Dancing Near the Fire: Part Three

This collection of gothic poems is under copyright protection by the author.

The story so far: Armand and Juliet met in the wood, late at night. Their meeting seemed magical, and both felt instant connection. Armand has asked Juliet to follow him down a path through the woods.

Dancing Near the Fire: Part 3

I followed Armand like a blind beggar, following a seer.
He held my hand.
A light rain fell. Dark clouds filled the sky.
The path led into blackness.
Armand tugged at my hand, and I followed, meek as a mouse, asking no questions as we walked the dark twisting path.
I felt warm. My stomach fluttered, as if brushed by a hundred butterflies.
I was still spinning as I remembered our kiss.
I wondered if my warm blush could be called an “afterglow.”

The path ended at the bottom of a small hill, near a well lit parking lot.
As we walked towards the streetlights, I slowly returned to my sanity.
I trusted Armand. At any point, he could have hurt me back on the path.
Instead, he had led me to safety.
I was willing to follow him a bit further…but how far was I willing to go?
I half expected Armand to lead me to a sleek limousine, or a long black hearse.
To my surprise, he led me to a tiny green car.
“Is this your car?” I asked, disbelief in my voice.
“Yes. It’s a 1966 Volkswagen Beetle. My first car. Get in.” He said, opening the door. “It was a gift from my parents.”
“Cool.” I said politely, “Antique cars make excellent gifts.”
Armand’s face look puzzled for a moment.
“Antique…yeah, something like that.”

We drove down the deserted highway.
“Dear Prudence” played on the car’s tape deck.
“… greet the brand new day…”
Armand sped like a madman chasing elusive demons.
I think he tried to impress me.
It stopped raining. I rolled down the window, letting the cold, night air whip across my face. My hair blew around me like a soft cloud.
“…the sun is up, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful and so are you...”
“So are you.” Armand repeated, glancing at me.
The butterflies in my stomach fluttered.
“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” he asked.
A big smile played across my face. What do you say to a guy you barely knew…who danced in the rain?
“I’d love a cup of joe.”
“…dear Prudence…wouldn’t come out to play…”

We pulled up to the local diner. The sign said “The Ratt open 24 hours.”
The Ratt was notorious for its shady hygiene, and eccentric crowd.
It was the only restaurant still open.
It looked like a typical pancake house, except for the huge painting of a gray rat which hung off it’s roof.
Since it was nearly Christmas, the outside was decorated with silver and red tinsel.
When we walked in, several people turned to stare.
Our clothes were wet. Our shoes were muddy, and Armand was still wearing his robes.
I forgot how odd it was to see a man dressed in robes.

“I like the way you dance.”
That was the first thing Armand said after we found our seats.
I blushed.
“You dance like a graceful bird…”
“Yeah, more like a chicken.” I joked.
“No, you were…are…really amazing.”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t know what else to say. The conversation dropped. I looked up to see Armand staring at me.
Embarrassed, I looked down at my black fingernails.
Then, feeling bolder I looked into his eyes.
They were black like the night sky.
He held my stare.
My heart beat faster.
“Your eyes are beautiful. They are like tiny green oceans.” He said softly.
Suddenly the waitress appeared. She was a tiny woman with blond hair, only her black hairs showed at the roots.
“Hey honey, can I get you some coffee?” she asked, handing us two menus.
“Yes …” Armand started.
“Black” she said, finishing his sentence. “It’s always black. What can I bring you?” she asked me with a smile.
“I’d like coffee with cream and sugar.”
“Ok. Two coffees. Would ya’ like anything to eat? She asked.
“No, thanks.” I answered.
“I know, nothing for you” she said to Armand. “Ya’ll let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back with your coffee.” She smiled, then walked back to the diner’s kitchen.
We sat in silence.
“You know, drinking coffee is known to make people dead sexy.” Armand said with a mischievous grin.
I laughed. “Do you drink much coffee?”
“Yes, I do. Coffee ups my sex appeal.” He grinned, then
reached across the table and covered my left hand with his hand.
I was lost.
We sat, holding hands.
I asked playfully, “So, why are you dressed in those brown robes?”


A Christmas song played on the jukebox. A country song about snow and lost lovers.
“I do everything in these robes.” He grinned. “I wear them to keep warm.”
Before I could say anything further, he asked me a question.
“What were you doing out in the woods?”
“I was…well…” I stammered.
“I was…” I started, then stopped midsentence.
Armand’s mouth had opened, and his attention was focused across the room, near the front door.
I turned to look.
A beautiful woman had walked in.
Her complexion was flawless. She was the color of coffee ice cream.
She wore long purple robes.



Dear Prudence is a song by The Beatles