The Dance

I watched from the wings, so I saw her approaching. The pretty brunette came up behind my son and whispered in his ear. He smiled shyly and turned. His arms slid around her spaghetti-strap clad shoulders and away they went. They moved gracefully, her hazel eyes smiling encouragement into his brown ones. Their lips were mere inches apart. I held my breath. My vision blurred.
I blinked. His swim instructor brought him back to the side of the pool gently, told him "Good job!" and went on to the next student. I shook my head to clear it. He is still only three, after all.

UPDATE 11/8/06--I found out tonight that the odd little tag his swim instructor wears really is what I thought last week, a scapular. And she's been homeschooled since first grade.