A Night to Remember
She had known of them, watched them from afar. Never privy to their festivity; she was not one of them.
"Nonsense," Bert had said. "You are welcome any time. What's a song and dance without Mary Poppins?"
How silly of him. Mary had always known about their rendezvous atop the rooftops, when the world was sleeping but the moon was not. She had seen the way one sweep, in particular, composed his own strange rhythms and movements, the way the others responded to him when he did. And she had to ask herself whether she had wanted to be there because of the dancing or because of him.
As if it hardly mattered, she was there now. Sitting among them, creating her own dance, twirling from one sweep to the other, a never-ending flurry of her own making. She was breathless; she was air and she was light as the men danced around her. With her.
Then he asked her if she would step in time with him. What other answer had there ever been but yes? She allowed herself one more dance, one more effort to please. But this time was important, as though her life depended on it. Her heart certainly did.
"Mary Poppins, you dance like an angel," Bert had complimented her as he walked her home. Half-skipping, like he carried the music with him. "I could hardly compare."
He was being ridiculous; nobody could compare to him. If only he knew. Instead, she wished him goodnight and watched him from the upstairs window as he hopped down the lane, whistling and singing. If it were possible for her to dance all night, every night, with him then she would. Mary was not one to let an opportunity pass her by.