He watches furtive glances at a distance between prospective partners just beyond the reach of light cast on the hardwoods. He wasn’t asked to be there, but he wanted to remember what it looked like to feel something good without the fear of losing it. No toe taps or sway of the hips, perfectly still, his mind is alive with echoes of gayety while the guilt acridly rests in his throat. He knows that the music will only make them fall in love and falling in love will only hurt them. Always on the outside looking in, he’s just waiting for an invite or to be called upon, just waiting to be needed, The Chaperone.
