Rings on Fingers, Bells on Toes
Written on 12/20/09 at 10:54 Central Plains time. 550 Words
The first time I met her, she had a certain whimsicality to her. She swayed back and forth, barely paying attention to her surroundings, much to the dismay of her fellow students. She made walking to class seem like an impossible one-sided pas de deux. I would catch the occasional glance of her magical dance from my locker. It especially made me smile that day, it was like remembering an old memory, a poem long forgotten. She finished what could possibly be compared to a pirouette rather clumsily and landed with a thud against a nearby locker. I could almost catch strains of "Someday My Prince Will Come" pouring from her lips. It reminded me of watching old grainy VHSes of younger cousins' first dance recitals or concerts when it's so unsynchronized, it has to be cute. And then like a swallowtail, she fluttered off to where ever she went to at this time of day. I had noticed several costume jewelry rings on her fingers, giving her transportable limelight for her ever shifting waltz.
A year older than me. It didn't seem true. Not with that kind of vivacity.
The second time I got more than a passing glance at her, there was stark contrast. The August sun still beat upon us, but the hallways where no longer her stage. Her large rings and dangly necklaces became tame bands in fewer numbers and plain chains with the occasional Croix. Something had happened in the past few months that ended the dance. She seemed older, like the Senior she was expected to be. I had heard that she dropped out of the theater, in favor of being able to focus on her studies and spend time with her family. School just became school again. There was no guessing game in which new step she would add today. A chassé? Jeté entrelacé? But alas, it was not to be so! It was almost like she was in a state of mourning, walking with weights attached to her feet. I found myself missing it, but only as a fond pastime of yesteryears, and so in a way, I grew up with her.
And it saddened me greatly, growing up.
The last time I saw her, she graduated. I had noticed the larger rings had returned, but subdued. Her step had a bounce to it, but it was not her old dance. I had once again heard rumors about her, that someone had confessed love to her, but no one could tell me who. I was helping with putting away chairs from the ceremony, and heard her call a name. Looking up from my task, I saw a young boy with russet hair, like the color of bosc pears clasp his arms around her. She bent down to kiss his head and give him the first true smile I had seen from her face. She then walked off with his hand in hers, and two people I could only assume to be her parents following them, a small upturning of my lips. "What?" asked a boy next to me. And I replied with the poem I had remembered two terms ago,
"She's got rings on her fingers,
And bells on her toes,
She'll always have music,
Where ever she goes."