Sunday, December 20, 2015

True Fictions

Her name was Molly - with a Y.  Molly Jane, a Swedish last name.  A ballroom dance competitor and instructor of Swedish and German descent, born and raised in Wichita, Kansas - the East side, wealthier than the West, though she wasn't one of those spoiled girls.

He was from Sicily.  Born in Italy, raised in Argentina.  A cellist, hired with orchestras in New York and Argentina, where he sailed back and forth from often, on cruises, though he loved to teach cello even more than performing. 

It was her dress that caught his eye: a bright silver, the tulle skirt dotted with gold stars.  She shone, whirling among the crowd of other couples on the floor, bright as the first star of the night sky.  He could not stop watching her, almost missing a beat of the reliable waltz pattern.  He caught it, though the first violin eyed him violently regardless.  Germans!

She didn't see him.  She looked at her partner blindly, her mind solely focused on the steps and the counts.  Winning the semi-finals here on the MS Stockholm would guarantee a spot at the finals in New York when they arrived.  It would be her first national ballroom dance prize, she could feel it - the electricity of the dancers, the audience, and the music pulsating through the floor and into her feet, propelled her ever-forward.  


"You should 'ave won," a baritone voice said softly behind her, startling her from her pose at the upper deck railing in the evening sea air.

"Oh!" Molly's pink wrap slipped from her shoulders as she turned toward the gentleman.  "Thank you, s--" Her voice caught in her throat as her eyes were caught by the deep brown ones looking into hers.

"No sir.  I am not sir. I am Roberto."  He smiled shyly.  "And you, miss?"

"Molly."  She felt herself turn red from top to bottom as he kissed her gloved hand.  "Were you dancing?  I didn't see you..."

"Oh no!" he laughed. "I do not dance!  I play - la musica - the music.  The cello!"  He mimed the instrument.  "You do not want see me dance!"

Her laugh lit up her eyes and again Roberto saw the stars.  "Well you don't want to hear me play the cello!"

"Well then," he grinned, a bright white against his tanned skin, "we are, 'ow you say, even?"


I met Molly Jane tonight and she told me just the beginnings of her story before she had to leave.  But her life sounded fascinating, so I wanted to imagine how she might have met her husband.  :)

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