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In her mind, she dances in a dress of filmy blues, greens and white. Round and round she circles as He stands there, watching. She is a being of unearthly beauty. So gracefully erotic, she is. Her only desire is to please Him. At His feet she kneels, then rises up again, just missing the touch of His skin as she dances. Her hips thrust towards Him in smooth undulation. He can smell her scent begging Him to touch her. Instead, He smiles at her as she dances on and on to the sounds of ethereal music.
She closes her eyes and thinks of the feel of her body if she could only move as she does in her mind. It is with sadness that the only grace she holds is in the fanciful images of her brain. Yes, she knows that she has been blessed in other ways. Still, what would it be like to stand on point in front of Him, ebbing back and forth and around? She listens as soothing guitar melodies emanate from the speakers on either side of her. Yes, what would it be like to float with the gracefulness of a flower strewn on placid waters? With half-closed eyes, she falls once again into her make-believe world.
Her arms stretch outward in the feigned beckoning of the dance. He watches intently, never moving for fear of disturbing the electricity of the moment. She rolls over onto her stomach and pulls her legs up under her to stand slowly as befits the haunting music. She sways as if moved by a cool breeze, first one way and then the other. She is enraptured by the sounds and swept away with the knowledge that He is watching. Always watching. Never turning away. She dances for Him and only Him.
She is still now. She stands upright and looks into the sky. Her right leg bends at the knee. She brings it up in languid elegance to meet her chest while reaching upwards to the heavens. She spins around several times, then stretches the leg out to the side with painted toes pointed. She replaces one leg with the other and spins again, stopping only to scamper playfully across the floor as if in a field of wildflowers on a warm Summer's day. Her eyes are a picture of joyous carelessness, for in the dance she is free. There are no worries of ordinary things, only peace. And He is there, watching.
One more drag of a cigarette and she is back in her own world. It is a world of worry and fret, but it is hers. She can feel the loneliness begin to creep through the night to envelope her being. It is a cold loneliness that will not leave her for days on end. How ironic that it should be her only companion for now. She sometimes wonders how many people she has purposely pushed away, too afraid to let them see the real person behind her various guises. Once upon a time, there was only her. There were no masks because she didn't need them. Once upon a time, she didn't hide her love, her pain, her passion, her joy. But that was a lifetime ago. There had been too many who'd seen and then vanished. There had been too many hurts, both large and small, to show her real self again. So, behind the masks she hides, fearful of allowing anyone to gaze on her nakedness. Fearful that they, too, will hurt or leave. She dances on.
In her mind, she stands before Him, looking in His eyes. He reaches down to touch her face, but she pulls back just in time. Turning around, she slowly walks away. He doesn't understand, but believes that He is meant to stay rooted there. She looks over her shoulder. He can see something new on her face that was not there before. What it is, He does not know. She walks a bit farther and stops, turning to face Him. She motions, but He does not move. She runs in a circle frantically searching for something. He does not know what. She locks her gaze on Him again and becomes the dancing seductress, drawing back to Him inch by inch, step by agonizing step. Yet, she is still out of His reach and He out of hers. She runs to a corner of the room where she stands with her back to Him. He watches, but does not move from His place. She runs to another corner. Nothing. She repeats her actions twice more, moving from place to place in the hope that He will follow--that He will come to retrieve her, and by doing so, make her His. In His confusion, He does not retrieve her. He does not know. How could He? How could He know her fears? He only sees the dance. A lovely dance, but still a dance.
With defeat at hand, she tries once more in a daring effort to entice Him to her. Arms waving, she gallops around the perimeter of the room with a piece of cloth from her skirt clutched in her hand, flying behind her like a standard to be won. She stops in front of Him, but again, out of His reach. She backs away gradually, holding the cloth in front of her. All the way to the other side she moves. He stands motionless. She walks up to Him, closer than she had before. She holds out the cloth. He looks at her with a face full of puzzlement. With anguish and longing where there had once been peace, her eyes plead with Him to take the strip of fabric. For a moment she thinks that He might. He raises His hand, but then lets it fall. Heartbroken, she lets the cloth slip from her fingers and walks away towards the door. He does not go after her. He stands in his place, silently confused.
She almost reaches the door when He finally understands. He takes up the brightly colored fabric and follows her. Just as she turns the handle, she feels the touch of a hand on her shoulder and the silkiness of the cloth on her cheek. She looks up at Him with relief and gratitude. He has finally understood. He wants her as His--His servant, His slave, His concubine. He has earned her servitude through His understanding. She will give Him all that she can bestow--her obedience, her trust, her loyalty, and maybe one day, her love. He ties the cloth around her neck as a sign of ownership. She will carry a smaller piece with her for as long as she is His to remind her of that one last dance.
The music has stopped and all is quiet. She opens her eyes to return to the here and now. The loneliness has invaded without her making any attempts to stop it. It is the only company she knows.