Before the Night Ends

The music was low, soft and dim, like the lights in the room.

The night was running down, slowly dying to close. Outside, the velvet sky of a tranquil midnight glazed with light clouds, sprinkled with crystal stars, hung mutely above the old–fashioned lodge. There was next to no wind stirring the trees outside, but the November air remained bitingly cold.

It was about the time that all parties loose their steam, about the time that the music dies away, about the time for goodnight kisses and shy farewell grins. It was the culmination of a night long–anticipated yet short–lived.

In other words, I was out of time.

I’ve always been one to make the most of opportunities, stressing the point that there might not be another. Tomorrow is a drop in one’s hand; we cannot hold onto it, nor keep it from disappearing. And yet, I found myself at a point where I simply couldn’t make myself move. I couldn’t even make myself think for that matter.

And so I stood, a ways off from the dance floor, a cup of punch raised half–heartedly to my lips. The punch was sweet, but I wasn’t interested – especially after five previous glasses. I was, what some would call, the punchbowl warmer – the pathetic, dateless soul for whom most would voice thoughts of sincere pity and empathy.

Others simply would laugh.

It wasn’t that I was exactly lonely – quite a few of my female friends had asked me to dance (not to mention those two rather attractive girls whom I had never met before), but I had politely declined all invitations voluntarily.

Hallee, one of my best – and unfortunately taken – friends had pouted and begged for just one turn around the floor, but she knew why I wasn’t dancing. She knew why my eyes were trained unerringly on the moving mass of my classmates out on the dance floor.

She knew why I was waiting – for whom, for what.

A girl and an opportunity.

The punch was spicy and tinged with a pineapple flavor. I brought the cup to my lips again without really noticing, gazing over the rim of the clear plastic at the dancers.

The music was not quite my style anyway. Rap and techno were really the best types of dance music because of the beat, and I really couldn’t stand either of them. Only a few songs the DJ had thrown into the mix had invoked a smile from my lips, only one had actually had me singing along.

It had been a relatively uneventful night: no one had brought beer, so no one was drunk; there were too many chaperones for anything risqué; and most of my friends were too busy dancing and flirting to spare much time for idle conversation. But I didn’t mind – I always fancied myself as a loner anyway.

Besides, what’s there to really talk about at a dance? I chuckled absently to myself, lost in thought. Small talk is for hangouts, not get–lucky night. Tonight, anything goes.

“Man, we only got two dances left!”

I turned to face my best friend, Jay Herr, as he appeared at my side and punched me on the arm. “If you’re gonna ask her, you’d better do it now.”

I downed the rest of my punch, regarding Jay’s appearance.

My friend had loosened his tie so that it hung three inches lower than his sweaty, unbuttoned collar. After the third dance, he had shucked his suit jacket – it was tucked over my left forearm – and had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows.

As for me, I had steered clear of the dance floor (as previously stated), and remained fully attired as a result. Renting a tux had been a complete waste of money, and – as it was – I still owed my father thirty bucks for helping me pay for it.

Live and learn.

I sighed deeply before responding; I had to speak loudly over the throbbing music. “I know, Jay. Don’t worry – I’m gonna ask. I just gotta wait for the perfect moment.” I winked at him and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “Patience is a virtue, my friend.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about early birds getting the worms.” He gave me a look that plainly said “it’s your funeral”, a look that gave me a glimpse of his frustration with me, but then he laughed easily. “Fine – do it your way. But don’t come crying to me when the night’s over and you haven’t asked her yet.”

“Thanks for your support,” I said, smiling.

With a final grin, Jay turned and disappeared back into the crowd – probably to find Amy Fliegre, his current love interest.

I watched him go, mixed emotions fighting for control of my face and thoughts.

I often caught myself wishing that I was more like Jay – often chastised myself for being jealous of his wit, charm, and good looks. Tall with short hair, a Roman nose, high cheekbones, ice blue eyes, and a good build, Jay could sweep any girl off her feet with nothing but a smile.

And oftentimes, despite his best attempts, that was all he had left to fall back on.

