bed. While plumping the pillows, the phone rang. When she answered, a man introduced himself.
"I am Roberto, owner of the Latin Dance Studio calling. All dance lessons are canceled until further notice."
This is curious, Myrtle thought. "Why are they canceled and will I receive credit for those missed?"
Roberto paused and after a moment, regained his composure and said, "Did you see today's paper? The article on page two about the hit-an-run accident?"
Myrtle said, "Yes, I saw it."
"I am sorry but it was Cesar who was left to die in the street. The funeral for Cesar Santiago is to be held on Thursday in St. Mary's Catholic church at two in the afternoon. Excuse me, please, I have other calls to make."
Myrtle hung up the phone and fell back onto the bed, wringing her hands and shaking her head in disbelief. No, they're wrong. It couldn't be Cesar. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she sobbed aloud. Then, suddenly, she stopped. Shocked, Myrtle realized the truth--she loved him. But, why didn't she know it sooner? And what difference would it have made? Just how the hell was she supposed to recognize something she never felt before? In the months of lessons, he captured her heart and gave her something she never ha--her youth. For these few short months, she lived. The torment increased and questioning God, she asked, "Why did YOU let this happen? It's all YOUR fault!!"
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She howled. Sliding off of the bed onto the carpeted floor, Myrtle clutched the coverlet, her tears soaking the satin. This should be a good lesson to her--never let go of her heart again or ever trust God for anything.
Myrtle chose not to attend the funeral. It would be agonizing to see the coffin and know Cesar was inside. She called the florist and had them deliver a large bouquet of flowers and her condolences to his widow and family. Hanging up the phone, Myrtle sat at the kitchen table and, staring off into space, pictured herself in her black dress in Cesar's arms joyfully dancing the tango. A moan escaped her lips as she knew this would never happen again.
She rose, went into her bedroom, turned on the light and opened the closet door. Her daring black dress hung on its hanger, inviting her to put it on. She stood for a long moment then took the dress from the hanger, the shoes from the floor and the hoop earrings off of the dresser. Gathering the make-up and tango tapes, she returned to the kitchen. When she laid it all on the table, she slumped into a chair, and weeping, buried her face in the black dress. Moments passed then, angrily she slammed her fist on the table again and again. "Damn it all! Son-of-a-bitch! Never! Never again!"
Myrtle ran her hands over her eyes, wiping away her tears, rose and stuffed her black dress, earrings, dancing shoes, tango tapes and make-up in a plastic bag. She opened the backdoor, strode out and, with finality, threw the trash bag into the garbage can.
END
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