“He’s tall and slender and his legs work perfectly fine, but something’s wrong. She can hear their feet tapping on the hard wooden floor of the church hall and realizes the rhythm doesn’t match the music the band is playing. She tries to tell the boy this, but he won’t listen. Instead he moves her faster and faster, so that their feet are flying, but the sound they make is still a steady clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop. She moves her head on the pillow, opens her eyes, and squints against the ea...rly morning daylight seeping in from beneath the window shade. She lies quietly, letting her body recollect what her brain already knows, that she’s not twenty-four anymore. The dream of dancing lingers at the edge of her consciousness, a sharp contrast to the aches and pains that take up familiar residence in her limbs. Which is why it takes her a moment to realize she can still hear the sound of feet on a hardwood floor. The noise is coming through the open kitchen windows and sounds like a hesitant woman in high heels—a few steps, a pause, then more steps.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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