Contrasting sharply with my best friend, I was short and scrawny, and not possessed of his self–same movie star looks. I was certainly not as confident as my confidant. Several months ago, I had adopted a longer hairstyle because Hallee had told me I looked hot with long hair. I strongly suspected that she was exaggerating, but now my black hair hung low enough to brush the shoulders of my suit jacket. To top off the ensemble, I wore glasses – albeit, the less–than–nerdy frameless kind.

The kind of kid no girl wants to be seen with.

I swilled the last dregs of my punch around, staring blankly at the bottom of the cup. The dregs were bittersweet, like crushed SweetTarts drowned in melancholy.

It wasn’t like I didn’t have anything going for me, though. I had a decent job, an impressive GPA, and – now – a nice, shiny plaque to hang on my wall, indicating my liberation from highschool. As for my social characteristics, most of my classmates seemed to agree that my jokes and sarcastic comments were funny, and they all praised my musical abilities to a fault – perhaps were even jealous.

Exaggeration. My aspirations are just foolish dreams. I prided myself on originality, but in a world where everything has been said and done before, my pride was more than a little dampened. It’s time to stop dreaming like a child and start living like a man.

And the time to begin was now – now before the last dance, before the night was over.

Ahh, who am I kidding – what possible chance do I have off success –?

I looked up from my selfish musings just in time to see a couple disentangling themselves from the moving mass of dancers. I choked on my own saliva and quickly – nervously – flattened my hair over my forehead.

Oh crap – here she comes.

I had fallen in love with Shayla Mecke in sixth grade. She was just as gorgeous then as she was now, perfectly sweet and adorable. I used to hang up her coat for her before school started every day, and would often find excuses to sit next to her during class.

All the guys – including Jay – had teased me for it, but I had taken it in stride. After all, at that stage in life, girls were still related to slugs and we guys were much too busy playing baseball to get involved with girls of all people.

How quickly the tables turn.

Shayla had met Greg Pecki at a summer camp a year and three weeks ago to the day – I had marked the sad, depressing date on my calendar. Immediately, what had been a sort of unofficial romance budding between her and me had disappeared, and Greg had become priority.

Jay had been utterly shocked that I wasn’t crushed or even… sad by this dismissal. I couldn’t explain it – not to him, not to myself. Simply put, I was just happy that she was happy. Granted, I felt hurt that I wasn’t important anymore, but I knew it had been my fault anyway: being sixteen, I should have spoken up before it was too late, but I hadn’t.

And so Greg Pecki had unwittingly stolen away my treasure.

I had only met him twice, but from what I had gleaned from these instances, I had formulated the conclusion that he was a really nice guy. Shayla had chosen well; there are plenty of jerks posing as nice people out there in the world, and Shayla had found the real deal.

Greg was taller than me by almost a full head. He was also two years older, had been to boot camp, and was currently waiting for his commission to go overseas. He had a deep, booming laugh, a twinkle in his eye, and a sense of humor not unlike mine.

It was hard not to feel dwarfed and inferior to such a guy – hard not to be discouraged. While it was my deepest wish that Shayla would somehow see past He-Man and rediscover me, I knew the possibility was unlikely and not a little selfish.

Besides, I knew Shayla. Shayla was faithful, patient, and true. I knew something terrible would have to happen between them to cause her to break up with Greg Pecki. And I didn’t want that – it would hurt me as much as it would hurt her were that to happen.

And that’s unlikely – they’re both great people. So long as she’s happy, I can be happy. I wasn’t trying to be noble, nor was I attempting to impress anyone. That was simply how I felt.

Simply the truth.

But here – as the pair drew near – was my opportunity. I was sure that Greg wouldn’t begrudge me one dance with his girlfriend – for old time’s sake. We were graduating, after all. Besides, she and I were just friends.

But that’s not what you want, is it?

I winced as that nasty little voice in the back of my mind reared its ugly head. The words were brutally truthful, and the guilt they induced rocked me back on my heels. You’re being deceitful – you’re really trying to win her back.

