Dysfunctional homes aren’t new. Children grow up in them all time. But to protect me from the terror of my father once an adult, my mother taught not only to be independent, but she also placed a healthy dose of fear in me to never live the life she lived. Translation to never trust a man to take care of me.
But the way I feel in his arms. The way he guides me across the floor or holds me close after a lift. We felt so perfect on the dance floor. As a teenager, he unknowingly captured my imagination. Now as an adult, I am afraid because he wants my heart. He’s everything I can imagine wanting in a mate. Trustworthy, kind, patient, secure, patient, considerate and independent.
We could have danced for all eternity, but that one kiss. That single kiss that burns my lips to this day. The kiss that seared our spirits together and caused me to run away. I am so damaged and too afraid. Yet with him, I was safe and protected.
Now he’s back for another dance. Will we dance a perfect score or will we crash and burn?
When her older brother was in college, and she came to visit, she was the little sister we all protected. When she walked into my dance class, she was the sister of a good friend I had to protect, so I thought.
Because I was the big brother of the house where her brother lived on campus, I know of the of the pain and struggles she endured as a child. But I watch her, in her quiet, strong manner defy the norm and stand her own ground. She has always invoked a protective nature in me that went beyond my relationship with her brother. But being six years her senior then I looked after her as a younger sister.
After our first dance that protective nature is more than brotherly. Over the next two years, she quietly stole my heart and eliminated any future dance partners from my life. When she walked way, she retired me my dancing feet.
She avoided me for the last two years, speaking only when our business cross paths. But thanks to her brother’s wedding we are dancing together again. And this time it will be forever.