04/20/2012

A Story by Leap

I told her 'Clair de Lune' had to be part of it. She agreed, vigorously nodding out the obvious. She said, “Of course!” and went on to describe the fanciful slope from the beginning to the climax. In bold depictions, she fleshed-out her stride through fresh dew, feeling the grass dampen the spaces between her toes. She makes her way toward me with Debussy swarming around us. “I get to you as the middle sweeps out and fades.” From here, her fantasy seemed more like a recollection of the past.

On the same page as usual, she now wanted to know what we planned to play for our dance. “I'm still not sure. What do you hear when you picture it?” I was hoping for an inkling because I had nothing. Neither did she. Though we still had eighteen months to go, somehow, these details took precedence. “We know we want an appropriate favorite between us. Appropriate to the occasion.”

“It's gotta be modern, yet elegant. You know what I mean?” I did. For that, I blew her a kiss. She mimed one back and winked.

“Okay. Here's what we'll do. Just listen for it. I will too. And when one of us hears it, we'll know.”

“That's about as good as any plan.” She also suggested we use a special way to signify our find. “For funsies, we should sing our favorite lyric like we're whispering sweet nothings.”

“Will do.” And it would.

As the night wore on, we played boggle in bed and practiced our finger spelling. With Grizzly Bear in the speakers, 'Ready, Able' began. I mentioned how the melody and rhythm had always reminded me of ballroom dancing. Such bright mutual sparks went off, they might have been visible in the dimness. We shared a satisfied stare, and we reflected the others' giddy smile. And as our favorite lyric whisked its way across the room, together we sang, “Ready, able to make my own good home.”