Dance With Me

-There's a Word for This Feeling-

April 1932

He could see her through the screen. Tiny little thing, all curled up in the rubber, fingers lightly grasping the chains on either side of her. Bare feet reached for the ground, toes stretching out to anchor in the patchy grass and weeds, propelling her with enough force to spin in slow circles. The chains would intertwine, wrapping around themselves over and over until she wasn't strong enough to push anymore. Then she'd lift her feet and spin until the chains straightened.

He built that swing for her. She asked him to. It was pretty simple, just strung up a spare tire with some old chains along a hanging branch in the cluster of trees out back. It'd been a real pain in the ass scouting out a branch strong enough to support the weight of the swing, even in winter. But there was a crooked old oak with a limb high and thick enough to get the job done. He was going to use just a board of wood for the seat at first. But then he remembered he had that old tire resting under a workbench in the auto repair shed, and he thought she'd find that more comfortable. She didn't use it much at first. But now that the weather was getting nicer, if she wasn't upstairs or downstairs, she was out on that swing.

She didn't put her hair up today. It fell over her shoulder in waves from yesterday's tight wrap and framed one side of her face as she looked down at her feet. Her dress was a light shade of yellow. It made her skin glow in a way that caught his attention the second she climbed down the stairs this morning.

She was usually talkative in the morning, but not today. He'd have breakfast ready, but wouldn't eat until she woke up. Sometimes she'd wake up late after a long night, and he'd have to reheat the toast. But she didn't mind her bacon cold. Neither did he. They'd sit down at the table together, and she'd take her coffee in large gulps even though it was usually burning hot. It never fazed her though; she liked her coffee like Howard liked liquor. Any which way she could get it. She'd tell him about her dreams the night before, if there were any she could remember. Tell him about something new she learned from Dr. Andrews. Always going off about different painters and sculptures, using words like Rococo, and realism, and grandeur, and asymmetrical designs. He still didn't know what any of it meant, but she was so happy talking about it. Her thoughts would move too fast for her mouth to catch up, and she'd stutter trying to find the right words, laughing at herself for being so foolishly passionate. "It's just amazing, Forrest," she'd say, "You have to see it." He'd never appreciate it like she did, but it didn't matter. If it was something she thought worth mentioning, it was something worth seeing.

She'd ask him what he was doing, though the answer was always the same. Checking the books. Re-checking them. Inventory. Budgeting. Calculating sales. Always.

But that didn't happen today. She came down late, ate light, finished off a cup of coffee, and then went outside. There'd been a run last night. A real quick one; cars were in and out of there in under ten minutes. But one fella owed a debt to another, and there was a mess to clean up after they were able to pull the two men apart and drag them outside to deal with the conflict properly. He'd had every intention to clean the mess up himself after he locked up the station, but when he returned inside, Edna was on her hands and knees, bowl of filthy water beside her as she mopped up the blood with a soaking towel.

He was sure she scrubbed and scrubbed at that floor until it discolored the boards. He let her though; he had no right to say she shouldn't. He picked up the splintered pieces of a broken chair, and swept up all the glass. Afterwards he poured her a generous helping of brandy, and then lay with her in her bed until she fell asleep before he went down to update the books.

He had a hunch that she wasn't herself today because of what happened last night. She was slow at adjusting to the way things were around here. It was strange to watch her, and try to imagine the place she came from before. Everyone was used to this way of living. Everyone he knew. Even the city folk. It was just how the world was. But violent outbursts never failed to catch her off guard. She hated the sound of a firing gun. She refused to be witness to a transaction. Didn't even like to watch them load the truck before a run. He knew the sound of a scuffle would've peaked her concern last night. She would've snuck downstairs and seen the wreckage. And even if she left everything else, she would've felt the unrelenting need to clean up the blood. Blood stained. It seeped like oil into anything it could, and latched on with a stubborn hold. If she didn't tend to that specific mess in a timely manner, then it would've left a mark on the floor. No one wanted the reminder of what happened there.

He knew that was why she'd done it. He knew it because she'd done it before, with the white dress she'd worn the day they drove to the coast. It took him awhile to understand why he'd found her scrubbing away at that dress in the sink, when there hadn't been anything wrong with it. That day had affected her more than she'd ever admit. Something told him that before that day, she'd never had her life threatened. Never been unwillingly touched or grabbed at. Never seen a man exact punishment on another man for his dire mistakes. He'd like to take a trip to her hometown someday. He really couldn't imagine a place like it existing. But it must've existed, if it was producing creatures like Edna.

