Short Story

My last Dance

The rain tumbled onto the roof above, far above.  As I listened I could hear the music beginning to sing, just as it always did.  I was glad to be able to rely on the music and slowly I began to create.  Dance flows from my soul and I needed to shape movements more than ever before.  In that moment I could disappear from all around me that was tugging at me, desperately trying to connect with the experience of death.  But this was my death and no-one was going to dictate my passing, except maybe the music….

Reality beckoned as I heard the familiar voice of my daughter entering the room.  She was already trying to take control with her very first utterances ‘Close the curtains, it is too bright in here’.

I liked the light, I was looking forward to the light tunnel that so many people talk about.  I think it will be spectacular.  I went back to my music to seek new movement and translate it to my story that was beginning to take shape.  My story captured the rain drops and tossed them out to sea where waves picked them up and tossed them back.  A battled ensued deep in the body as it curled and revolved, swayed and stretched reaching every raindrop one by one.

Suddenly my dance faded once more as a hand gripped mine.  A hand that once belonged to a stranger ,but no more.  A hand that had lived a lifetime by my side and I had loved that hand.  I still love that hand.

‘She is so cold, too cold’

I wasn’t cold at all.  I was calm and I was still but I wasn’t cold.  I could never be cold with that hand so close.  The hand that took my when we promised our vows and the hand that stroked me deep in the night.  I love that hand.

My music returned with the greatest of flurry as the raindrops peered beyond the storm to catch the clouds and curl them up.  My body rolled forward with the lightest of touch only to turn and roll again.  The rain clouds all dappled and grey parted slowly and slowly….I could feel it.  My heart was slowing, my organs failing and in that space I clung to my music.

Gentler voices echoed through the room muffled by silence and waiting.  The waiting was sure to cast its own spell but I didn’t care for that spell.  My music was coming to an end.  Quivering drops as the rainstorm passed and peeped through the window to spread their joy.  The hand was still there.  The music was still there.  But there was no light, it faded fast and the music dulled. 

I listened so carefully to those final sounds grasping at the notes that floated through the air before resting between our hands.  A space, the slightest space between our hands.  Shuffled movements and whispers abound as I took a moment to catch the sounds and trapped them deep in my soul.  But it was the music, those final notes, that spoke to me last and so they might.

I am going to sleep now and I won’t hear anymore music.  Night night.