The Last Dance (462 Words)

I watch you all, as you meander obliviously through your lives, its one of the perks of the job.

The only perk really.

 I meet you all eventually and few of you will be pleased to see me,  there is little joy in my own existence you see, that's why I like to treat myself from time to time.

She was born in 1926, thirteen when the second world war broke out and turned the world upside down. That period was one of my busiest and one of your darkest.

So many tragic pointless deaths, every single one preventable if only you could all just get along.

She met him at an army hospital in 1944, she had just turned 18 and was working as a land girl miles away from home. He was fresh back from overseas and recovering from the horrors of war.

The first time they spoke was at a dance, jitter bugged the night away and fell in love that very night.
They were each others first love, they were each others only love.

They soon married and set up home in the small town of the hospital, he worked as a carpenter she was a housewife and a mother to six raucous children, there wasn't much money but there was an abundance of love.

He died in 1991 after a long painful, so called battle with cancer, when I finally came, ashamedly late he was grateful to meet me, she was thankful I came.

I cannot apologise enough for my tardiness on that occasion, he deserved better.

She carried on with her life, stubborn to the last but always missed him. Not a day went by she didn't think of him, Time doesn't heal all wounds.

Time is a funny thing, it has no real meaning for me, your lives flash by in the blink of my eye. Full of wonderment, hope and misery.

She has lived a full life, a long, happy life but my time to visit has sadly arrived.

She is sleeping when I silently enter her home, their home. I watch her for what could be hours, what could be minutes, what could be seconds.

Time is standing still for us both.

Finally I tap her gently on her shoulder to rouse her from her slumber.

She doesn't see me, she see's a fine young gentleman in his Sunday best.

"I'm Jim" I say "Would you care to dance?"

She looks down at herself, she isn't the arthritis ravaged old lady with bad knees any more, she is a beautiful eighteen year old full of life and with a wicked spirit.

She smiles at me and says "One dance won't hurt"

"My sentiments exactly" I say.

 And we Jitter bug the night away.

1 comment:

  1. i fucking love that story, its made me cry again you rotter