She never did end up getting the stains out of her dress. The stains only she saw, and she ended up throwing that dress in the furnace. It was a shame, but she did what she had to do, and things were all right after that. It was touch and go for a few days, but then she started talking about replacing his old second-hand makeshifts upstairs with the furniture in her apartment, and he knew she'd be okay. They'd be okay.

That was the difference between Edna and Maggie. One of them, at least.

He didn't like to think about Maggie too much, because then he'd get to feeling bad, and it wasn't no use being like that. He knew deep down that it would've been a miracle if Maggie truly stayed; stuck around in Franklin and spent the rest of her days with him. But Maggie was hardened by life and silenced by experience, and that gave her the luxury of the ability to run from her past and coinciding torment. It never cost her much more than dull heartache and an uncomfortable goodbye to uproot her life and try it differently somewhere new. Maggie was looking for something, something in particular, and he didn't think that she could've ever found it in him, or in Franklin.

She tried, though. She tried really hard to stay, and he had to give that to her. He was surprised he'd been able to convince her at all, claiming he could keep her safe, even though he was lying in a hospital bed with sutures across his throat, all covered in a swath of bandages at the time. She'd saved him, even after the abuse inflicted on her. She had a strength, a poise, and a dignity unlike any woman he'd ever met. He'd always owe his life to her. So he didn't do anything to hold her back when she finally decided to go.

If he had stopped to take a good hard look, he could've seen it coming. It was in the quietness around the station. In the way they slept in separate beds at night. She tried hard to hide the memory of that night away. But sometimes he could see it in her face. When she smiled, it faltered. Couldn't ever look anyone in the eye. Sometimes he'd catch her staring at some particular part of the room like it held a certain disturbing meaning to her. She'd remove herself from her thoughts eventually and lean against the grill, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands, even if there was already another one burning between her fingertips.

When she did finally decide to leave, it was early one morning. She stepped hesitantly down the stairs because she knew he was already awake. She stopped at the bottom step, valise clutched tightly in her hand, he waited for her explanation even though something in his stomach sank a little when he saw that look in her eye. There wasn't any stopping her, even if he'd tried. She was already gone. "I'm going to go now," she said, and she spoke low, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. She did go. He watched her walk right out through the screen door, disappearing until he heard the engine of her Ford turn over and roar to life. Then she was gone.

It scared him a little to think Edna might do the same. He hated admitting that fear to himself, but he didn't know what else to call it. Scared seemed to be the proper word. He liked having Edna around. He liked the noise. The sound of her voice. She could get so loud sometimes, especially when his brothers were around. But he didn't mind. Her laughter would echo throughout the station, or sometimes her angry warnings if Howard was antagonizing her, and he'd find himself pausing to just listen. Didn't matter what she was saying. Didn't matter what she was laughing about. Her voice filled this place with something it'd always been missing. He never knew what that something missing was, but now he did. It was her voice.

Part of him wished she'd leave. Get out before this place and this life could ruin her. Something bad was bound to happen; it always did. Nothing ever stayed right for too long, and he'd be damned if she was hurt or put in danger in any way he could've prevented. She was such a delicate little thing, no matter how tough she tried to act. And she was under his care. He liked to keep track of her whereabouts. He knew her schedule by heart. He knew how long it took her to fall asleep at night. Ten minutes with brandy, twenty without. He knew when he heard the first creaks of footsteps across the ceiling in the morning it would be exactly seventeen minutes until he saw her come down the stairs. He knew she returned from the hospital at eleven fifteen every night of the work week, and he knew he'd have her until one thirty most nights, which was usually about the time she started to doze.

Most of him wished she'd stay. He knew she held intentions to go off to school. There was a deeply selfish part of him that he kept tied down and gagged – that part of him wanted to see those plans fall short. He wanted to find out what she was looking for, and find a way to give that to her. Women were confusing creatures; he didn't always understand what they wanted. Sometimes he did, but most of the time he just made them mad. Maggie was always mad at him. All fire and ice until he did something else that magically fixed the problem. It wasn't pleasant, and it was puzzling as all hell, but in all his time contemplating it, he had come across one thing that stood out to him. One thing he may be able to offer one day.

