The Couple & Their Dancing Girl

Each morning, my husband and I see the young lady dance around her apartment.

She never closes her shutters for we live on higher stories. Where the sun shines bright and the moon even brighter.

We watch each dance. Listen to each song. Imagine each story. Always over our small morning coffee.

We don't know her name and she doesn't know ours.

She's so happy. Happy to be alive. She brings a smile to my face each morning.

I come home from work one day. My husband reading a book with a cup of tea and a bright smile on his face.

Sitting with him, I see the young lady is dancing as she cooks.

"My, she seems happier than usual" her laughter brings a smile to my face.

"Came home dancing and singing. Must have gotten good news today- perhaps a raise in salary. Now that would make even me dance like a child" my husband says, laughing the laugh I fell in love with.

"I do hope so, she seems like such a sweet young girl" I mindlessly respond, standing up to go and cook dinner of our own.

Seems like a memory, that day, that happened not so long ago.

My husband has passed away now. My other half has gone back up to the skies. I see him each night, living among the stars.

Still, each morning, I sit with a cup of coffee and watch her silly little dance.

I smile at her antics.

She's so happy.

She must be a joy to have around.

Her family must love her dearly.

Her friends must adore her entirely.

Although she cannot see me, I wave a small goodbye for the day as I head out for work.

Coming home, life suddenly seems so dull. My apartment no longer feels warm with the sun's rays.

Confused and a tab bit cold, I go to sit down at our table. I look out my window in hopes of feeling a bit brighter with the help of our silly young lady.

But she's nowhere in sight.

Her apartment seems drab and sad without her presence in it.

Must be working late today. I say to myself.

But three days more, each day the same.

Until one weekend morning, her door opens and people I'd never seen before enter the once-bright home.

I think, visitors, until I see their garments.

All black. No color in sight. Their faces contorted into frowns. They cry as they begin to put her items into boxes.

I watch, frozen, as they all slowly and carefully pack everything away.

I can't bear to watch but I need to ask where she's gone to.

It's clear where she's disappeared but perhaps, just a small maybe, she has just moved away. Far away.

I head down the stairs, my old knees yelling to slow down.

I walk out of my building and to the entrance of the one she lives in.

There is a truck and some of the visitors arrange boxes of her belongings in it.

A frail woman, crying, is signing papers for the landlord. As she finishes, she turns and spots me.

I speak, "Excuse me if I am intruding but- where has the sweet little lady gone?"