It was an odd feeling, walking up the worn concrete steps to the door she had always avoided. For her, approaching it voluntarily had always meant an end to her childhood fantasies. Several times she had envisioned knocking on it and divulging the secret that festered in her heart, each had its own circumstance and outcome. She anxious about opening that door and standing on the other side. Her feet stalled in the darkness as she felt a hand grip hers in a kind, encouraging manner.

"C'mon. Don't worry." He smiled at her newfound shyness. "My grandparents are probably asleep if it makes you feel any better."

Asleep... asleep? Why would that matter to her? Were they supposed to be hiding or something? The foreign fear of a darker side to her angel crept up in the back of her mind, as if everything that she knew him as was just some shiny veneer. Visions of cheesy horror movie openings spun like a cinema reel. Then, there was a tear in the film tape. Easy girl, he wasn't that type of guy. She took a breath along with a step forward. The recesses of her mind questioned, but wouldn't it be nice? She swatted her arm to break the images that followed.

"You alright?" He asked, examining the red mark.

"Yea, lousy mosquitos." She trailed off as he looked from her arm to her eyes and she couldn't take the lie. "What are you waiting for, football head?" She stepped inside with a flourish as he followed.

##

So this was the other side; a homey, communal, sturdy, wooden feel. And a smell as if someone had blown out a Yankee candle, any kind. There was no lion waiting for her on the hand-woven entry rug. He silently took off his shoes and she followed suit. The sound of a television could be heard along with muffled laughter from the tenants' rooms. He grabbed his pair gently in the same manner as her hand. Either those were important, or she was just about in the same category as shoes. Her eyes drifted over the vintage style.

"Where'd you get those kicks?" She initiated; he didn't respond. The awkwardness rose. Could he sense her absurd jealousy over footwear? "Er- I was just wondering if it was from the same second-hand shop as my dress." She struggled to correct his perception.

The two were climbing the staircase slowly to avoid the squeaky steps. He paused and she could only see his back, nearly crashing into it with her momentum. "They were my father's." His voice was tight and she could hear the child in it.

She felt her stomach drop as she longed to see the expression clinging to that exquisite bone structure. She wanted to see what no one else could; she wanted too much. She glanced down, feeling ashamed at her only handling of the situation during Parent's Day in the past. How she would have handled it differently. How did she imagine it should go, again? She acted out the scene her mind had played over in correction of her inadequate actions. She placed her arms around his back, across his chest gently.

"I'm sure he would be proud of you. I know they both would be." In the silence she knew now that there was really nothing she could do to change the fate of a cold world.

"Grandpa used to tell me stories... He would say to me, 'You've got your father's hands and your mother's heart'; but when I look down, when I look at me, I see nothing of them. I barely knew them." His voice shook.

She heard her own voice enough times to know what that meant. She rose a step to view the moonlight catching in the corners of his eyes. An irrepressible urge within her brought her lips to his. Though she regretted it almost immediately, not knowing if it was of any comfort. The television continued in the still, humid air as she pulled back.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. It was too dark to see his expression.

"Don't be." She could hear him returning to himself. "That's the first time in a long time that you've been the one to kiss me."

For a second she was glad for the darkness as her face hummed with warmth. "Shut up!" She shoved him playfully as he held onto her arm and they tripped up the stairs, ending with him seated and holding her up on his lap.

A light flooded the hallway with the noise of their fall. "One of by land and two if by sea..." came Grandma's suspicion-filled voice from inside the bedroom. "The British are coming!"

For a moment, Helga feared she might ride a hobby horse around the house waking her patrons.

"Not tonight, Paul Revere, come back to bed." Mumbled Grandpa.

The light disappeared after Arnold and Helga caught a glimpse of themselves tangled in the stairwell. They quieted their laughter as they unfolded. His lap, her inner child screamed, his lap!

"We still have to make it up mine." He reminded.

"I think I can manage, I'm not so sure about you." She tried to catch her breath from the unexpected excitement.

##

Strings of old, large, white bulbs like Christmas decorations hung from the water tower and various parts of construction on the flat roof. They swayed and made a soft tinking noise in the warm breeze. Aside the wooden picnic table was a small, round, plastic tub with ducks imprinted on the side.

"Sweet pool." She joked. "You allowed to throw parties up here?"

"Only for those special enough to attend." He replied.

"Where'd you pick up that line?" She said playfully as she approached the poolside, pausing her upbeat behavior as she noted the roses floating in the water. "Arnold..." She spoke to her reflection, moving her glance to the boy who remained in his tux sans shoes. She was in stockings, feeling the grain of the tiles beneath her feet. "I can't..."

He brought his hand to hers. "You promised to give me tonight. Even if that's all I get."

Her eyes searched his as he brought out the large old boom box from when he confronted Harold. She wondered, for a second, if the old fashioned boy had made a mix tape as a soft song began to play. "And as I promised," He bowed and offered his hand. "Will you have my last dance?"