Not Just Another Mother Blogger!: The Fireman

The mirror behind the bar stared back at me, and under other circumstances, the morose face staring back at me would have made me laugh. The pathetic face was mine, however, so I just raised my hand so the bartender would bring me another beer. Since there was no place better to drink away my sorrows over yet another failed relationship than a honkytonk bar on the outskirts of town, that's where I was. My plan was to drink until I forgot the last year or so, and I was three beers in, listening to George Strait on the jukebox.

Yeah, they call me the Fireman, that's my name,

making my rounds all over town, putting out old flames...

"Would you like to dance?"

I turned to glare at the baritone voice that interrupted my drunk. He was tall, his white shirt tucked into pressed jeans, and the gleam of his silver belt buckle had me blinking. I looked up into some of the bluest eyes I'd ever seen, smiling at me from underneath a cowboy hat. I'd say that I was mesmerized, but it was likely that third beer. His skin was tan, his dark hair long enough to curl up at his collar. Whatshisname was no longer on my mind.

"I'm sorry?" I asked, and my Cowboy leaned closer, his warm breath teasing my ear and sliding seductively down my neck.

"I asked if you wanted to dance?" There was an invitation in his eyes. "You look like you need to take your mind off your troubles."

"I'd love to," I hung my head in disappointment. "Except that I don't know how."

"Well, then, I guess that I'll have to teach you," Cowboy drawled, and held out his hand. I was too stunned by his smile, and maybe too drunk, but I put my hand in his and let him lead me to the dance floor. He turned me in a circle and put his right arm around my waist, his hand pressed gently into the small of my back. The contact tingled, radiating warmth over me like a caress. My Cowboy pulled me close, and took my other hand in his. Patiently, he explained what to do with my feet, using that gentle hand on my back to guide my movements, never letting me stumble. I finally relaxed and let him lead, and then I was dancing, encircled in those strong arms. I found myself staring into those blue eyes while the room spun. I felt beautiful, desirable, glorious, as if every parcel of my being was in full bloom, and my feet would never touch the ground again. I laughed with my joy in the moment. This is how I wanted to feel, always! My Cowboy stared at my lips, and anticipating a kiss, I closed my eyes...

...and opened them in the backseat of the taxi, the driver holding the door open. Confused, I let the man help me up the stairs, and tipped him extra. Once I locked the door to my apartment, my legs gave out and I spent the night on the floor. I woke up with cotton mouth and a jackhammer in my head, but my heart--that was whole, as if it had never been broken in the first place. I never saw that Cowboy again, but sometimes I dream that his arms are around me, and we are dancing.

Yeah, so I was feeling nostalgic about George Strait retiring, and got a little carried away. And I am still a sucker for a man in a cowboy hat who can dance.

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