Never Say Die

The first time I asked you to dance was awkward, I admit. You were with your friends. I was shy and had a long-time crush, which made it harder, I think. "Hi, I'm Billy... you wanna dance?"

You said no. Your friends laughed while I was walking away.

I thought about that "no" for a while. I was not proud of my effort. I wondered if I had blown it for good. I went back to my friends, who gave me shit, of course, "Shot down," they laughed, "shot down in flames!"

"Just wait, fellas. The night ain't over yet."

I caught you on the way to the jukebox. "Hey, I'm Billy Daniels... I remember you from American Lit. I'm the one who got kicked out on day two for smoking. I don't remember much about that class, but I remember you."

You brushed on by, but you smiled. You were a nice girl, not the kind who paid much attention to a guy like me, a guy with long hair and rowdy friends.

The next time it was late, and you were alone, swaying to a smokey beat. I don't remember the song, but I remember the beat. You wore that beat like a little black dress, moving inside it, making it look good, and feel good. "Hey, I came tonight 'cause I heard you hang out here. I'd really like to meet you. Please don't blow me off."

You shrugged and headed for the dance floor.

I remember how naturally our bodies slid together. I remember how your hair smelled like strawberries. I remember how your waist fit in my hands. I remember your eyes when I lifted your chin with gentle fingers and said, "thank you," I remember how those eyes pleaded for me to stop. But mostly I remember how your lip quivered after. That was when I knew.