The Lost Dance

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I always feel happy when I'm dancing, alive. Maybe that's why I thought I loved my husband. We met whilst dancing. Every date included dancing. Music and movement shaped us as a couple. Swaying, jumping, turning in tandem. I still tap my toe at the s...

I always feel happy when I'm dancing, alive. Maybe that's why I thought I loved my husband. We met whilst dancing. Every date included dancing. Music and movement shaped us as a couple. Swaying, jumping, turning in tandem. I still tap my toe at the slightest hint of a beat, but Joe only scowls and pushes me away if I dare to take his hand.

Marriage to me robbed him of his joy, turned him into a machine to provide, provide, provide. No children have blessed our now stormy union, but still his obsession is to earn, to work, to give us nice things. All I want is to move as one once more.

I claim to go out during the day to do worthy, wifely things, like volunteer at the library or help the old lady down the road do her shopping. I don't. I visit clubs and bars, looking for that lost connection to the beat. All I have found is disappointment. The men will dance, for a while, but it's not what they care about. Nor am I. Today I stay home and dream in the dusty room that should have been a nursery. Everything is lost.

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