direction I called from. Quietly, she walks to the fence and it doesn't take her long to pick up something and put it in her small bag. Looked like it was maybe keys, but who knows. "She waves a thank you in the wrong direction." Dog walking girl doesn't have sharp hearing. Or maybe it's her sense of orientation.
Then she's off.