He quietly lifted his hat off and hesitated a moment before he emerged from the safety of the shadows.
"Hello." She was as beautiful as he remembered, the soft lips, the brown eyes that never stopped smiling, and now, now she was a ballerina.
"Hi." He rotated his hat in his hands and made a motion to slink back into the shadows, but stopped himself.
"I was just starting my routine." Her voice came out flat and even, but something shone behind it, like peonies, or rushing rivers.
"Well, um, don't let me stop you." He freed a little breath that he had been holding, like a sparrow he had been trying to cup in the palm of his hand. "I'll just, uh, stand here and watch." The edges of his mouth gently curled into a small, hopeful smile.
She reached down and graced her toes with the tips of her fingers, each twist of her muscles deliberately slow and measured so that it showed - he noticed, and a shiver raced up his back. Then holding serenity between her arms, she blossomed, her legs crossing, her arms arcing high, higher, slowly, slowly...a soft glow of sunlight seemed to escape the hold of her arms; there was a faint wind, something whispering, whispering voices that grew louder, passersby perhaps, he saw the outline of a horse-drawn carriage trotting past, and then the light adjusted and all at once he saw himself, a tender heart of seventeen, sauntering idly down the street, and she, too, was young again, her smile radiating against her dark hair, and they held hands. Upon the cobblestone bridge did they embrace, and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear a promise of forever.
Her arms gracefully parted the arc and floated down, and he blinked. It was such a long time ago; how strange that these forgotten memories came swimming back to him now. He silently resolved to watch her routine attentively and stop straying into the past. She turned, her left leg stretching back, her right leg bending, until she faced him, and her arm drifted, drifted down until it led from her face to his and he saw, in that instant, a blinding light, the light of a train cutting through the overcast, the train, as it thundered towards the station. Her arms continued to fall and he saw the waving arms, heard the hurried voices, the train was approaching! She suddenly lifted a foot and - sprang! Flying suitcases, loose papers raining from the heavens; the train had barely reached the station when the crowd flooded forth, swallowing everything into a mass of coats and hats determined to board the train, the last train; it was chaos, it was riot. The dust only settled as she landed her leap, and he saw himself, nineteen now, clamoring upon the railings of the caboose as the train began desperately chugging off, leaving in its wake a trail of chasing, crying people. He was going to be saved, but he was going, going...he looked back at the platform and saw her running, running after the train, as fast as her skinny legs would take her, but it wasn't fast enough, and she was growing smaller, smaller, further and further from his outstretched arm. He felt his eyes sting with loss, his mouth screaming something, nothings, into the dark, but she could not hear him.
She was facing him still, and he felt his knees trembling. With silent poise, she arched her neck to the side and drew her arms back together at the center of her chest. Then she swiveled her neck back to face him. He looked into her eyes and saw that they were ablaze, a furious, scorching intensity that crackled and singed. The fire was spreading, it was engulfing everything, the dull grey concrete buildings, the abandoned cars, the piles of scrap wood. He stumbled backwards and watched her limbs extend, the people running in terror, the hopelessness of it all. Her right foot spun on the floor and he heard the screams of the wounded, crying for their families, their friends, their lovers. Faster, faster, she spun, and he heard the women wailing, their eyes flooded with worry and despair, oh! the sadness, for their families, as they prayed by the flooded river of something dark, something putrid; the carcass of a dog, its white fur wet and sullied, drifting past, and then an infant, stark naked and limp, face down in the black river, and how the women cried! Faster, now, faster! she spun, and he could hear the wails of all the children, begging, pleading, the quiet sniffling of the boy waving his blood-soaked blanket in the alleyway hoping it might dry, that his lifeless mother might rise from the crimson asphalt and embrace him, the loud cries of the two little girls on the street corner, terrified and holding hands, tears streaming down their dirt-stained faces, one vomiting yellow all over her soiled pink dress and a soldier came up behind her with his revolver angled at the back of her little head and - bang!
His knees gave and he collapsed to the floor. Her pirouettes slowed and came to a halt. Then, with a smile, she reached down and extended her hand. With unsteady breaths, he reached up with a shaking hand, grasped her small, fragile fingers, and saw, once more, those brown eyes that never stopped smiling. He saw, now, her eyes, how they had been smiling that sunny day upon the bridge, how they smiled of love. How they had been smiling even as he left her at the train station, wide and filled with her faith in him. How they even managed to smile with hope in a war he had ran from, a war he left her in, a war he never knew.
And now, at twenty-eight, he looked into their hazel depths and saw that, after all these years, they smiled of forgiveness. Trembling, he rose to his feet, embraced her, and together they danced in silence as the candle flickered on.
