It’s what I liked about her at first. She was dreamy. Like she wasn’t really there, not all there. Like she was somewhere else at the same time. She was dancing when she first caught my eye, only it wasn’t like any dancing I ever saw before. It was like she was in the music or the music was in her. Fuck, I ain’t making sense here. It was like she was a leaf that was fallen from the tree and picked up and carried by the wind and the wind was singing and sighing.
Other girls, they was just jigging in time with the drums, everything bouncing and jerking. I was used to that and I wasn’t looking for anything more than that. Then Kimmy was there and she was dancing different.
I thought maybe she’d had too much to drink. It was early in the evening, but sometimes girls came pumped up, you know, a few vodkas thrown back for courage. Some of the other guys looked out for them girls, cos they was easy. You could dance with them and they pressed their bodies against you, warm and soft. And they kissed you and they let you touch under their dresses. And Kimmy looked like one of them girls when she was dancing.
Then she came off the floor and she stood at the bar waiting to be served and the way the light hit her she was just beautiful, but it was like I was the only one to see it. I bought her a drink, white wine in a plastic cup. They had to look under the bar for the wine – it was not a usual order for the club, and they was bitchin’ about having to open a whole bottle just for her.
Kimmy was all lit up and she was breathless and she could not stay still. Like I said, it was like the music was inside her. I kept touching her hand, just to remind her I was there. She looked at me funny. She looked at me as if I wasn’t there, like she could see through me. Then she was up and dancing again, dancing by herself on the floor, and I kept an eye on her, just in case.
I took her home that first night and, away from the music, Kimmy was just the same. It was as though only part of her was there. She kicked her shoes off and walked barefoot. She kept talking about the stars and the music and about the sound of the air moving and something about where she worked. She talked as though we was on the clock and running out of time. And she threaded my name in there somewhere. We kissed at her front door and I asked her if I could see her again and I asked if she was doing anything the next day. She just shrugged and went inside.
Lit up and breathless and dreamy; it’s everything I liked about her. I got carried away by it all. I wanted what she had and I wanted her. We married soon enough. Got two kids now. And though she’s a little thicker about the waist and she don’t make an effort with how she looks, she’s still the same dreamy and not all there. I see the way guys in the street stare at her when she passes, how they lick their lips and scratch at their balls. That way I know she’s lit up to them; she hurries on by and she don’t see them looking. And the thing is, I don’t see it as much as I used to, not Kimmy lit up.
She dances sometimes, in the kitchen while she’s cooking and the radio’s on and the kids are laughing at her feet and they join in. I see her then and she’s just jerking and bouncing to the drums and it’s not like it was before, not anything like. ‘Cept every now and then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, the light catches her face just so, and I see her then, beautiful like that first time. And I ache for her when I see her like that and I miss the way we were back at the start and I miss the music in her.
Patricia Ann McNair 
It’s what I liked about her at first. She was dreamy. Like she wasn’t really there, not all there. Like she was somewhere else at the same time. She was dancing when she first caught my eye, only it wasn’t like any dancing I ever saw before. It was like she was in the music or the music was in her. Fuck, I ain’t making sense here. It was like she was a leaf that was fallen from the tree and picked up and carried by the wind and the wind was singing and sighing.
Other girls, they was just jigging in time with the drums, everything bouncing and jerking. I was used to that and I wasn’t looking for anything more than that. Then Kimmy was there and she was dancing different.
I thought maybe she’d had too much to drink. It was early in the evening, but sometimes girls came pumped up, you know, a few vodkas thrown back for courage. Some of the other guys looked out for them girls, cos they was easy. You could dance with them and they pressed their bodies against you, warm and soft. And they kissed you and they let you touch under their dresses. And Kimmy looked like one of them girls when she was dancing.
Then she came off the floor and she stood at the bar waiting to be served and the way the light hit her she was just beautiful, but it was like I was the only one to see it. I bought her a drink, white wine in a plastic cup. They had to look under the bar for the wine – it was not a usual order for the club, and they was bitchin’ about having to open a whole bottle just for her.
Kimmy was all lit up and she was breathless and she could not stay still. Like I said, it was like the music was inside her. I kept touching her hand, just to remind her I was there. She looked at me funny. She looked at me as if I wasn’t there, like she could see through me. Then she was up and dancing again, dancing by herself on the floor, and I kept an eye on her, just in case.
I took her home that first night and, away from the music, Kimmy was just the same. It was as though only part of her was there. She kicked her shoes off and walked barefoot. She kept talking about the stars and the music and about the sound of the air moving and something about where she worked. She talked as though we was on the clock and running out of time. And she threaded my name in there somewhere. We kissed at her front door and I asked her if I could see her again and I asked if she was doing anything the next day. She just shrugged and went inside.
Lit up and breathless and dreamy; it’s everything I liked about her. I got carried away by it all. I wanted what she had and I wanted her. We married soon enough. Got two kids now. And though she’s a little thicker about the waist and she don’t make an effort with how she looks, she’s still the same dreamy and not all there. I see the way guys in the street stare at her when she passes, how they lick their lips and scratch at their balls. That way I know she’s lit up to them; she hurries on by and she don’t see them looking. And the thing is, I don’t see it as much as I used to, not Kimmy lit up.
She dances sometimes, in the kitchen while she’s cooking and the radio’s on and the kids are laughing at her feet and they join in. I see her then and she’s just jerking and bouncing to the drums and it’s not like it was before, not anything like. ‘Cept every now and then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, the light catches her face just so, and I see her then, beautiful like that first time. And I ache for her when I see her like that and I miss the way we were back at the start and I miss the music in her.