“Enough,” I growled aloud – knowing that the pulsing music was too loud for anyone to hear me speaking to myself. I was gripping the plastic cup so tightly that it snapped. “I want her to have what she wants. It’s only one dance – just one. Besides, Jay won’t let me live it down if I don’t ask her.”

The former was the proper motivation, and I really wasn’t concerned with what Jay thought at that moment in time. I cleared my throat, preparing my words, as Shayla and Greg approached.

Shayla looked as lovely as ever, her raven black hair done up in a beautiful tangle. She stood two inches shorter than me, one taller with her hair arranged that way and wearing heels. Her sleeveless blue dress brushed the floor, accentuating her slim body and long legs, complementing her pink flesh. On her right wrist, she wore a beautiful white corsage and – barely visible beneath the snowy petals – the bracelet I had given her years ago.

I had long ago asked why she had never taken it off, and she had been perfectly honest with me – she had told me that it was simply a sweet gift from an old friend and she liked wearing it. There was no romantic sentiment attached to the trinket, despite what I had always fancied; even her frank disproval of that notion had never dampened my spirits much.

The fact that she was still wearing the bracelet to the prom – despite her formal attire – made my heart leap within me; I took it as a good sign, drawing hope from the fact that she still retained some attachment to me.

Memory’s sake is better than nothing.

You hopeful moron, I thought at myself, shaking my head. Maybe someone did spike the punch; you’ve really lost your head. She’s been wearing it out of habit for two years. It doesn’t mean anything.

Greg looked like Pierce Brosnan. He wore a rose in the lapel of his white suit jacket, had his black hair combed and slicked – it had grown longer in his absence from military life – and carried himself with self–confident swagger. This was not to suggest undue pride, but merely a high level of comfort with himself and his surroundings.

And why shouldn’t he be? He’s got Arnold’s muscles, Conan’s wit, and Shayla Mecke on his arm.

As I watched them from afar, Greg took both of Shayla’s hands in his own, speaking seriously to her. He touched her cheek softly, kissed her forehead, and then turned and disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance. If he kept up that trajectory, he would end up at the exit – which I assumed was his destination.

Shayla stood still, watching him go, and I wondered why she looked so helpless. She wrung her hands together as I watched, and everything about her body language suggested distress.

What’s going on? Frowning, I set the broken cup and Jay’s jacket down on the punch table and slowly picked my way through my classmates over to her.

As I drew near, I could see that her beautiful eyes were cast to the ground, full of tears. My heart broke for her, and I quickly closed the distance between us.

“Shayla?” I placed a hand at the small of her back and positioned myself so that I could look at her. “What’s wrong? Don’t cry, girl – tell me what’s wrong.”

She swiped a tear from her eye before it could cause her mascara to run. “I… I…” Her voice trembled as she looked up at me; her eyes were frantic, lost, scared. “He… he said we were through, Ralph…”

I hate my name, but the way she said it made me tingle inside: it was her heart’s helpless cry, seeking shelter – comfort – from mine. The news was shocking to say the least, and for a moment I wondered if I had stepped out of reality and into a movie, or perhaps a romance novel – something scripted in such perfect ironic fashion that there was no possible way it could be true –

Deciding that it would probably be best not to gawk open–mouthed at her, I narrowed my options down to one. Blend in and act natural. That was a good start. We’re still friends after all, you don’t have to ask her to marry you right this instant.

I gave her a brave smile and asked the question I had been dying to ask all evening. “Do you want to dance?”

She looked surprised by the request – perhaps a little confused – but nodded slowly and took the hand I proffered. Maybe she didn’t know what else to do; everything seemed to be happening so fast.

We lost ourselves in the jumble of moving bodies. She put her arms around my neck and her forehead to my chest, and we joined in the slow dance, swaying in time to the music. For a while we were silent, just listening to the music, both lost in thought.

