Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.

April 30th
Manchester, NH

Lydia spun around the room. She wore a costume dress, some manufacturer's idea of a Victorian ball gown. Her left hand held her skirts properly out of feet's way. The right hand was elevated as if holding a partner's hand.

Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel

The music was all in her mind, but it was rich and vibrant. It varied from Strauss the Elder to Prokofiev, but waltzes all.

Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnival balloon
Like a carrousel that's turning
Running rings around the moon

Lost in the spinning dance, the image of Chaz's face before hers, she covered the floor from one end of the room to the other.

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on its face
And the word is like an apple
Whirling silently in space

Time passed unheeded in the pleasure of the dance and the memory of Chaz's expression. Finally she slowed, curtsied deeply, and then went to sit on the cushions in the corner. Her smile was a bit loony, one could say, but after all, she is crazy.

Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind.

She'd never had anyone look at her like that. She'd never realized... never understood....

Such power.

She wanted....

She didn't know what it was, but she wanted whatever it was very badly.

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.

Was this love? Wanting to be with the other person, to be who one was with him? To risk the terror or hatred of rejection by him just to be real, to risk being loved as who she was?

What was the difference between this and ... Harvey?

/Oh god - Harvey. This will hurt him. I said I'd let him have a chance, but I don't want to./

/I DON'T WANT TO!/

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that I said
Lovers walk along the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand

She lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, wondering what Chaz would see in it. His angel-lover? If he only knew. She was much more the demon that he tried to paint himself. He didn't know. He didn't....

She couldn't risk telling him without having to risk killing him. And that would kill her, she thought. Better a walk into the Sunrise. Better yet - a dance into the Sunrise.

She laughed bitterly and rose to her feet.

Half remembered names faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair

Lydia waltzed again - to the demonic melody of the Mephisto Waltz this time.

She wanted Chaz there, correct in period dress, waltzing with her, looking at her. Maybe she should invite him.

Maybe....

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel.
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind.

[Lyrics: Windmills of Your Mind by Alan Bergman and Michel Jean Legrand, from the movie The Thomas Crown Affair.]