Fragments

[kathminchin.livejournal.com]

Then:

An argument over whether a pop star was cute or not. My best friend and another girl were split over John Lennon and Paul McCartney. I was asked to give the casting vote. Without thinking I replied that I didn’t like boys, I liked girls.

They stared at me and the subject is changed.

The following Monday my best friend came to me. “I’ve talked to my priest and he says what you feel is wrong. But you can become a nun which means you would be repentant and then you can go to heaven.”

The only thing I could think of saying was “but I’m Jewish.”

We never spoke again about boys. We still talked about everything else, just not relationships or sex. She had other friends to cry over when she split up with her first boyfriend, when she missed her period, when she goes on the pill. Whenever those subjects come up in company, I felt like the outsider looking in – and my best friend fielded any questions directed my way. The nearest to it was when I was her bridesmaid, and caught the bouquet – when I said that I’d have to meet a cute guy at university, as she stared at me meaningfully.

She never asked me if I did. The last time we spoke I was going to teach English in Japan.

******

Later

I’m staring at the phone when Aria comes into the room. “She likes me” is the first sentence from my mouth when she asks what’s wrong.

Aria’s however persistent. She also shops for Britain. When she discovered that I was invited to go and see Zenica that night, I suddenly found myself getting a new dress, new underwear and a new nightie. It's like following a polite whirlwind through the shops, she knows exactly what she wants and where it is. Anyone would think she’d been planning this.

******

I spin Zenica out and back, following the pattern of the dance I’m teaching her. The music is pulsing through the room, and suddenly I work out why dancers call the rumba the most erotic of the Latin dances. Zenica’s in my arms again and I’m staring into her eyes, and then my lips meet hers.

I’m about to stammer an apology when I find she’s reciprocating with enthusiasm.

“So now what do I do?” is the only coherent thought in my mind. I don’t understand why she apologies, and I’m half relieved when she proves to be too tired to carry on dancing. We wish each other goodnight at the door of the room I’m sleeping in, and I drift off to sleep with puzzled thoughts chasing each other round and round.

******

I turn up to my ballroom class as normal. The teacher grins at me, and I curtsey to my normal partner as the familiar strains of “Roxanne” come out.

The teacher comes round and watches as we dance.

“Sarah, that’s incredible. You’re really starting to show the emotion in the dance. I don’t know what you did this weekend, but keep it up.”

******

Smoke grins at me. “So did you have a good evening?” I fight the blush as I say I did, and tell him I taught Zenica the tango. We discuss dancing, and how he’s going to teach Zenica the gypsy dances. He grins and mentions he’s going to take her to see the ballet as a birthday present.

It takes almost every ounce of will not to ask if I can go with them. The rest of it I spend in not punching him in the face. I pray he doesn’t notice, the last thing I want is to upset him. Or Zenica. Especially when I can’t work out why I want to hit him.

******

Now

Aria’s in London. Toad’s busy in the garden. I load my basket with tubs of cream and head off into the hedge to maintain the pledge with the hedgecats. On the way I find some bloodsucker, and methodically pull it to pieces and set the bits on fire. As I carry on my journey I find myself humming the music that I’d played and dance segments from the rumba, with a smile on my face. And the hedge seems to dance with me, the fronds bending back and forth with the music.