Here's a bit of sweet, romantic flash fiction... just to prove I can!
Last
Dance
It
was hard to be brave.
Jen
was determined not to give in to her tears. Across the lake,
garlands of multicolored lights outlined the ferris wheel, the
tilt-a-whirl and the antique carousel against the night sky. A soft
breeze coaxed the dark water into playful ripples and carried the
faint music from the rides. Jen leaned against the gazebo railing and
took a deep breath of the moist summer air, redolent of roses and
new-mown grass. The ache in her chest did not ease.
Her
cheeks hurt from the hours of forced smiles. She had fled as early as
politeness allowed, not waiting for the cake or the toss of the
bouquet, dying to escape the visions of Amanda and Jack-- laughing
together at the head table, clutching each other on the dance floor,
kissing every time someone clinked a spoon against a glass...
She
remembered Jack's kisses. It seemed like yesterday, although it had
been more than a year. On a summer night as balmy and sweet as this
one, he had parked on a country road outside of town, grabbed a
blanket from the trunk and led her through a meadow to a knoll
overlooking the river. She recalled the tall grass caressing her
bare legs and the heat of his fingers entwined with hers. The black
bowl of the heavens arched overhead, studded with blazing jewels.
They had settled onto the blanket, lying side by side, entwined in a
feverish kiss. His familiar smell, soap, sweat and nautical
after-shave, mingled with the scent of growing things.
His
mouth was fierce, his tongue bold, claiming her as his and his alone.
She rejoiced. His hand slid up her thigh under her cotton dress.
Summer lightning shimmered through her.
"Oh,
Jen," Jack had moaned. "I can't take much more. Put this
on me." He had pressed a small, square packet into her palm.
Alarm
bells rang in Jen's head. "But we agreed...not until we're
married..."
"I
can't wait, baby. It's only three months. Please...!" He had
rolled her onto her back and straddled her. Her skirt bunched up
under her. His weight was both thrilling and scary. "Don't you
love me, Jen?"
"With
all my heart. That's why I want to wait. I want our wedding night to
be special."
"It
will be special. But right now--oh, have some pity on me, baby!"
"No!"
She had scooted backward, away from him, and scrambled to her knees.
"We promised. You promised." The raw greed she had seen in
his face frightened her.
"You
know what they say, babe," Jack had replied with a feral grin.
"Promises were made to be broken..." Despair overwhelmed
her then, as she understood how wrong she had been about Jack Barnes.
She
hadn't stopped loving him, though. He had been the one to break it
off. "I don't think you're right for me," he'd said. You
mean I'm not enough of a slut? she'd
thought, blinking away her tears, nodding her agreement that from now
on they'd just be "friends". When she'd heard about his
engagement, she had been physically sick for three days.
Now,
at least, the torture was over. She took in another lungful of the
soft night air. The tinny carnival tunes wafting over the water made
her smile despite her misery. Since her dad had brought her here for
the first time, when she was eight, Lakeview Park had always been one
of her favorite places, She loved the smell of frying corn dogs, the
melting sweetness of cotton candy, the breath-stealing thrill of
being hurled into space by the amusements. When she strolled the
tree-hung paths lined with lichened stone, or sat on one of the
curlicued wrought iron benches, or stood here on the point where tiny
waves lapped at the piles of a ruined wharf, she felt the past enfold
her like a comforting blanket. One hundred and twenty years the park
had been here, offering its peace and its pleasures.
Then
Jen remembered that she would soon lose this as well. Probably the
last season, the local newspaper had said. After a decade of losses,
the owners were selling to some conglomerate that wanted to build a
shopping mall. No one was interested in old-fashioned amusement parks
anymore.
No
one but me, Jen thought.
The tears she had been fighting
all day welled up and spilled down her cheeks. Huge sobs shook her
slender body. She buried her face in her hands and finally allowed
sorrow to overwhelm her. Everything she cared about was gone or
going: Jack, the park, her cancer-ridden father...
"Please
don't cry, Jen."
A
male voice, full of warmth. A strong hand on her shoulder. Jen
turned to the source, blinking to clear her vision. A young man
stood beside her, dressed in a brown uniform she didn't recognize.
His straight black hair was parted on the side. His even-featured
face wore an expression of concern. Something tickled the back of her
brain, some vague sense of familiarity.
"Do
I know you?" she asked. She must look horrible, she realized,
with her eyes swollen and her skin blotchy. She sniffled and stood
straighter.
"Well,
not exactly." His grin made him look more boyish. He had a
cleft chin, she noticed, and dimples in his pale cheeks. "It's
complicated." He laughed, and Jen discovered she couldn't help
joining him.
"What
do you mean, complicated?" she continued when her giggles
subsided. Something about her companion made her feel totally at
ease.
