Dancing on Steep Hill

 Dancing on Steep Hill

She’ll never forget the night they spent dancing atop Steep Hill, drenched in a delicate combination of sweat and rain.

It started cold, but not in a way that bothered them. How could they ever freeze whilst trapped in a permanent state of warm embrace? She was his, and he was most assuredly hers. The moment began perfectly and the perfection maintained itself as the moment evolved into a memory. Sat on a damp bench, overlooking the picturesque city as though they belonged on an antique jigsaw you might happen upon in a Barnardos, they were sure that life could never stop being so wonderful. He opened his mouth, as if to urge himself to say something that proves their certainty is wholly misplaced.

“What would you have done?” he asked, his tone reeking with that painful ambiguity that beckons a puzzled response.

“What do you mean, love?” she responded, predictably confused.

“What would you have done if I didn’t ask you out?” he clarified.

“Oh. Not much probably. I didn’t get out much.” she answered.

“No, I mean grand scheme. What would you have done?” he asked again, oddly persistently. 

“Oh. Probably the same. It just would have been lonelier. I knew what I wanted to do before I met you, silly. You mean the world to me but my life doesn’t revolve around you.” she answered, followed by a giggle.

Her response didn’t confuse him, not really. He loved her entirely, not just for what she represented to him. The idea of her was enamouring, though. She was fun and optimistic but in a very endearing, grounded sort of way. She was also gorgeous, as if he was wandering around an art gallery and she climbed out of a mid-century gothic masterpiece and came to life. She was impossibly supportive and always knew exactly what to say to cheer him up. The idea of her was the perfect girl; she was the pinnacle of the supportive partner archetype.

It was, however, who she truly was that made him fall in love. She was fun but she knew how to stop and take the world seriously. She was optimistic to an extent, although once life caught up to her she would crumble and expect the worst just like he would. Her head could be in the clouds even though she looked as though she did nothing but gracefully walk the Earth. She was jaw droppingly gorgeous, but she had what could be perceived as flaws- just like the rest of us. She had his back no matter what but she knew how to tell him to stop. More than anything, though, everything she did proved definitively that his idea of the perfect girl was so far from the truth it was almost scary. How little he knew before he met her could never be understated enough. 

Hearing that her grand plans for her life were the same before him as they are now was somehow exactly what he needed to hear. It filled him with an immense sense of relief to know that who she was and who she was going to be didn’t depend on who he was. She was her own person and she exercised that autonomy in everything she did. He wanted to stand up and tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to spill the beans on how perfect she was to him and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted to scream his love from the rooftops and for the world to shout back ‘We love her too.’

But words failed him. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. To top things off, the heavens opened and crashed down on them. As if they were characters in a story. The writer was showing off that he paid attention in year nine English when the teacher explained pathetic fallacy. He did the only thing he could think to do when words failed him.

The man stood up, and he reached for the woman’s hand. She met his palm with her own and arose to join him. He placed one hand on her waist and kept the other firmly intertwined with hers. Then, they danced. They danced atop Steep Hill, drenched in a delicate combination of sweat and rain.