This is a revised version of the story originally published in The Bohemian: She had recognized her music playing on the radio after hearing a few measures of it. The Blue Danube it was, unmistakably. Not everyone could, she thought, recognize this piece from its introductory notes. They always stood there on the dance floor, the men wondering how to start, when to catch the downbeat; the women patiently waiting, and hoping nobody noticed. Mrs. Brown knew her Strauss and marked the tempo by tapping her fingers on the counter of the pharmacy. get the whole story in nicely formatted pdf format at http://www.heatingupthefog.com .
Her fingers dance along The steps of her favorite waltz Coming to her ears Floating on a legendary river She counts: One, Two, Three And enters her reverie She sees the soft green eyes Repeats the dizzy spell Of a night in her distant past Rescued by his agility The strength so subtle Of a charming dancer Whose name she forgot It feels like New Year in Vienna The images of people in black and white The angels of her mind Counting to midnight On a monumental clock Their feet glide unencumbered On the powdered floor A fine dancer, she thinks The palm of her right hand Barely touching his left Their fingers curling Towards a desired embrace If only she could break the rules But the clock strikes midnight Her eyes open to the present Darkness she recognizes Aches and discomfort A reality she can evade Counting: One, Two, Three To see him, touch him, feel him Once more Waltzing into infinity