DANCE-AWAY

They sat across from each other at the dining room table just as they had the first afternoon he told her he loved her. When he said he was so busy he couldn’t make much time for her, she wasn’t surprised, only wondered why he thought it was necessary to state the obvious.

When she didn’t respond, he said with evident satisfaction, “Seely, I am the dance-away lover. I like the fantasy, the rush of falling in love. I don’t like it when it gets too real.”

She stared at him then, realizing she was really seeing him for the first time.

Something in her face must have arrested his attention because he went on, “OK, maybe I used you, but I think you used me too.”

“No,” she said quietly, “I don’t think I did.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” he sighed, “when I’m settled in Chicago and have a chance to think about all this, I’m going to feel guilty. I can’t get away with anything.”

And as she continued to scrutinize him, she felt herself rending in two, a ghastly tear down her center, one half beginning to hate him for his cruelty, the other half loving him still.