Dancing Naked (4 page)

Jan. 11

I remember ...

– knowing ... that he was in the room, and becoming aware, somehow, that he was watching me, like a cat watches its prey. I could feel it. My skin prickled with it.

I remember ...

– wondering ... why me? I’m not one of his kind, one of the ‘beautiful’ people, the cool ones.

I remember ...

– daring ... finally, to look back. Our eyes met and held fast across that crowded, noisy kitchen. He smiled, just a little. My stomach flipped. Did I smile back?

I remember ...

– watching ... as he crossed the room. He came straight to me. We talked, but the words were not important. Something
had happened. It was like there was only the two of us there, like we were in a bubble of our own, or perhaps a force field surrounded us, one that no one else could enter. It was hypnotic. I knew that the party was going on all around us, yet we were absolutely alone. I was drawn into him, his breathing, his heat, his eyes. It felt like he was looking deep inside me.

I remember ...

– aching ... to be with him. Craving him, from then on. And he seemed to crave me. I couldn’t believe that Derek Klassen, THE Derek Klassen, liked me! I became one of THEM.

I can’t believe I just wrote that. Is that what it was all about?

I am so lame.

From:
        Kia <
[email protected]
>
To:
             Justin <
[email protected]
>
Date:
          Jan. 11
Subject:
     Re: all ears
hey justin, i’m ready to talk. u sure u want to listen? does anyone else read your e-mail?
kia
and T.O.Y. means????

From:
        Justin <
[email protected]
>
To:
             Kia <
[email protected]
>
Date:
          Jan. 11
Subject:
     pour your heart out
kia,
no one else reads my mail. how about yours? would u rather we met in person, or talked on the phone?
T.O.Y. = thinking of you
justin

From:
        Kia <
[email protected]
>
To:
             Justin <
[email protected]
>
Date:
          Jan. 11
Subject:
     Re: pour your heart out
justin,
it’s ok. my parents respect my privacy. they think they’re the perfect parents, remember? lol.
so here it goes. (i’m taking a deep breath here.)
i’m an idiot.
i hate myself and ...
i’m pregnant.
there, I said it. funny thing tho, i don’t feel any better yet.
kia (IBK)

From:
        Justin <
[email protected]
>
To:
             Kia <
[email protected]
>
Date:
          Jan. 11
Subject:
     no more put-downs!!
ok, you’re pregnant. it happens. you’re in shock, i understand, but you’re not a bad person and u’re not a stupid person. i don’t want 2 hear anymore of that kind of crap, ok? u’re just pregnant. so, give me some more details. who’s the guy? u don’t have 2 answer that but tell me this — is he there for u? have u talked 2 a doc, your parents, the rev? i can borrow a car most evenings. why don’t i come over so we can talk face 2 face or we could go somewhere?
T.O.Y.
justin
IBK? what’s that?

From:
        Kia <
[email protected]
>
To:
             Justin <
[email protected]
>
Date:
          Jan. 11
Subject:
     Re: no more put-downs!!
justin,
it’s ok. e-mail works — i don’t want 2 take any more of your time. the guy’s name’s not important — he’s a jerk. (i figured that out just a little 2 late!!!) i’ve talked 2 a doctor, had a lab test, it was confirmed. i’ve got an appointment for counseling the day after tomorrow. i can probably get the “procedure” to “terminate the pregnancy” (that’s what they call it) next week. i just want to get it over with. my parents don’t know. they’re cool, they wouldn’t freak or anything, but ... i just don’t want them 2 know. they’d be so disappointed in me. i haven’t even told my best friend. i’m 2 ashamed of myself. you’re the only one I’m telling. lucky u! so, as u can see, everything is taken care of. (so why do i feel so horrible?)
kia
(IBK = Idiot Behind Keyboard)

From:
        Justin <
[email protected]
>
To:
             Kia <
[email protected]
>
Date:
          Jan. 11
Subject:
     I’ll be there
kia,
it sounds like u are being responsible. u always did seem older than u are. i’m sorry you’re feeling horrible. i want u 2 tell me what day ‘the procedure’ is being done. i’m going 2 swap days off work if i have 2 so i can come with u, and i won’t take no for an answer, unless “he” (the jerk) is going with u and you’re comfortable with that. i won’t interfere if that’s the case. otherwise, i’m there, got it?
are you volunteering at the home tomorrow? will I see you then?
hugs
justin

From:
        Kia <
[email protected]
>
To:
             Justin <
[email protected]
>
Date:
          Jan. 11
Subject:
     Thank you
i’ll b there tomorrow. talk to u then.
kia

Kia walked into the sunroom of the seniors’ home. It was hot, stuffy, and the human smells mixed with the sharp odor of cleaning solutions made her stomach roll. She felt faint, and quickly pulled her sweater off. There was a dozen or so seniors sitting in the room, some napping in their wheelchairs, some staring out the window, and a few sitting in groups. She spotted Justin. He was perched on the edge of a table, talking to a shriveled old man in a wheelchair. There was a blanket over the man’s legs, an oxygen tank strapped to his chair, and a clear tube running up to his nose. The old man tilted his head back and gave a hearty laugh at something Justin said. Kia was amazed that such a loud sound could come from such a frail body.

