This Time Every Year
“He wasn’t there, at least not a moment ago?” she half thought, half spoke.
“Who?” little sister said, answering her own question, looking from the ‘pay here’ queue to see what kind of man had got big sister’s attention. He was there alright, in every sense, lean, six foot, curly close cut hair; caressing silk, eyes dancing over candy stripes, somehow not quite him. Little sister does a double take, big sister now walking over to him.
His fingers caress each tie in turn. “A female perspective?” she enquires.
“Yours always.” his reply.
She takes a subtle blue design, almost on tiptoes leans in to place around his neck. A faint stir, foot to foot his balance shifts, her coat unbuttoned, body free. Both sway, gap between them now as nothing, little sister’s eyes popping.
Music, no one remembered what, or if any, only movement, theirs, timeless, of another world. Classic ballroom made sensual, borderline erotic. This world stood still, time gave time for free. Little sister’s mouth wide open, seeing yet not believing, big sister dancing that way, with him.
Arm’s length now, blue tie passed from her hands to his. He bows, escorts her to the line where all completely mesmerised.
“Who is he?” little sister gasps.
“No idea.” big sister smiles … “he comes to me this time every year.”
They turn around, blue tie as his eyes nowhere to be seen.
Present given … and received.