by L. B. Dunbar
“You can see all my lines through this thing,” I yelled as I observed myself in the mirror. The dress was a pale blue, almost white, and the color shifted with the movement of my body under the dim light. It highlighted the color of my eyes with correlating shade of blue.
“Take off your underwear and bra.” Sidonia’s voice carried, and I hoped we didn’t have any customers. I briefly shook my head. There was no way I could do such a thing, I thought admonishingly, but in my defiant mood, I slipped up the dress and pulled down my underwear. The material fell seductively down my naked hips, sinfully caressing my thighs. My legs pressed together as my core leapt with the sensual kiss on my skin. The spaghetti straps were delicate, and I was afraid of breaking them to remove my bra with the old-slip-in-and-tug-out trick. However, the move worked, and suddenly my breasts were free to play and peak against the fabulous fabric. My skin felt alive, prickling and tingling, hyperaware of each fine hair kissed by the material cascading over me. My hands smoothed down my narrow hips before slipping upward under the weight of achy breasts. I wasn’t too large to go without a bra, but some support might be better underneath the barely-there fabric. The material felt decadent and rich, and I felt otherworldly standing in it. I didn’t recognize myself. My hair wild from hastily tugging off my sweater. My eyes alight from the sexual hyperactivity between my thighs. My chest rose with ragged breaths from the soft tickle of the dress against the sensitive skin of my breasts.
“How’s it feel?” Sidonia’s voice startled me, its nearness proving she stood on the other side of the curtain. “Let me see.”
Without waiting for a response, she drew back the drapery. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and her breath caught.
“You look beautiful. A natural princess.” Her voice was low, her eyes appraising. The dress really wasn’t fluffy and regal, but sedate and seductive. Modern and sleek with its simple lines, it fit my subtle curves like it was made for me. “What do you think?” The smile in her voice grew as her eyes met mine in the reflective glass.
“I’d never be able to afford it.” My voice was small. Sidonia knew I was a struggling grad student, after all, that was the point of attending the scholarship dinner. The dress I wore might have been second-hand, but was most likely only worn once and by someone who could afford such lush material.
“It’s on me.” The pleasure in her tone warmed me and I blushed.
“I couldn’t possibly take this. You could easily get four hundred for it.”
“It’s not going to be worth one dime to me, unless you wear it. Show him what he’s missing.”
I smirked in the mirror with a gentle laugh.
“I don’t think he’s a scholarship candidate.”
“Then entice a rich donor to be your sugar daddy.” My hands came to my hip and I laughed heartily. Sidonia laughed as well. “But honestly, girl, that dress is made for a queen. You need to wear it and let me live vicariously through you.” She winked, and the curtain fell. I took a second look at myself. If I lived in a fairy tale then Sidonia just became my fairy godmother.
* * *
On the weekend, I volunteered at VetGym, an organization established for veterans within the community. VetGym calmed people. They found camaraderie there. Members understood one another. If no other life experience would have brought them together, the loss of limb, sensation or spirit did. It was a place to find comfort with those who might better understand the veteran experience. Pity got checked at the door, according to Maxwell Huston. This place was about finding a new you, not grumbling about the old one, he’d tell new recruits, as he called the members. Most volunteers were from within the unit, his nickname for the group collectively, but I got my position because of my skill.
I’d worked here as often as I could for four years, and while guidance counselors mentioned it would look good on a resume, I decided early on that the only reason I was at the gym was because it was something I felt I needed to do. Knowing what it was like to be closed off, to hide inside silence, I wanted to help others learn to express themselves. Communication was important, I’d learned as I grew older, although I wasn’t terribly good at putting it into practice for myself.
“Hello beautiful.” Victor Puterburgh met me with a smile every time I entered the doors. The wrinkled man looked a hundred but acted like he was fifteen. He winked at me, appraising me with watery blue eyes that had seen his share of history and a war long forgotten by too many. His gnarled, shaky fingers held up a pen for me to sign-in and then he handed me a volunteer badge.
