April 15th. The date lingers in my mind. That was today. The day of the annual Grindelia dance. The place where my parents met. Today is also Grindelia’s birthday, not that she’s alive anymore.
Grindelia Nelson was a spunky girl who was one of the first people to live here along with her family. She was said to be a whiz at trapping animals, an amazing singer, and bright and like the flower she was named after. Every waking minute there was a smile spread across her face. She was always one to help, and you couldn't help but love her. One night, when she was fourteen, there was a big tornado heading straight for the village. Grindelia ran to everyone's house making sure they had a sturdy place to ride out the storm. However, she never made it home. No one knows for sure how she died, but some people say a house collapsed on her and some say she was stuck by lightning. Those who survived the tornado rebuilt the village. A patch of grindelias was planted in the center of town, and the village was named after her.
I force myself into my parents' room. The sheets are no longer on the floor, and the bed is made, probably from when the others stayed over a few weeks back. I open the closet and pull on my mom's white blouse and purple skirt, as my nice clothes no longer fit. I slip into her sandals when something on the floor catches my eye. I pick up a small brown cloth bag and open it to find about ten dollars’ worth of coins. In the city, ten dollars couldn't even get you a shirt, but here; ten dollars could double my wardrobe of four outfits as well as buy me about a week's worth of meat. The sun is setting. I tell Rose where I'm going and set off toward the center of town.
Lanterns are lit. Music is being played. Couples are dancing. Even though it is sort of a sad day, everyone knows Grindelia wouldn't want us to mourn. Smiles are infinite. It's almost as if everyone has shed the anguish of their unfortunate lifestyles of nearing starvation and felt happy. Carefree. A feeling that I had almost never felt. I sat on a stone and fingered with my father's tie as I watched the joyful couples dance. I imagined my parents here. Young. Dancing. Alive.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice came from behind me. I turn to find Dillon in black pants and a white polo. I hadn't anticipated him coming. Ever since that morning with Marcus, I didn't feel the same about either of them.
“Care to dance?” he asks holding out his hand. Oh great. I definitely didn't see this coming. I claimed I didn't like him. I glance at his charming smile, shimmering blue eyes, and welcoming hand. I give in. He pulls me into the mass of couples. Neither of us really knows how to dance, so we trip over each other’s feet and laugh every time we do. The musicians take a break.
“My parents met here,” I tell him.
“Really?” he says.
“Yeah.” I tell him the story.
My mother was seventeen and my father was twenty. She had no intention of going to the dance, but she passed it on her way home from the seamstress. He was just leaving, not having the memory of dancing with a special girl. My mother was carrying several pieces of fabric, among many other things. She lost her balance, by tripping over a broken tree limb, sending the cloth flying in every direction. My father helped her gather her things. They sat down and got to know each other. By the time he asked her to dance, no one was around. There was no music playing. The lanterns were put out. They danced under the moonlight to their own music.
“Wow,” Dillon whispered. I pulled the tie from my pocket and placed it around his neck.
“It was my dad's,” I say even softer. “He wore it when he met my mother that night.” The music has long since started again, but we don't dance. We gaze into each other’s eyes. He pulls me closer. I shed the problems of my past. And maybe for a moment, I felt carefree. The moment that his lips meet mine.
I release myself from his grip and look up at his smiling face. The moment's gone. In its place is the usual feeling of fear and grief. I can't find words.
“Sorry. I couldn't help myself,” he confides. I didn't know whether he really needed to apologize, or if I appreciated the fact that he did. Do I like him? I guess I do. When he kissed me, I didn't object.
When the crowd thins out and the lanterns are put out, Dillon takes me hand and walks me home.
“I knew you’d come around,” he says. Before I can respond, he disappears into the darkness.
That night, something strange happens. I find myself gaining consciousness during one of my nightmares. The village is alive with screams and gunshots. I look out the window. Across the way, I see Rose's house. Then, it's blown to bits by a bomb from above. Debris goes flying everywhere. I try to wake myself up. I think back a couple hours when Dillon kissed me. How I think I liked it. The thought surprises me somehow.
“Skye,” Rose whimpers from the door. Suddenly, I realize something even more surprising. Shocking, actually. Everything clicks.
This is no dream.
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