"I'll
explain later," he said. He brought his hand out from behind
his back. Between his thumb and forefinger he grasped the stem of a
single red rose. "For you, sweet Jennifer. A token of my
esteem."
How
did he know her name? She took the blossom. Its heady perfume
surrounded them. "Thank you. But if we've never met..."
she began.
"I'm
Daniel," he interrupted. "You can call me Dan." He
leaned on the rail next to her, gazing out over the lake. "It's
lovely here, isn't it? Even with the music, there's a quiet calm
that's healing to the soul."
Jen
didn't answer. It didn't feel necessary. On the opposite shore, the
amusements twinkled like a faraway galaxy.
"In
the old days, there was a dance pavilion here on the point. On summer
nights like this it would be crowded with couples of all ages, from
seventeen to seventy. The trolleys brought us here from town. The
whole place was strung with lights. It was a fairy land."
Daniel
took her hand. It felt so natural that she scarcely noticed. She was
caught up in the picture he was painting of a happier past.
"The
orchestra played from dusk until midnight. Admission was a nickel.
Over there" -- he pointed toward a clump of trees to their
left-- "they sold refreshments: sweet corn, lemonade and shaved
ice with syrup..."
"The
night we met," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulder, "I
bought you a raspberry ice. It made your lips purple. I just had to
kiss you..."
Just
like that, he did. His mouth was gentle but Jen still felt the
passion as he pressed his body against hers. Strange electricity
sparked between them. He kept his mouth closed. Wanting more, wanting
to taste him, Jen teased the seam where the lips met. He relaxed and
allowed her to entangle their tongues. Pulling her to his chest, he
ran his hands down her back to her waist. Her nipples peaked under
her thin dress. She rubbed them against the odd, rough-woven fabric
of his shirt. Between her thighs she began to melt.
The
kiss made her dizzy. Perhaps she wasn't getting enough oxygen. The
world spun around them, but there was no chance of her falling.
Daniel held her, strong and secure.
Gradually
the whirling ceased. Dan brushed his lips against hers one last time,
then drew back. His left hand rested between her shoulder blades. The
other held hers, out to the side. Jen became aware of music. She
clutched his belt as he led her in a sprightly waltz.
They
moved together across the floor of an octagonal pavilion, its wooden
roof supported by carved pillars. Strands of bright bulbs sparkled
overhead, radiating from the center to the periphery. Other couples
danced around them, the women in tunics and slim, ankle-length
skirts, the men wearing cuffed trousers and waistcoats or uniforms
like Dan's. She felt the fabric of her own skirt fluttering around
her calves.
"How...where...what's
going on, Daniel?" She looked up into his warm brown eyes. His
ripe lips curved into a smile and those adorable dimples winked at
her.
"Never
mind, my sweet. Just dance with me."
He
led her with grace and confidence. Jen found that if she simply
relaxed into his arms, following was effortless. As the music slowed,
he held her closer. A hard bulk at his groin pressed against her
belly. Languid arousal washed over her in waves. I must be
dreaming, she thought. She never
wanted the dream to end.
They
swayed together. Jen closed her eyes, breathing in his scent of
fresh-cut wood and lavender. When she leaned her head on his
chest, she could hear his heart, strong and regular. She felt their
breathing synchronize.
The
waltz went on forever. Then the music stopped. The lights went dark.
They still stood, holding each other, at the center of the floor.
The orchestra and the other dancers had disappeared.
The
summer wind ruffled Jen's hair. The forest stirred around the
deserted pavilion.
"Come
home with me, Daniel," she whispered. He answered with a kiss,
sweeping her back into her voluptuous dream-state.
"I
can't," he said finally. "Tomorrow I'm shipping out."
"Shipping
out?"
"I'm
off to the Western Front. To Marne."
Jen
racked her brains, trying to remember why that sounded familiar.
"No, don't go," she pleaded . "I've just found you."
"You'll
find me again, Jen." He smiled sadly. "You always do. Or
I'll find you. Look for me, when you return. Follow your heart. When
we meet again, you'll know."
"But
Daniel..."
He
placed one last luscious kiss upon her lips, then stepped back into
the shadows. "Remember me, darling. And don't cry."
The
dizziness descended again, but this time she didn't have Daniel's
sturdy frame to hold on to. A hurricane raged around her. Tears
poured from her eyes but the gale whipped them away. When the tumult
eased, she found herself back in the gazebo, sitting cross-legged on
the splintery floor. Alone.
"Daniel!"
she cried, her agonized voice echoing out over the lake.
"Don't
cry," she heard, in her ear, in her heart. "Look for me.
I'm waiting for you."
The
summer air was heavy with the scent of roses. Looking down, she
discovered she still held Daniel's gift. She brushed the velvety
petals across her lips, remembering his kisses. "I'll find you,"
she whispered to the night. "I promise."
