I remember how my favorite Frank Sinatra song came on the radio and he had reached out a hand.
I had cocked my head in confusion.
“Come on, we can dance to it,” said he.
“I’ve only taught you the Jitterbug; I don’t thing it’ll go well with I’ll never Smile Again.”
He laughed. “I never said I didn’t know how to waltz.”
And then we danced, slowly, gently; I felt his hands upon my hips, my own hands resting on his shoulders. I remember drifting closer, him pulling me in until my forehead brushed his chest. This night is one of my fondest Before’s, one of the scenes I replay over and over inside my mind whenever I choose to look back.