Fernanda broke up with me because she said my dancing looked like this

Fernanda broke up with me because she said my dancing looked like a disoriented dragon getting tangled in a maypole woven from dreams and stardust, while a troupe of time-traveling tarantulas performed an interpretative waltz on typewriter keys.

I was already a mess when I walked away from Fernanda’s apartment. I hadn’t meant to stay so late, although I was grateful for the time we spent together. We drank coffee, we talked, and we laughed. But then she said it.

“Your dancing looks like a disoriented dragon getting tangled in a maypole woven from dreams and stardust, while a troupe of time-traveling tarantulas perform an interpretative waltz on typewriter keys.”

My mind was spinning. I’d never heard of such a thing before. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her what it meant. I just said goodbye and walked away, my feet driving me onward, my heart an empty vessel.

Outside, the sky was a deep blue, the stars already making their nightly show. I heard the faint sound of bells, and the buzzing of wings. I blinked, and there it was. A troupe of time-traveling tarantulas weaved a whimsical dance around a sparking maypole.

Their eight legs were in constant motion, their tiny bodies a blur of yellow and brown against the glimmering stars. The bells on their backs tinkled in time to a distant waltz, and the typewriter keys they jumped on at the tips of their legs sang of something unknown and beautiful.

As I watched in wonder, a warm breeze stirred the leaves in the nearby trees, and I felt a tingle in my chest. A reminder of Fernanda and our brief time together.

I wanted to stay and watch, but the moment passed, and the tarantulas and their maypole were gone. The sky was dark now, and I felt the tears sting my eyes as I walked away.

I’d never know what it meant, the tarantula waltz around the maypole of dreams and stardust. But I’d never forget it either. It would always stay with me, like a beautiful memory that I could never quite explain.

I’ve had relationships but never with someone quite like Fernanda. She was the only woman I knew who could drive a bus and shoot at bank robbers at the same time. It’s harder than you think. See, she used to be a bus driver for the city. She saw some thieves come out of the bank and chased them down, opening fire with a sawed-off she keeps with her at all times.

I was with her that day, sitting in the passenger seat of the bus. We were coming to the last stop when we saw them run out of the bank, holding bags of cash and waving guns in the air. Fernanda’s eyes narrowed and she pressed down on the gas pedal, the bus lurching forward in pursuit.

I could hear her muttering under her breath, her hand hovering near the shotgun in the holster at her side. The robbers were fast, but they weren’t as fast as Fernanda. She weaved through traffic and caught up to them in no time. Without hesitation, she pulled out her sawed-off and fired a warning shot into the air.

The thieves scattered, but one of them turned around and aimed his gun at us. Fernanda didn’t flinch. She squeezed the trigger of her shotgun and the robber fell to the ground, clutching his chest.

I fell in love with her that day. But it was never going to works. She said she needed to be with a good dancer. A dancer with style and elan. Someone who grew up out on the coast where she was born, where they teach dancing to babies.

I watched Fernanda’s retreating form as she walked away, her red high heels clicking against the pavement. She looked back at me once, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing around the corner.

I felt my heart sink as I realized we were done. I wasn’t a good enough dancer for her, and nothing I could do would change that. But as I turned and began to walk away, I heard the sound of music in the distance.

It was haunting and beautiful, with a rhythm that pulsed through me like a heartbeat. Without really thinking about it, I started to move my feet, letting the music guide me.

At first it was clumsy, disjointed movements that felt awkward and graceless. But then something shifted inside me, and I began to move with a fluidity and ease that surprised even myself.

As I danced, I felt a connection to something greater than myself. It was as if the music was coming from within me, an expression of my own soul.

I yelled, “Fernanda, come back, come back. I’m doing it!”
But it was no use.

By then, she was too far away. I saw her on the small boat she lived on as it steered out of the harbor, under the Kissing Bridge and out to sea.