Every bit of me was acutely aware of her presence, from her familiar scent to her slender body close against mine to her hair brushing my cheeks. I know my heart was pounding, and I prayed to God on high that she couldn’t feel it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I finally murmured into her ear. Her flesh, so close to mine, smelled clean and sweet, faintly reminiscent of lavender and soap. “It’s not really any of my business, but sometimes it helps to just get it all out.”

She was silent for another long moment while the dance continued, and then finally buried her face in my neck.

I felt tears there, felt her shudder within my embrace. “Shh,” I murmured, gently rubbing her back as we continued to sway. “It’s okay. It’s okay. If it makes you feel any better, he was obviously a jerk if he did this to you.”

“No, he wasn’t,” she gasped, clinging to me. “That’s just the thing. I don’t know what I did wrong, and now…” She fell silent.

I waited a second before probing. “Now what, Shayla?”

She sighed heavily, her warm breath tickling my flesh. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I… I guess I just felt… important… needed… and then he all but tells me I’m… I’m just not good enough for him. I guess he’s found someone else. He wouldn’t tell me what happened, just that it was time to move on.”

I felt a slight pang in spite of myself as I briefly wondered why she hadn’t felt needed or important with me, but I shoved that away. We were never an ‘us’ anyway. “So he’s not a jerk; he’s just an idiot for letting an angel like you go. Case closed.”

I felt her eyelashes graze me neck as she blinked, and then she raised her head. Her tear–stained eyes looked into mine, and I saw a strange emotion there – something I couldn’t define, something enigmatic and barely tangible.

It was something beautiful – the mystery of Shayla Mecke, the eighth wonder of the world that I had been in love with for so long. Shakespeare may have thought his love was unusual, but the women he described in his sonnets were nowhere near as beautiful as Shayla Mecke – inside or out.

“Ralph…” she said slowly, hesitantly.

I winced involuntarily, for two reasons. One of them was because I already knew what she was going to ask, and I realized that she was hesitant to open an old wound that had long since scabbed over. The other… well, Ralph? That was the best my parents could come up with?

“Do… do you… still care about me? Even after I left you standing…?”

I felt a lump rising in my throat, but nodded slowly after a moment’s hesitation. There’s no point in hiding it. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. “Every moment of every day.” I smiled wistfully. Ain’t that romantic? She isn’t going to buy that crap – Doesn’t matter how many chick flicks she’s watched –

But she was crying into my neck again, clinging tighter than before. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

“No, no.” I lightly kissed the crown of her head. “Don’t be. Please, Shay? Stop crying, please? You deserve so much better than me – there’s no point in crying.”

“What a great night.” She sniffled miserably, not hearing me. “Not only does Greg leave me, I also realize what a heel I’ve been to you. Why do you even like me, Ralph? I’m a terrible person.”

I stopped dancing in an instant, and I held her at arms’ length so as to look into her eyes. “No,” I said firmly, “you’re not. That is not the truth, and don’t you believe that for an instant.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “In all the years I’ve known you, I have come to see you, Shay. You are someone who cares. You are someone who sacrifices her time for others. You are faithful. You are honest. You are true.” I grinned. “You’re super–girl.”

As she giggled uncertainly, I used my thumbs to brush tears from her cheeks. “I love you, Shayla,” I said resolutely, knowing deep down inside that it was the truth. “I always will.”

People get the wrong impression of love. Love is not a feeling: it is an act of the will. It is not an emotion, nor is it something to throw around. Love is not selfish, proud, arrogant, rude, thoughtless, nor cruel. It is not sex, it is not infatuation. It endures all things, sustains all things. It is selfless – it is always about the other person, not a feeling to navigate by, not something easily stolen away.

It is beautiful.

Shayla Mecke searched my eyes questioningly. “But… why?” she asked finally as the song ended and the DJ announced over the applause that the next number would be the last of the evening.

I smiled and placed my hand gently on her cheek again. “Because you’re Shayla Mecke and you’re everything to me. I made up my mind on that a long time ago, and I’ve come too far and waited too long to go back on that now.”

