Shall we dance?

I am on the back porch with all of the lights out. My eyes are closed and the rain is pelting down, the wind riffling through my hair like my mother used to tousel my brother's hair, back when I had a brother. My skirts billow. My blouse is soaked. I feel thin, damp, everything.

I am on a balcony and there is an orchestra playing in the distance. Vivaldi's Spring, perhaps, or maybe Pacobel's Canon in D. I must dance. I feel strong arms envelope me, a slightly sandpapered cheek pressed to mine, my hand is gently held close to a nicely muscular shoulder. I feel the velvet of your lapel, smell your soap and shampoo, and your warmth fills me. I can feel the gentle splash of fountains nearby and I will not let them sublimate my urgent need to pee. I am safe, I am warm, I am dancing, I am loved. I angle my face up for your kiss.

Frank bangs the screen door. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouts and pulls me inside. Angrily, he strips off my wet clothes, wraps blankets and towels around me, and nukes some hot chocolate. Letting my teeth chatter and the mug perch on my cold fingers, I let the knowledge warm me first. I am loved.  ¶ 9:21 PM