One Last Dance

It looked like it was going to be an average boring evening. I fully expected to just sit around the bar with the other guys, shooting pool, talking trash, and drinking too much. Like usual. It was Monday, always a slow day for Red's Bar and Billiards. Factor in the weather, colder-than-a-witches-you-know-what and January snow, and it seemed a miracle anybody was out.

The door slammed open, letting in a blast of bone-chilling air. The first thing I saw was snow swirling through the door, then I saw the kid. He was a black blotch on the moonlit snow of the parking lot. When he stepped inside, we all got a better look.

He was kinda young, mid-twenties at best. He looked younger at first glance, with a round baby face that he tried to hide with scraggly facial hair. He was a little short, but somewhat muscular, with a stark crew-cut and dark eyes, wearing black heans, gray sweatshirt, and a black leather jacket. He had a case for a pool stick clutched tightly in one hand.

"You closed?" he asked gruffly. "Saw the lights and thought I'd come in from the cold for a bit."

"No," Red answered. "Ain't closed yet."

"Wanna play?" the kid asked, raising the pool-stick case.

The rest of us looked at each other for a minute, then Randy stood up and grabbed a house stick. The kid put a quarter in the machine and dropped the balls.

"House rules?" he asked. Randy pointed at the sign on the wall and started racking.

The sharp cracking of billiards faded into the background as the rest of us resumed our conversation. After a time, Randy joined us and shook his head in discouragement. Randy never was very good at pool. Not even a minute later, the jukebox hissed as the needle dropped on a 45. I was surprised by the song. Of all the guys, I'm probably the only one old enough to recognize "Red Rose" by Roxx Gang.

The kid stayed at the jukebox, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, dropping more quarters and playing more songs. Every now and then, he'd look up at the clock, then look toward the door as if he was expecting someone.

I was so surprised when the door slammed open again that I looked to the clock first. It was just three or four minutes before midnight, which made the latest arrival all the more surprising. I'd call her a young woman, but to me anyone under thirty is young.

She was huddled in against the cold, though she wore a bright pink ski jacket. She hurriedly closed the door behind her, then stood there for a moment stomping snow from her ankle-boots and shaking the light dusting of snow from her hair. Like the kid, she was wearing black jeans, but instead of the gray sweatshirt, she wore an aqua sweater that was long enough to be a skirt. She even wore a black belt over the sweater, emphasizing the impression of a skirt. Her long auburn hair was curly, making it harder to dislodge the snowflakes.

I could see her eyes, almost hidden behind glasses that seemed a little too large and round for her face. Her eyes were sad and haunting.

"Hello Andrea," the kid said. Somehow, he had managed to cross the room and get behind her. She jumped at his voice and whirled to face him, taking a few steps back in surprise.

"Kyle," she whispered. "You're not supposed to be here."

Andrea stared at him for a long time before turning to walk away, folding her arms over her chest. Kyle waited until she stopped at the jukebox, then followed and put his hands on her shoulders.

"You don't know what it's like," Kyle said plaintively. "Dark and cold, and so lonely... There's never anyone here, no else to talk to, just the silence of-"

Andrea turned suddenly and threw her arms around him.

The song that was playing ended abruptly, and we could all hear him whisper, "Just a few hours each year. Is that so much to ask?"

I could see Andrea's face as she rested her head on Kyle's shoulder. She shook her head slightly, but I don't know if Kyle noticed. In the odd silence that followed, I heard a church-bell ringing the hour. Kyle reached over and rapped his knuckles on the jukebox as if it was stuck. It made a clicking noise, then a little static before the hiss of a needle dropping on a 45.

Before the music started, Andrea and Kyle moved out to the middle of the room. Kyle took her hand and put his arm around her waist, pulling her close and resting his cheek on her head. They hardly moved, just swayed back and forth to the music. Halfway through, Andrea started to cry.

When the song ended, Kyle backed away, one hand on his stomach, the other on his chest. Blood has already soaked into his sweatshirt.

"I love you," Kyle whispered, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Always," Andrea gasped tearfully, her hands clasped over her mouth.

We all jumped up, expect for Red. Red went to the bar and picked up a bottle of whiskey. Before he sat down again, the door slammed behind Andrea as she ran out of the bar. Kyle had vanished as if he had never been there.

"Finally gone," Red mumbled, chugging the whiskey from the bottle.

We just stared, hoping for an explanation.

"You know the song?" he asked me.

"Tesla," I answered. "Love Song."

Red nodded slowly.

"You won't find it on the jukebox," Red whispered. "Kyle played it the night he proposed to Andrea. He got in a fight before the song ended. I couldn't stand to hear it anymore after he died. But somehow... somehow he still gets it to play. Once a year, for her."

998 words (including title)