Epic Tale of Longings and Rubber Duckies

        (My real title for this is below. It was too long to fit in the Title box)

      ~The Epic Tale of Wandering Eyes, Silent Longings, and Rubber Duckies~

         The colors of the flying skirts swirled like a top spinning on a table, making any spector of the whizzing colors nauseous. Each couple was in their own world, dancing as if they were the only two people on the dance floor. The carousel-like music of the subtle waltz and the incessant ups and downs of the experienced dancers, though nauseating, showed the utmost elegance and grace, like rubber duckies gently bobbing up and down in the restless waters of a child’s bubble bath. Well, perhaps not that yellow, but it certainly had the same up-and-down, floating look.
         Every one of them could have been dancing rubber duckies for all I knew, but I, like most of them, was in my own world. But this world wasn’t the normal world people venture into when bored. My world during these nights of dance consist of a giant bathtub where I am a rubber duckie floating gaily along. To translate to modern terms, in my world I’m dancing with guys who had come and asked me on their own free will. Those guys are true rubber duckies if I ever heard of any!
         Since I’ve taken ballroom dancing classes for three years, I know the steps, counts, and rhythms pretty well, but my years of learning are never shown to anyone. You see, I’m not always the one on the floor. My toes dance in my shoes, yes, but I am never the rubber duckie in the tub, if you will. I’m more like the tooth brush sitting by itself on the edge of the sink, watching the duckies have the time of their lives bobbing up and down and spinning through the sud-filled water. Every once in a while some old scraggly person will shove me in their mouth for a good clean, but besides that, I don’t have much fun.
         The same year I started taking ballroom dancing classes, an old friend joined too. The first time I saw him there, I knew he recognized me just as I recognized him, though it had been years since we had last seen each other. From across the room, during a few of the first nights of classes, I caught his gaze, reading silent longings from his gentle eyes; longings to ask me that sweet question: “Would you like to dance?” For the sake of honesty, I must admit to having similar longings, but being the kind of girl who would rather have the guy ask her to dance instead of asking him myself, I did nothing but look as pretty as I could, hoping one night he would find the courage to ask me.
         Something I’ve always wondered is this: Why don’t the guys ask the girls to dance with them? Well, not all the girls, but it seems like the only guys and gals who dance together are either blood related or so close to it they should just change their name. I talked about this asking-a-girl-to-dance issue with one of my other guy friends and he said guys probably didn’t ask me because they were intimidated. He reasoned that the intimidation came from my being a ‘Spanish princess.’ Considering his strange personality, that line of thinking was then morphed into my being an Aztec queen who had a crocodile hat and tons of hunters and body guards. It was almost as bizarre as my own analogy with the rubber duckies.
         One night not too long ago, while waiting outside for my parents to pick me up after classes, music was still playing for those who wished to stay late and dance. Inside I yearned to be the one on the floor, but I accepted the fact that I just wasn’t good enough for a guy to ask. With that depressing thought, I grew cold and hugged myself, the chilly, icy wind whipping at my hair and giving me goose bumps all over. I hoped my parents wouldn’t take too long; it looked like it might start snowing.
         Just as a flake of snow tickled my nose, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Startled, I jumped. I then met the eyes of the one I’d longed to dance with for oh so very long, joy flowing all inside of me. Oh, how I could feel the bubbles and the warm water splashing around me in the proverbial bathtub! And as the handsome young man before me reached out his hand and asked that beautiful question, I turned yellow. But it wasn’t because I was frostbitten or too cold: no, not at all! I was finally morphing into that beautiful rubbery quacking machine, memories and emotions just waiting to be born and cherished.
         He stepped closer and my heart quickened as he gently took my hand. He led me to a place on the pavement where we could hear the music and not get run over by the cars in the parking lot, both of us feeling warm all of a sudden despite the falling snow. I was then floating, almost as if I too were a snowflake. But I didn’t hit the ground. No, not that night. I remained in the air as I was pulled to him and gently encircled by his strong arms as we began dancing a slow, beautiful waltz. He held me so sweetly I felt like a queen. Not an Aztec warrior queen with a poison-tipped crocodile spear, mind you, but an elegant, graceful snow queen, being held and loved by someone who cherished her as much as she him.
         As we were lost in time and space, we forgot the cold. We forgot the snow. We forgot the parking lot. We even forgot the music. All we could see was each other. All we could fathom were each other’s eyes and the deep, silent longings hidden in them.
         When the waltz from inside had faded completely, I was suddenly unaware of anything around me except for the snow that seemed to have changed directions. It was coming straight down on my face. No, that can’t be right. I thought to myself. Then I questioned, What’s going on? Am I still on the ground? I had heard of floating when dancing, but never anything this literal!
         As I slowly found reality, I realized it hadn’t been a crazy mental trick, but a wonderful dip. He had pulled me to his side and draped me over his arm. It wasn’t like a limp bath towel kind of draping, but more like Sleeping Beauty in the arms of her prince as he carried her off after he’d kissed away the enchantment over her. Or was that Snow White? Well, Sleeping Beauty or no Sleeping Beauty, the dip made me feel beautiful as he supported all my weight with ease in his deep, affectionate arms. He gave me wings that night, and I not only accepted them, I tried them out too.
         Before that night I was on the edge – the edge of a bathtub, dance floor, and even life itself – but he showed me through his kindness that I am worth it, that I too am special in my own way. He gave me a reason to go on, a reason to continue dancing even though the song will end someday and the ups and downs will never stop.
         Maybe to you it seems simply a dance, but to me, it was more. It was a glimpse of light during a time in my life when everything was consumed by shadows. It was a restoration of my weak and weary soul after many storms had passed.
         It wasn’t merely a dance, it was living.