“How are you today, Vic?” He demanded I call him by his nickname after repeated attempts to respectfully call him Mr. Puterburgh. He said it was a mouthful of peanut butter to say that name, and Vic sounded svelte, like him. He exaggerated his attempt at swagger by slipping a hand over his barely-there, white hair.
“Never had a bad day in my life,” he teased as he took the pen back from me. “We have some new recruits. One of them looks rather swanky.” His eyebrows wiggled back and forth. Vic had tried to set me up with his grandson, but I’d politely refused. It didn’t stop his eternal prompting for me to date someone, calling me a “catch,” and continually prodding me toward people too old or too damaged to want a relationship. I giggled with each suggestion and appreciated his flirtatious attention to my love life.
VetGym was an old elementary school complete with a variety of classrooms and a tight gymnasium hosting a basketball court. Many rooms were made cozier with overstuffed chairs and love-seats versus school desks and folding chairs. I entered one such classroom to work with my students.
Hello beautiful, Frank Bickell greeted me in a manner similar to Vic. At forty-five years old, he was a veteran with hearing loss after an explosion burst his eardrums. It took a new mindset to learn sign-language at his age, but Frank decided he could help others if he learned the common language of the Deaf community. I’d learned the skill as a child and kept current myself by practicing it. Emily and I considered it our private language, often using it to speak without others listening. VetGym offered me the opportunity to teach ASL to those with permanent loss as the result of injury. The psychological side effects of an adult losing his or her hearing was not my domain, but I’d seen an occasional breakdown in someone’s spirit. The thought reminded me of Levi.
Xavi, I spelled out, catching Xavier Gomez’s attention after tapping his forearm. Heavy tattoos covered his skin, cascading down his arm from a too-tight, standard ARMY T-shirt. He suffered auditory loss when he was captured unaware during a routine sweep. He wasn’t “buying-in” to learning to sign, but he showed up to his sessions each weekend. His attitude preceded him through the door, but Maxwell often made a pass through the lessons to keep Xavier in check. At thirty-three, the burly man with a neck thicker than my thigh didn’t realize his presence alone spoke volumes. He wanted help, he just didn’t know how to ask.
Hi, Carmela Mastus waved at me. She’d lost her vocal cord use with a neck injury. She’d had some kind of reconstructive surgery but her mouth struggled to form words. Carmela decided she couldn’t speak her whole life using paper. Her pretty caramel skin and dark bobbed hair matched her attitude of acceptance. She was eager to learn and share her skills with her children. All three of my students had been through extensive surgeries and rehabilitation upon return to the United States. Their journey home intrigued me and I’d learned much about them over the last years. Our session fell into its normal Saturday rhythm. Around eleven, we took a break for lunch.
Did you see the new recruit? Carmela signed and wiggled her eyebrows at me. I shook my head with a laugh.
People keep mentioning him, I signed and spoke to use both forms of communication with Carmela. She grabbed my elbow and guided me down the hall. I could hear the bouncing of a basketball rhythmically echoing down the corridor. As we came to the entrance of the gymnasium, she pulled me around her body, and I stopped short. My eyes blinked to focus. Men with prosthetic legs and arms dribbled and d
odged, racing for the hoop at one end of the court.
Carmela nudged me for her attention. He’s hot. Her head nodded toward someone I’d never seen at the gym before and I couldn’t remove my eyes from him. There on the court, in black shorts and a sweat-filled, gray T-shirt, was Levi.
Levi
“That’s a foul,” I shouted, pushing back aggressively against the sweaty arm holding me off from taking a shot. The older guy barked profanities at me, his face red and slick with sweat. I tucked and rolled around him, releasing the ball as my leg gave out under me. The fitness prosthetic took some getting used to, at first. I wore it for daily runs, but I hadn’t played ball this exuberantly in years. Wayne had been gently encouraging me to come to the gym, but I hadn’t wanted to. I just didn’t want to listen to a bunch of guys bitchin’ about their experiences. I’d come a long way from where I’d been, and while I understood their situations, I couldn’t handle the pain I’d relive by listening to them. I likened it to Alcoholics Anonymous. Some people can’t handle the AA meetings because the sob stories made them want to drink. I was better off alone, but today Wayne insisted.
