When Marc stopped dancing.
It wasn't an intentional thing.
It was slow like filling a room dripping faucet.
Life in some ways took it from him for sure.
He was running for his life.
Other things were more important.
But it was true before he met Sammy he wasn't dancing.
He barely tapped his feet while waiting in line.
Even when he was the Blue Man, he didn't think that was dancing.
But rote memorization.
Perfecting perfect.
It could have been anything.
Laying on his bed he thought that.
The reason he stopped dancing was because it hurt so many people.
Because he was forced too.
Life took it away from him.
The first time he danced was with a girl at school.
She would eventually become his wife.
Every year they made it a thing.
They would dance.
Just in their kitchen.
When the kids were asleep.
When there was more silence than anything else.
They would dance, and sway.
It grounded him, kept him alive.
Other nights Marc and her would take dance classes.
Practicing moves that they would perform together.
They discussed it before bed.
He thought it was man in the nice suit that took it from him.
His love of dance.
His love of of living.
He hated him.
He wanted to kill him.
Tonight, with a full moon.
He knows why he stopped dancing.
He didn't have anyone to dance with.