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After she finished in the kitchen, walking into the living room and was allured to the other side of the porch by faint music. There was a small radio, playing mountain music that she already knew form somewhere, but couldn’t remember. It was so enchanting. She found herself lost in the waves of music, admiring the way the fiddle played with her heart. Little did she know, this was the same music that she had watched her grandparents dance to as a child. Simple, passionate mountain music. She loved every sound that came out of the small box. Steve asked her if she cared to dance, and fearing she did not know how, she hung her head and said she better not. He walked up behind her, put a hand around her waist, his stomach against her back and swayed with the music. It was only a matter of minutes before he had worked his way around to the front of her body, and she was smiling dancing with her head against his chest. They danced like this for hours. Every song turning their dance. Not the eyes I cherished—the ones that studied me with a mixture of amazement and adoration—but the placating, angst-filled eyes. The pleading eyes. I never wanted to see those eyes again. I heard his voice as I ran the tap water to wash my face. Not the voice I cherished—the one that promised me all his tomorrows—but the appeasing, soothing voice. The ass-kissing voice drifting through a closed door. I never wanted to hear that voice again. I knew as soon as he came back into the living room that he was going to ask me to leave—to give him time to smooth things over—with that same voice. That voice, only turned toward me. It made me sick. I didn’t speak. Just nodded. I’ll go. He was apologetic and grateful. You’re making it worse, I wanted to shout. ‘I’ll call you later, baby.’ That word turned my stomach. Don’t bother… baby. I told him she’d know. That no matter how innocent our behavior, she’d know. It was obvious to anyone looking for it, and she was undoubtedly looking. I.
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