“Quit being a pussy, and play,” Wayne barked from the bench. He’d been telling me for a year about VetGym and the things the organization did for veterans. I didn’t believe him. When I returned home, there were grand promises of support for assimilation back into society, because life abroad, fighting overseas, was different than going to a job nine-to-five every day. Those promises were broken instantly. I floundered on my own for a while, recklessly rambling the southern Atlantic states before settling on Chicago and earning a college degree. Even that hadn’t been easy at first. Returning to school was a pain in the ass. The schedule, the studies, the girls. I might have dropped out if it weren’t for Wayne and Anne. I wasn’t into the co-ed thing, so I hung my head, went to class, and partied at night with the older set like me. Lot of good that did me.
“Levi, you’re out.” Another guy with two fitness legs went in for me as point guard, a position I’d played in high school and typically in the makeshift courts of the desert. I threw myself on the bench and took a hearty drink of water, squeezing the refreshing liquid in a stream into my parched mouth. Swallowing hard, I turned my head to place the bottle behind me when something, no, someone, caught the corner of my eye. A short-haired brunette, caramel-colored and curvy stood next to a familiar blonde. Their fingers flapped and twisted, before halting to peer back in the gym. Blue eyes found me across the noise of squeaking sneakers and clanging metal.
She smiled weakly and flipped a hand in a subtle wave.
“What the hell?” I turned to Wayne Erickson. “Is that Katie Carter?”
“Appears to be.” Wayne didn’t even turn in her direction.
“Holy shit.” I lifted the hem of my tee and swiped across my forehead.
“Got something against the girl?”
“No,” I snorted, releasing my shirt, my eyes drifting sideways to see her still standing in the doorway, watching the game.
“Don’t mind if she’s against me then, would you?”
“Eew. Shut the fuck up, old man.” Wayne was too old for Katie. Instantly my hackles rose. I’d kick his ass if he tried to touch her.
“Huh. That’s what I thought.” Wayne’s mouth curled and his jaw-clenched with the gum he chomped. His eyes didn’t look at me as he spoke, but followed the stream of men running for the opposite hoop. A man shot and scored, landing on his feet to pump his arms in excitement. Katie and the woman beside her laughed, and the man leaned forward to double high-five each of them.
“Maybe he’ll ask her out.” Wayne spoke while his eyes followed the men returning down the court toward the opposite basket.
“I’d kick his ass,” I growled, watching the man Wayne implied. He looked like a putz. His hair grown-out and curled into one of those man-buns. His arm heavily tattooed with the Marine insignia. I turned back for the door, but Katie was gone.
“Missed your opportunity.”
“What?” I snorted, looking at my professor turned tormentor.
“I think she was waiting for a sign from you, but you didn’t even acknowledge her.”
“What do you mean?” Suddenly he was Mr. Romance.
“Gotta wave back when a pretty girl waves at you, or you miss your chance.” What the fuck? I twisted at the waist to see an older man sitting behind me, a much older man, with weathered skin and a twinkle to his liquid-filled eyes. He wore a ball cap with his ship assignment stitched against the navy-blue lapel. “I’d marry that girl myself, if she’d have me.”
“You have a wife, Vic,” Wayne chuckled before he barked directions at one of the players on my team.
“Yes, well, there’s that detail as well,” the old man scoffed behind me. “But she’s not one to pass on. Doesn’t hurt to look, if you know what I mean?” The tease in his tone made me twist again to be met by two thick, white eyebrows dancing over blue eyes. If he wasn’t an old guy, I’d want to throat punch him for being a dirty old man. I knew exactly what he meant about looking, and if he knew the truth of Katie Carter, the feel of her body, cardiac arrest would end his days. I shifted on the bench and stared at the space vacated by Katie. She might cause my heart to kill me, because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. That kiss at the museum and her orgasm on me. That kiss in my apartment, letting me take advantage of her in my time of need. I’d done nothing but push her away, while at the same time, pulling her toward me. I’d been the one to call her. I’d been the one to follow. Every turn I took, my past stood there facing me, and while I didn’t want to face it, there was something correct in what the old man said. When a pretty girl waves at you, for the second time, you don’t pass on the chance.
