Before I Dance Alone

by Kenneth Pobo

Maudie says that I fall in love wrong. “You meet. You date. You have sex. You get married. You get a house. You have children if you want them.” She’s a loving spirit but narrow as a ruler. I decide almost immediately that I’m in love, about the time it takes to put a stamp on an envelope. Why get on a tricycle when you can zoom off in a taxi?

When I met Hank, I decided that we would marry and live happily ever after. In a finger snap we’re in a bungalow listening to Michael Bublé and clinking Champagne glasses. Don’t think that I’m naive. I know that hard times come and love is tested often. I also know that we’ll manage.

The problem is that Hank is more methodical, exact as an equation, a minute that lasts 120 seconds instead of 60. He tells me, “Bobolinko, let’s just slow it down.” Maudie says he’s perfect for her—except that he’s gay. Oh well, life is a baseball game and I’m the strike-out king. Or queen. With Hank, I refuse to strike out.

We’re two years in now, and slo-mo Hank tries my patience. He’s tender and has good taste in movies. We can act out Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? in my living room. Of course I’m Jane and he’s Blanche. Maybe we’ll end up on a beach, me driven mad, getting us strawberry ice cream cones before I dance alone as the camera pulls away.

Kenneth Pobo has a collection of micro-fiction from Deadly Chaps called Tiny Torn Maps. He has flash coming out in NiftyLit, Underscore, Flash Fiction Magazine, and elsewhere.