He Watched
Alright…well…it's my first one shot…although inevitably if people want it to continue, I will. Lol. I meant to update Titanic or Left Behind on June 7th since it was my birthday then…YAY 17! but I had no time lol. I thought of this story while in the middle of my dance recital. Lol. I hope you like it.
He watched; looking up toward the stage as a song he couldn't identify started playing across the room…slow and soft. Just like always. And like always, he would watch mesmerized as she slowly and daintily stepped onto stage, before starting to move. He could tell that dancing wasn't just an activity for her…it was a passion….a skill. To him, it didn't look like she had worked at all to gain the skill she so effortlessly preformed-not like some of the other girls he had half watched, as he sat impatiently waiting for her.
As she spun in a circle, standing on just the tips of her toes, her hair splayed out slightly and her dress pulled away from her body. He seemed to feel the mood of the crowd change around him as he watched her. Before they had been rowdy, waiting for the recital to be over. But once she had started, once she had spun so effortlessly and beautifully, the crowd had seemed to instantly quiet, had seemed to lean forward slightly and relax.
He felt like he was in a dream. Like what he was watching wasn't real at all. He wished, like he did every time he came to her recitals, that he had brought a camera with him, so that he could take a picture of her…anything so that he could better remember and appreciate how beautiful and delicate and graceful she was. But he was always afraid that the act of the flash would either wake him up, leaving him disappointed in his bed or disrupt her. She seemed so focused. He was afraid.
When she was done, he felt an intense wave of sadness and gratefulness. He was sad that it was over. Sad that he would have to wait a whole year to see her dance so gracefully across the stage, to be mesmerized by the fact that every time she leapt, she never made a sound as she landed on. But at the same time, he felt grateful to be able to watch her time and time again. Every year in fact…same time, same place, same seat. It was a tradition, one he wouldn't break for anything.
He was never surprised that as she curtsied, flowers flew through the air and landed on the stage around her. And he felt himself cheer in his mind with ever flower. When the recital was done, after she had emerged onto the stage again with the other dancers, she would smile, look directly at him, and then hop off the stage and give him a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck as he held her around the waist. And like always, a couple cameras would always flash…a little extra memento of the events…maybe proof that candid moments still existed. He would give her a bunch of roses, all tied together in cellophane wrap, and she would kiss his cheek before walking off to grab her bag. And then together they would leave. Since the first time he had ever seen her dance, he had always asked her why she hadn't danced like that…or why she never sang the kinds of songs she danced to. But she would always laugh at him, rub his shoulder, and tell him that it wasn't what the kids at their school expected. And that by doing something nobody expected…she did exactly what Sharpay Evans was supposed to do—be original.
He always watched her dance…and he never stopped. Because he loved her; almost as much as he loved her dance. And he knew that as long as she danced, he would be there, feeling the same fear, the same dream-like trance. And it made him smile. He could never help but hope next year would come quickly. If only to see his angel dance again.