Especially when she stops next to a pair of homeless people and leaves a Styrofoam container in front of them that I’m guessing holds food from the diner. Was she taking it home to feed herself? And she decided at the last minute that they needed it more?
How can she stay this way when she’s surrounded by so much misery?
Just when I think she’s in for the night, she comes out again around nine o’clock. The fact that I’ve spent the entire day watching her, waiting for her, doesn’t escape me as I follow once again. I would spend the rest of my life doing this so long as it meant being the angel over her shoulder, making sure no harm comes to her.
Though I doubt anybody would ever call me an angel.
She steps inside a rundown gym not too far from where we met last night. This is where she was coming from? The place must’ve closed way before we ran into each other—in fact, I wonder why she’s here at all since it can’t be open much longer. Sure enough, not long after she goes inside, a paunchy bald man comes out and locks the front doors before pulling away in an old beater.
What gives? Once the beater pulls away, I get out of my car, my head on a swivel as I approach the building. Most of the lights are off inside, though I can see somebody walking around in the half-lit weight room.
It’s her. And now she’s sweeping the floor, picking up empty bottles and cans and tossing them into the trash. It looks like she’s muttering to herself, and I can’t blame her. People are slobs.
And she has to clean up after them. God, can this get any worse? This girl works harder than anybody I’ve ever known, and her day isn’t over yet. How she doesn’t collapse is a mystery.
I wait in the shadows while she heaves bags into the dumpster behind the gym before going back inside. I can see her as she turns off the lights in the weight room, and I follow down the length of the building, coming to a stop when she does in what looks like a dance studio with mirrors on the walls.
I duck a little, careful to avoid notice. She sits on the floor and laces up a pair of those ballet shoes with the ribbons that go around the ankle, they look a little more beat-up than the kind you usually see dancers wear. Not that I’m a huge ballet fan or anything, but even I know these shoes have seen some wear and tear.
She’s wearing a leotard now, giving me an ample view of her body. Toned, tight, curves in all the right places, just enough to fill my hands as she rides me.
It seems wrong, even sacrilegious, to think of her that way, but how can I help myself? She’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Angel or not, I could make a life’s work out of memorizing every inch of her body, then worshipping those inches the way they deserve.
And once she starts dancing, arms and legs moving like water as she almost floats around the room, that perfection crystallizes in my head. She’s bewitching like she’s putting a spell on me with every move. Calling to me. Tempting, teasing. I can believe I’m the man she’s dancing for—ust me.
By the time I think to check my watch, I’m surprised to find it’s almost midnight. She’s been dancing since ten, which means I’ve watched her for two hours. What do I care? I could stand here all night, so long as it meant watching her do something she clearly loves.
No, she’s no professional. But she loves it. Her face, my god, it’s like the sun. She smiles at nobody, dancing alone, the sort of smile a person wears when they’re doing something they were meant to do. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way for a single moment in my whole life.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m feeling that way right now. Because as I stand here, watching through the window as this perfect, precious thing dances back and forth across the room, I can’t help but think I was meant for her. To protect her, to adore her. Forever.
5
Madison
It’s way too late by the time I get my stuff together to leave the gym. I should know better, especially after what happened last night, but I can’t help myself.
If anything, being able to dance tonight made it possible to work out all the tension I’ve been carrying around with me all day—the anxiety.
I’m pretty sure I saw that black SUV at least once, though I might’ve been paranoid about that. Isn’t it how life always goes? You see a black car, and all of a sudden, that’s all you see. It’s not that there are necessarily more black cars around. It’s just that you notice them now.