Misty

I found the photographs the other day, while cleaning. My grandma told me once, if you want to find something, just put your house in order. I wasn't looking and the last thing I needed was to find those pictures with the bitter sweet memories attached to them. But, as luck always seems to run a drift of my direction, there they were and there she was, a beautiful as the last day I saw her and as stunningly heart breaking. Clad in a skin tight leotard and tights, in rainbow colors, with that luscious spill of rust colored hair and those simmering hazel, almond eyes, the body of a ballet dancer and her smile as alluring as the first time she'd cast it my direction, almost as if she was looking back at me. And, for moments I was lost, staring and wandering through memories which pull as strong on my soul now as they have and they did for years. 1

I suppose you get what you ask for in life, in some round about way. I remember reading an ad in the local singles paper asking for a dance partner. I had been dancing for years, teaching ballroom, swing, Latin, disco, C&W, salsa and dancing in jazz and ethnic troupes never thinking it would be more than a fun way to exercise and to make some extra money. I was right about that. I had never been in better shape and I was bringing in a couple thousand extra every month or two, so I felt pretty good about myself. When I read the ad, I thought, what the heck. It might be fun and I have as good a chance of being the person she's looking for as any other slob around here. The ad said she was a professional cheerleader and petite, which sounded good to me, so I wrote out a resume of sorts tucked in a few extra interests like my love of cooking and baking, my fanaticism with working out, martial arts, and running and the fact that I wrote a poem or two now and then that actually ended up getting published and hoped for the best.2

It was just after the day I'd run my fastest marathon and was surprised that my legs weren't hurting to bad. I'd just finished a hot bath and was sitting down with a pint of Miller Light and a book. The phone rang and I yawned and picked it up, expecting a solicitor and wondering what sort of line I could use to discourage their ever calling back. I had found, with men it was always good to come on like a stereotypical fruit and the same worked with women solicitors, if you did the best impression of a perverted obscene phone caller. The poor slob on the other end got one line of that and hung up fast. But, when I heard the music in this voice I was frozen for anything to say. When she asked if I had answered an ad about a dance partner I said yes and that was that. We set up a meeting at a local restaurant for the next night and I informed her I'd wear a Portland Marathon T shirt so I'd be easy to recognize. She said I'd know her by her red hair and her green dress and I chuckled to myself that she just described one of Shanta's elves. Oh, how wrong I would find myself to be. 3

The next night I got to the restaurant a bit before we were scheduled to meet and got a booth. I ordered a platter of cheese and a mug of beer and settled in to wait. A few minutes past and I was reading a book of old poetry and glancing across the room every now and then when I heard someone say, Ed? I looked up into those eyes and I was hooked. They seemed to draw in anyone who she gave a glance, and she wasn't just glancing at me, she was smiling with a smile that melted me. She was petite alright, barely five feet if she was standing on her toes and slim enough to go sideways between fence pickets. She had freckles all over her arms, shoulders and right up her creamy white skin, disappearing into her ringlets. It was an Irish lass look and she fit the part to a tee. "I'm Misty", she extended a hand and I eagerly took it and stood. I had an overwhelming desire to bow and kiss her hand, but managed to confine myself to the hand shake and pulled her chair out for her. She laughed and looked up, "well, a gentleman."4

That was the beginning of hours of conversation. Until the place closed we sat and talked about dance and my love of working out and writing, and her own passions for dance, photography, music and so many other things it left me speechless. The fact that she worked as a private investigator only added to my fascination with her. She was originally from Washington State but had lived in Texas while doing a stint as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. She told me she'd worked for Green Bay, with the packers, San Francisco, with the 49ers and in Portland with the Timbers as well. Sitting across from her was like walking through a dream and I hardly noticed how she downed a sirloin steak and fries, salad, ice tea, champagne, (which I suggested) and baked alaska. For someone so petite she could certainly attack her plate. The restaurant had to chase us out as midnight drew near and we went to a club to dance. When we'd danced for a couple hours, me the expert leading her through all sorts of nightclub favorites, her all over me with smiles,her eyes, with her soft touch that seemed to caress with each fiber, I was a lost man, in love with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, let alone been with. Our first kiss that night left me spinning in such a way I never felt in contol, or cared.5

For the next six months we were together, winning the Halloween dance contest at McMinninins, running together along the water front, taking the light rail down to the Saturday Market, making every movie, on the one dollar special night, with bags of popcorn swimming in butter and grated Parmesan cheese and chili powder. We attended church, had croissants and cafe ole at our favorite little restaurant by Main Street, and, we even told each other we were in love. And, for a moment or two believing it was all that mattered to either of us. But, I suppose one of us had to wake up. And, it was her, when she took that job out of town, in Tokeo. She said it was just a job and we'd be back together by next December for Christmas. And, I said, "you go girl and I'll write you all the time. Just send me pictures of you at the Sushi joint you make your hangout." 6

I think I kept on believing it too, for the next six months. But, I never saw her again, and I waited by the phone for that voice and her saying she just bopped back into town and couldn't we meet to go dancing and plan a hike on the mountain trails up around Forest Park. And, well, I waited and I listened to her first message on my phone over and over again, till I moved away to a new place and had to erase it. But, you know, it was just something in a dream that came to pass for one brief moment and was too good to wake up from, for me. 7

Well, that was years ago now and I still wait, thinking maybe she'll be as beautiful as she was and won't mind being with an old man who's gained some weight and still works as a grounds keeper and janitor. And, sometimes I still wake up at night and think I hear a phone ringing.