Justin spotted Kia and quickly crossed the room and pulled her into a huge hug. The gesture overwhelmed her, and she had to wipe her eyes when he let her go.

“I think your gang is waiting in the parlor for you,” he said, smiling down at her.

She nodded. “You haven’t changed the name of
that room yet?” she teased half-heartedly. The smallest things had been irritating her lately. “Couldn’t we call it the music room?”

“Call it whatever you like, Kia, as long as you keep playing the piano. Your visit is the highlight of the week for many of our residents.”

Kia nodded, feeling slightly guilty that the only reason she kept coming was to earn the community service points that she needed for school.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Lousy.”

“Then I’m extra proud of you for coming today. And you’re coming to Youth Group this week, right?”

She nodded.

“Okay, then let’s go. Time to astound them with your talent.” Justin walked her down the corridor and pushed the door to the parlor open. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said, stepping into the room and winking at the only man present, “may I present Kia Hazelwood, pianist extraordinaire, returning to Willows for a repeat engagement. Let’s show her a true Willows welcome!”

The assembled group of senior citizens clapped, while Kia, blushing, stepped up to the piano. She pulled a book out of her bag, placed it on the piano and pushed up her sleeves. She began to play and quickly became lost in the music. Playing one song after another, she paused only long enough to turn the pages in her book. She didn’t make eye contact with any of the seniors, nor did she acknowledge their applause. She was determined to do her job and get out of there. After half an hour she closed her book, quietly thanked the audience and started toward
the door, but she felt a hand reach out and grab her arm as she tried to leave. She looked down, appalled to see that the hand grasping her arm was gnarled and misshapen. She looked into the eyes of a woman in a wheelchair, and was startled to see tears glistening in them.

“That was lovely, Kia. You are a fine pianist.”

“Thank you.” She smiled politely, pulled her arm away and tried again to leave.

“You played with a lot more expression today,” the old woman continued.

Kia turned back to her, surprised. “I did?”

“Oh yes. It was like you dug way deeper, discovered the emotion in yourself and expressed it in your performance. You didn’t just play the notes.”

“Huh.”

“And you also chose a more somber selection today,” she said, her eyes probing Kia’s.

“Really.” Kia looked away. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“My name’s Grace,” the old woman said, stretching out her hand to shake Kia’s.

Kia hoped Grace didn’t see her recoil at the sight of that hand again. She gently held it and allowed Grace to shake hers.

“I used to play the piano too,” Grace continued, “though not nearly as well as you.”

Kia knew she must have looked surprised, because Grace laughed and carried on.

“My hands didn’t always look like this, dear,” she said. “In fact, I used to be rather proud of them. I had long slim fingers, much like yours.” Her eyes took on a faraway expression.

Justin came into the room at that moment, to Kia’s relief. “Ah, I see my two favorite ladies have met,” he said, placing his hands on Grace’s shoulders.

“Yes, Justin, I was just telling Kia that she played particularly well today.”

Justin nodded. “I bet Kia needed a compliment today too.”

“It wasn’t just an empty compliment, she really did,” Grace insisted. “And she created a very melancholy mood. It brought tears to my eyes.”

“Good music always makes me cry too,” Justin said, smiling gently at Grace. “So, did you two introduce yourselves?”

“We did,” Grace answered.

“But did you tell Kia your nickname?”

“Oh Justin, of course not.”

Kia watched as Grace’s pale cheeks flushed.

“Well, Kia,” Justin said, “we call Grace Graceful, just because she is.”

Kia couldn’t think of a more inappropriate nickname for a woman who looked like she was crippled with arthritis, but she smiled and nodded anyway. Grace was shaking her head at Justin, but she was smiling too.

“I’ve got to go, Justin,” Kia said. “Nice meeting you, Grace. I’ll see you next week.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Kia. Perhaps by then you’ll be feeling better and ready to play some more upbeat music again. Get us dancing in our chairs.”

Justin and Grace both laughed at the expression on Kia’s face. “Music is like poetry,” Justin said. “Through it we glimpse the soul.”

So, Kia thought gloomily as she headed out the front door, maybe people really could see what was happening to her.

It was a depressing thought.

Kia’s stomach lurched when she entered the kitchen. The smell of meat cooking was nauseating; the thought of eating meat was worse.

“Hi, hon. How was your day?” Her mom looked up from the onion she was dicing.

“Fine.”

“That’s it? Fine?”

“Yep. That’s about it.”

Her mom went back to her onion. “Well then, could you throw a salad together for me while I finish this spaghetti sauce?”

“I suppose.” At least her mom wasn’t cooking one of her weird Filipino dishes. It was a constant battle. Kia and her sister, Angie, insisted on eating western food, but their mom wanted them to appreciate the customs and food of her “home,” a small village outside of Manila where she was raised.

Kia rifled through the fridge, looking for things she could put in a salad. When she removed the lettuce she spotted the dill pickles.
Sandwich Stackers
, the label said. Putting the salad makings beside the sink, she went back to the fridge and pulled out the jar of pickles. She took a fork from the cutlery drawer and stabbed one of the pre-sliced dills. She popped it into her mouth, then speared another one.