It was a classic love story from the very start. I swept into the room surrounded by my giggling friends, each of us resplendent in our finest dresses, and then I saw him. He stood by the snack table, the soft lighting glancing warmly off the lump of spanakopita stored in his cheek, one hand slipping a mini hotdog into his pocket. How many hors d’oeuvres had he already secreted away in there for later? The thought of finding out for myself made all my secret parts quiver with a guilty pleasure. Our eyes locked.
Shoveling a few more tiny pigs in blankets into his blazer pockets, he grunted and began a slow graceful waddle in my direction. When he reached me, I thought I would faint when he said, “So, you want to dance, or whatever?” The lump in my throat was too much- I could only nod.
He took my arm in his and swept me away into the center of the ballroom. He was a fifth year EE co-term, and he was taking social dance to force himself to get out of his lab once in a while, he said. His slick, sweaty hand on my back sent an electric thrill up and down my entire body. His breath was heavy on my neck, a fine trail of filo dough crumbs lightly brushed my shoulder.
I felt like a beautiful princess that night, but like all good things it had to come to an end. I held him close during the final waltz before he vanished into the night. I listened to his wheezing until it was just the breeze rushing through the trees.
My friend eloquently expressed my feelings when she asked me, “Him? …For real?” Yes, it’s hard to believe he’s for real. But hear me when I say, fairytales do exist. I found mine at Viennese Ball, in a dance I’ll never forget.