love at first dance

trancelike

I felt fear.

A line of perspiration appeared over my brow, and my insides turned to ice. The people dancing seemed to slow to almost a stop, and I…

I thought I would never feel fear. Nothing daunted me. At age 4, I could get up at night and tiptoe my way through the darkness to the toilet and aim my little soldier without casualties to the surrounding toilet. At 7, I could fly a 7-foot fence on cue if the crazy neighbor caught us in their compound. At 13, I was on the senior football team for my school, causing injuries every game and just avoiding a beating twice as often. At 19, I insisted to my mother the military was my destiny. At 22, I was barking orders in the forest, marching my own men against the insurgency. Everybody called me crazy. I said, “Fear is an emotion, and emotion is a useless, flexible phenomenon.” Emotions change.

I think.

Today, the 5’5 brunette — short hair and strapless red gown — with eyes and lips to kill pushed me to ask myself what that quote really meant if it meant anything.

“Sorry.” The silvery voice filtered into my ears and shook me out of my half-trance. Everything went back to normal.

“Hi again.”

I looked at her for a few more seconds- still dumbfounded- and wondered what in the world was going to make sense now.

“H-hi.” Damn it; I couldn’t get my voice to be stable. Worse even, the line of perspiration was finding its way down the side of my face. I grabbed my hanky from the table and dabbed at it immediately. “That wasn’t there before,” I grinned at her. She raised a petite hand to her mouth and giggled.

I stood and stretched out a hand. “Victor. Are you a friend of the bride?”

Her hand was soft. It melted right into mine, and a light nerve rack traveled from my hand and down my spine. I was temporarily transfixed again, but this time I shook myself out of it.

{photo by unsplash.com}

“I’m a distant cousin.” She motioned to table 16. “You know Chinwendu.” My eyes traveled and caught the smirk on Chinwendu’s face. I would buy her favorite drink later. I didn’t expect her to send the beautiful lady over. I didn’t even know her name. “What’s your name, love?”

“Amanda.”

I raised her hand to my lips and stopped halfway up to admire it. “So, you aren’t married.”

This time, she put up a sad attempt at hiding her laughter and reddened cheeks. “No.” I thought the laugh was glorious.

Celine Dion’s Beauty from Ashes came on, and her eyes lit up and flitted to where the disk-jockey sat, then came back to rest on me.

I smiled wide, took her hand all the way to my lips, and planted a kiss on the left finger. “Let’s fix that, shall we?” I pointed to the dance area.

She smiled again. “Maybe.”

I led her to dance and placed a hand on the small of her back. She rested her head on her shoulder, and as we moved to Deadpool’s melody, all that was in my mind was that last word. Maybe.

Blah, blah blah. I know I just met her.

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