Their First Dance
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are a figment of my imagination – most definitely inspired by God and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Inspiration: Song - “Lessons - Remix” by Eric Roberson ft. Anthony Hamilton, Raheem DeVaughn & Kevin Ross
***
I sit watching them, as do the other guests. A few are standing, capturing the moment on their phones.
It’s a mesmerising moment; they sway in unison like this is meant to be. Not a beat missed, not an awkward step, such harmony, a prophecy of the good things to come for them.
Tears fill my eyes.
I bet you think these are joyful tears? But, unfortunately, there’s nothing good about my tears. I’m angry. I cry when I’m angry.
The audacity of this man.
How can he use OUR song for their first dance?
I’m whispering a short prayer, “Dear God, help me!”
I thank this same God that nobody here really knows our history. Everyone here knows us to be “just friends.”
But OUR SONG?!
The choice of song is crafty and wicked!
A song I introduced to him! A song we agreed was ours, and ours only.
Before me, his taste in music was bland, lacking in anything that fed souls and warmed hearts; his playlist was an accumulation of noise and unintelligent mainstream shit, and now he moves to the beat of OUR song with her.
The song he’d send to me when he wanted to apologise for something stupid he had done.
And I, too, would send the song to him when I wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
IS THIS ONE NORMAL?!
After Anthony Hamilton’s verse, the chorus blasts through the speakers, and he firmly draws her into him. She giggles sweetly at his show of authority and control. Now he strategically places his head over her shoulder as they continue to move in this romantic circle that’s making me dizzy, and as if he timed it, our eyes meet. He is staring at me with intent and a smirk. I should avert his gaze, but I can’t as if he is controlling me. His glance at me is subtle, unnoticeable, and has lasted only a few seconds, but it’s enough time for me to get the message.
He isn’t over us. He isn’t over me.
The message he shares makes me understand that this marriage is a sham! A hopeless cause. A marriage of convenience, the coming together of powerful families. A business contract - a merger and acquisition.
I’ve gasped.
Snap!
This song is for me.
In front of us, he is dancing with her. In his mind, he is dancing with me.
It’s hot in here! I feel sick!
Why would he do this?
It’s been four years! FOUR WHOLE YEARS since we ended things.
Four years since I insisted we couldn’t be together. It’s been four years since that hot evening we sat in his car, and he pleaded that I shouldn’t give up on him. I can never give up on him; I gave up on the relationship. I cherished our friendship, and I’d rather have that than end up with nothing, not after his mother’s warning that year.
“My dear,” she said cooly, “Are you and my son just friends?”
I nodded timidly, “yes, ma.” What a frightful woman.
“Good. Keep it that way. You know my son deserves the best, and we will ensure he only gets the best. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded timidly, “yes, ma.”
Kevin Ross’ verse in the song gets my attention.
OH MY GOSH! THEY’RE STILL DANCING! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!
I need to get up and leave, but the intimate setting calls for no interruption of any kind, and I can’t afford to draw attention to myself right now.
The longer I sit, the more upset I am; thankfully, I have the gift of a poker face. To the masses, I’m just so happy that my friend has left his playboy ways to finally settle down with a befitting queen - the best of the best.
He is whispering in her ear, and she displays a shy smile in response.
I’ve been told one too many times that I’m too naive - I’ve never believed it, till today.
I wipe away my tears, the only evidence of my hurt, but I think what hurts the most is that I’ve just realised that I’m not naive, far from it. What I am is a fool! No ordinary fool o, a premium one! A big ass fool for coming to this wedding!
I really believed him when we eventually had our “closure” talk at our favourite cafe that year, and yet, here we are - our song plays while he dances with a woman who isn’t me.
I’m a big fool indeed! His fool, and he knows it.
Damn, this is bad.