It was the 1940's or the 1930's. Everything in the world was some kind of gray; colors were washed out, but there was still a kind of city beauty, a steampunk elegance. The stars in the sky were unnaturally bright. As we walked down the sidewalk towards the tiny restaurant, all I could hear was the sound of your boots and my heels tapping against the pavement. You're wearing a white shirt with a black vest, holding your jacket in your right arm. Though it's not cool yet, we expect it to be chilly by the time we finish our late dinner. Your left hand is clasped in my right. I'm wearing a very red sequined evening gown. It makes my skin look pale and milky in the moonlight. My shoes are a strappy kind of sandal with a high heel, but you're still just a little taller than me. My nails and my toenails are painted in the same blood red as my dress. When I glance over to you, I can see the color reflected in your eyes beneath the brim of your fedora.
We go into the restaurant like we've done it a thousand times. My hand slides up to rest in the crook of your arm as you tell the hostess we'd like a table for two by the window. I'm your lady tonight, I'm thinking, but I still have to smile nervously as you pull the chair out for me. We sit. I'm sure there's conversation, but all I can remember is the color red dancing in your eyes and the flash of your easy smile. We leave your jacket and your hat at the table to dance. We dance close, it's very movie-like, kind of fuzzy. I don't know the song but you do, the words are foreign, and you whisper them in my ear as we sway.
When we leave the restaurant, I am light-headed and giddy. I remember dancing around you on the sidewalk as we make our way back towards the train station. The world is dark except for the sparse street lamps, but I can see you clearly and you never look away from me. I realize it's gotten colder and without a word you drape your jacket over my shoulders. I sigh and snuggle against you, my arm wrapped around your waist, my fingers beneath your leather vest to feel you more clearly through the cloth of your shirt. Feeling the sway of your body against mine as we walk makes me hungry to have you closer.
The train station is huge. Chandeliers the size of small homes dangle sparkling crystals and flickering yellow lights above our heads. Our shoes echo off the vaulted ceiling. Tall gothic windows arch up the domed roof and the stars shine through. The moon is fat and round, so much bigger than it should be, it seems, peeking in through the glass. My fingers curve around your hip, pulling you closer against me. There's time before our train comes and I am soaking up your warmth next to me. Did we have wine at dinner? Maybe brandy or bourbon?