* * *
“Hey.” I’d wandered the corridor of the old school until I found the classroom with Katie inside. She was picking up some books and stacking them on a table when I entered.
“Hi.” She continued to straighten the books before turning to fully look at me.
“So you work here?” I smiled weakly, feeling nervous for some reason. I probably stunk after the game, but I couldn’t leave knowing she was in the same building. I didn’t want to miss my second opportunity.
“I volunteer.” Her short answer surprised me, her tone sharp and quick like her words. Nodding slowly, I sensed talking to her was going to be harder than I thought. We hadn’t spoken directly since I called her to my apartment. My stomach growled, but I ignored my hunger.
“Don’t let me keep you,” she huffed, teasingly, evidently hearing my belly. She turned away again to reach for her bag on an orange cushion. When she bent at the waist, I got a full shot of her heart-shaped ass and my body woke at the curve of perfection facing me.
“What do you do here?” I asked, ignoring her brush off. To solidify my question, I sat in a plush chair. For a moment, I felt like a student—Katie the teacher—and my heart sensed there were things I could learn from her.
“I teach ASL—American sign language. I work with some of the team members to practice and perfect their vocabulary.” I stared at her in wonder. How the hell did she know these things, and better question, why? As if reading my mind, she continued.
“I learned it when I was a child. When my family thought I wouldn’t ever speak again. I told you…” Her words drifted and she looked over my head at the door. Her bag rested on her shoulder and she clenched a fist around the strap. “Anyway, it’s good for me to keep up the skill, as well.”
I continued to stare at her, wondering about her life. She’d told me about her mother leaving her and her silence. She’d been brave, though she took it as weakness. It’s hard to hold my tongue when I have things that need to be said. It made me argumentative at times, belligerent at others, like with Wayne and him pestering me to come to the gym. It also resulted in a couple scuffles with my father until my older brother, Trent, stepped in. The thought of Trent brought me full circle. Elk Rapids seeped through my mind,
like a whisper in one ear, slithering to escape the other. Standing before me, I realized Katie Carter might have her own whispering demons from our home town.
“This is why you said you could help me.” I watched her face fall. Her shoulder shrugged.
“Among other things, yes.” I wanted to ask for explanation of those other reasons, but I didn’t and the silence swirled around us like her moving fingers in the gym door. She stepped forward. “I need to—“
“Today’s the first time I’ve come here.” I interrupted her movement, standing quickly. “Wayne’s been asking me for over a year to give it a try, but I didn’t really want to. I’m sort of stubborn like that. Always thinking I don’t need help, need others.” I shook my leg from where it stretched away from me. Katie’s eyes drifted to the metal apparatus.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
“Not really.” It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to know the details. The long and short was I lost my leg below my knee. The real issue was I didn’t want to turn the moment into a pity party of memory. Her chin tipped as her eyes remained on my leg.
“Is it related to what happened the other day?” She didn’t need to clarify. She meant my drunken stupor in my apartment. The day I allowed myself to let the survivor’s guilt consume me and drown in excessive alcohol to rid the remembrance of living. I nodded once.
“Want to tell me about that?”
“Not really,” I said again with a weak smile. Her face fell again and she shifted the strap of her bag.
“Well, this is a great place to hang. Full of some awesome people who can help you.”
“You think I need help?” I snapped, sharper than I intended and I scratched at the scruff under my chin.
“I didn’t say that.” She sighed. “I meant this is a good place to find whatever you’re looking for.” She exhaled and took a step toward me, but her intention was the door. I shuffled left to block her exit.