Maggie didn't mind the business. Illegal activity didn't faze her; she'd been around it her whole life. It was the attempts on his life that had really gotten to her. She didn't believe for a second the rumors surrounding his family name. She couldn't ever stand seeing him hurt, and she'd been angry with him more than once, accusing him of seeking out danger. She despised the thought that someday he really was going to die, and it would be long before her, and she'd have to live with that loneliness. God forbid she actually be there when he did die. Edna appeared to be the opposite. She approached his accidents like a chore and an annoyance, and dealt with them accordingly. She questioned his intelligence, but she never appeared to question his ability to survive. The business was the part that she didn't like. She didn't like that they had to make their money illegally. She didn't like the violence that was included.

The fate of his life was out of his hands. It was as simple as that; he'd die when and how he was supposed to. Even though he'd do his damndest to have a say in it, he knew that ultimately it wasn't up to him. The business, however, he did have a say in that. Liquor was a means of getting by while the economy plummeted. Always had been. He'd promised himself a long time ago that he'd get out once things turned around. Couldn't say the same for his brothers, but that was his plan. Save enough to invest in something else. Or expand. The sawmill wasn't doing all that well, but he figured that'd change once the economy started looking up. Giving up the business for himself was an easy dream. Giving up the business for Edna was pure encouragement.

His fingers twitched at his side as he warred with himself about whether or not to go out there. She'd stopped spinning in the swing, bringing her feet up. Her arms wrapped around her legs and her cheek rested on a knee. He needed to finish the books. Then he had to go check the gasoline tank. He needed to order piping and tile for a shower stall. Wasn't room for a tub like she wanted, but she was okay with a stall, as long as they looked into replacing the water heater. She said she'd help pay for the renovations. She was crazy.

It was Sunday. He wasn't expecting anyone today. Customers, if there were any, would be slow to rise. Howard never came round on Sundays after a run, and Jack would be with Bertha all day after church. He'd show up later in the evening for supper before returning to the farmhouse, though. Everett celebrated the Sabbath the old-fashioned way, and he respected that.

He sighed to himself, tearing his eyes away from her and twisting his body to look around. This back room could use a good sweep, too. But he'd have all day to do that, and all night if he needed it. He withdrew a hand from his pocket and pushed at the screen door. It opened with a creak, drawing her attention. She looked up and over toward the back door, saw him standing there. She considered him for a moment, eyes at a squint in the slight distance, but he could see the smile beginning to stretch at her lips.

"Whatcha doin'?" she called out to him. He shrugged.

"Nothin'," he said.

"Come push me then."

Something jerked inside him, leaving him breathless under an unbearable lightness. His stomach twisted and his heart pulsed, and it was painful in a sense of the word. Wasn't like being kicked or shot, but there was real pain. He welcomed the warmth it left in him as he eyed the creature waiting for him under that oak. He wanted her to stay. He'd build a university right in the center of Rocky Mount, if it meant she'd stay. Sweet Edna. She was giving him the chance to make her his. His. His woman. His mate. His second half. Her intentions were clear. Always had been. She wasn't afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve. He'd tell her that was dangerous, but he didn't want her to believe it. Not when she was offering that heart to him – an investment too good to pass up. No, it was his turn. Now it was his responsibility to make his intentions clear.

He stepped down onto the patchy grass, and she twisted to watch as he approached. He'd tell her that he wanted her to stay. That's how he would do it. He'd tell her that he didn't want her to leave Franklin; to leave him. That's what he'd tell her. Soon.


"If I love, if I open up that part of me, then I will die." -Tom Hardy on Forrest's thoughts on love.

Consider that quote for Forrest's plausible reactions to his and Edna's predicament. All right. I apologize if you were expecting more...intimate content, in continuation of the previous chapter. If that's a popular idea, there may be a special insert in a future chapter. But this is the content that ate away at me until I agreed to write it all down. So here it is: all the things Forrest will never say out loud. What do you think?

By the way, if you've never seen Tom Hardy's performance in Stuart: A Life Backwards, stop what you're doing right now and go watch it. You can find the full movie on Youtube right now. Wonderful, beautiful, that's all I have to say. Thank you for reading, I look forward to your feedback!