Short Story 9

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“That song always makes me picture myself alone,” I said. “Myself, in a long dress, standing beside the water and above it, with a bustling party behind me that I’m attending but no longer interests me.”

“No, I’ve never seen it that way,” he said with a gentle shake of his head, his eyes looking past me towards something impossibly beautiful that I couldn’t see. “When I hear ‘Moon River,’ I always see myself and someone else adrift on a raft, floating down the river to where the moon touches the horizon line, off on some adventure.”

The conversation shifted after that. I let it. I didn’t want an opportunity to share the other part of my imaginary river scene. I couldn’t muster the bravery to say that I’d always imagined someone emerging from the throng behind me, separating himself from the music long enough to put his arm around my shoulder and ask me to dance.

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