“Ralph…” she said, closing her beautiful eyes over more tears, covering my hand with both of her own. “Ralph…”

And the way she said it sparked a fire beneath my heart, melting it and the rest of my insides away. I had always planned on changing my name when I turned twenty-one, but now… On the spot, I immediately discarded that plan. Ralph was a decent name, wasn’t it? It had a certain catchy ring to it.

At least, the way Shayla says it.

“C’mere,” I said gently as the music stole softly over the dance floor again, setting the countless bodies of our graduating class to moving once again.

She drew into my embrace, and as she laid her head on my shoulder, I knew her eyes were closed.

The song was Wonderful Tonight, one of Eric Clapton’s masterpieces. On the spot, it became my favorite song of all time, and I immediately resolved to master the entire work – just so I could play it for Shayla in the future.

Girls like that kind of sweet sentimental stuff. I smiled, trailing a hand gently up her spine. Heck, I love it too.

“So,” I murmured into her ear, gently pressing my cheek against hers. “Is it awkward dancing with a guy who has just opened his heart completely to you?”

“Not at all,” she whispered back, grazing my cheek with her lips, causing my heart to hit several grace notes as it leapt to a staccato pace within my chest. This time, I was sure I felt her heart beating as well – matching mine beat for beat.

I pulled her tighter as we continued to sway to the music.

I had never been a very good dancer, and as a result had never had found much appreciation for it, but Shayla didn’t seem to notice – that, or she just didn’t mind. I sang the words to the song softly into her ear, meaning it from my heart.

I knew she was crying again, but this time it was happy tears spilling onto her cheeks. It was a miracle – something only God Himself could have pulled together – that I was holding Shayla Mecke in my arms and pouring my heart out to her in whispers and gentle caresses.

As the song ended and we broke apart, she kissed the corner of my mouth and rested her forehead against mine. “Thank you for believing that Shayla Mecke is a person,” she said over the applause as the lights in the room gradually came up. “And I should tell you that I – or at least, some part of me – has loved you too. All this time.”

I smiled taking her hands in mine. “There’s a song right there, Shay, and I’m going to write it for you.”

“Ralph!”

I felt Jay’s hand fall on my left shoulder, spinning me around, as he forced his way through the crowd to stand beside me.

He looked shocked to see me holding hands with Shayla Mecke, but then he grinned and punched me on the arm. “You sneaky bastard! You actually asked her to dance, man? I didn’t think you actually would – no offense intended.”

“None taken,” I said to Jay, bringing Shayla’s hand up to my mouth, pressing her knuckles gently to my lips. “I just expect a formal apology later.”

Jay clapped me on the shoulder again, laughing outright. The way he was acting, you would think that I had won a Grammy. “Way to go, man! Way to seize the night! You’re inspiration to all us single folks out there tonight. You’ll have to excuse me, Shayla – I’ve been trying to get ol’ Ralphie here to speak up to you for about… oh, a year and three weeks now…”

The exactness of the time frame was not lost on Shayla; she looked down at the floor, smiling shyly through the color of embarrassment on her cheeks. “He had no trouble expressing himself, coach.”

I laughed. “Yeah, Mr. Bigshot. I guess your ‘training’ actually paid off. Listen, I’ve got to take Shay home, so I’ll be a little late making it to your place.”

Jay made a face as though I had insulted him. “I take second priority now, eh? That’s my thanks? I hope you didn’t mean that last bit the way it sounded, by the way.”

“Of course not,” I laughed, giving Shayla’s hand a squeeze as she laughed and drew closer to me. I had more respect for her than that, and Jay knew it already. The joke might have been off–color, but it was an icebreaker, and I could already tell that Shayla and Jay would get along fine in the future. “Don’t get yourself killed getting out of here,” I told my best friend as we began heading for the teeming exit.

“What are you saying?” Jay asked sharply, adjusting his tie to a more respectable position. “You saying I can’t drive or I’m gonna get run over in the parking lot?”

“Maybe both,” I called over my shoulder as Shayla and I – hand in hand – wove through the crowd.

Jay laughed good–naturedly, then called after us. “Hey, where’s my jacket?!”

END