We sat on the moss-covered bench, allowing the serene scene around us to settle in. Today, the sky was the bluest of blues and the grass the greenest of green, as the weeping willow tree surrounded us, creating our own secret room. A small gap in the leaves allowed for a perfect view of the stream that was right next to the tree. The setting was all too perfect for this day.
Jude put his arm around me and I happily obliged. Thinking about the fact that I’d never be able to have this arm around me for at least a few years made me sad. We sat like that for a good five minutes until Jude stood up again.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, putting his hand out to me.
“What?” I laughed. I wasn’t exactly in the mood.
“Are you going to refuse me a dance? You know it’s common courtusy, don’t you?”
“But… There’s no music.” Another one of my lame excuses.
“Nonsense,” Jude said. “I’ll show you. And just so you know, I’m not going to let you sit around and be sad all night. I would not be doing the job of a good boyfriend.”
I reluctantly stood up, sighed, and took his hand in mine.
“Hear the stream?” Jude asked.
I nodded.
“And those windchimes?”
I nodded again.
“And the the leaves rustling, and the birds chirping, and the bees buzzing?”
I gazed into his leaf-green eyes which sparkled like emeralds.
“That’s our music,” Jude whispered as a smile creeped onto his face.
“I have a confession,” I said, blushing. “I… I’m not good at dancing. Like, at all.”
“Sure you are!” Jude laughed. “Remember when you told me you were forced to take cotillion and had to dance with that Alex guy?”
“Yeah, well, I never said I was good. And I can’t believe you remember that.”
“You don’t have to be good! And I remember everything. Now, come on. The dance floor awaits.”
I sigh, but grin at the fact that he always seemed to convince me to do things I wasn’t planning on. He put his hand around my waist and I put my hand on his shoulder. We began to dance. I vaguely remembered the steps they’d taught me at cotillion, but I tried hard to remember. From the way Jude was dancing, you’d think he’d have taken 5 years of ballroom dancing classes. I couldn’t keep up, and eventually, I stepped on his foot.
We stopped and Jude put his hand on my cheek.
“Stop trying so hard,” he said warmly. “Just let the moment guide you.”
We locked eyes and began to dance, never looking away. Gliding around our grass dance floor, I started to feel more comfortable. Our pace quickened and I realized I was dancing. Not the I-went-to-cotillion-once-but-forgot-everything dancing. This was the kind of dancing where there’s a connection between you and your partner and it doesn’t matter who’s watching or who’s not, but all that matters is that connection.
I started to laugh for God know’s why and couldn’t stop. I laughed and laughed as we danced, and eventually Jude began to laugh too. It wasn’t until I saw the first sign of sunset that I realized why. We were laughing because, at first, we had been dancing to the sounds of music, but now we had become the music. We were a joyful, laughable symphony that you just couldn’t stop playing on repeat. We were a broken record that would never cease to end, and a band that was playing their final gig. We were better than the greatest Adele song of all time, and better than Michael Jackson and Beyonce and some guy named Stevie Wonder. At that moment in time, everything stopped because we were the music and the world was our song.