Body Language

by Dahlia Salvatore

  “God damn it, Robbie! God damn it! Don't do this. I love her...” I can't think of any other way to put it. It's the truth.

  “Lower thy arm and I shall withdraw my poniard,” he bargains.

  “Alright... alright,” I concede. “Just put the knife down.” I slowly lower it to the soiled ground. “Don't hurt her.”

  He starts to stand as he withdraws the knife. When he drops his weapon, I yank my arm back up and shoot him in the chest. He stumbles against the wall, and then slumps to the ground, a lifeless mass. I'm thrust into immediate shock. My trembling hands drop the smoking pistol, and I go for the chair.

  “Carmen? Can you hear me?” I see that there is a hole in the tape over her mouth. I can smell fruit on her breath. I yank the tape off. There are crushed berries on her tongue. I scoop them out with my fingers. “Come on. Come on, please don't be dead.” I slap her face lightly. “Wake up. Wake up.” She groans. “Carmen?” Her eyes twitch.

  I hear sirens coming from outside. Voices shout from outside. I know that the sick bastard has poisoned her. The only thing I know to do is induce vomiting. I lean her over, sticking my fingers down her throat. She heaves and bluish black junk falls out of her mouth, along with a whole lot of food matter. It's better than nothing, but we're not out of danger yet.

  “Police! We're coming in!” I hear. Please God, don't let it be too late. Four officers flood the meager shack and view the scene.

  “Area secure,” one says into a walkie-talkie. I lift her up and carry her out into the sunlight.

  “EMTs are standing by,” says Helms, jogging up the path.

  “One confirmed dead,” a voice says from his radio.

  “I shot him,” I say, my hands quaking. I'm carrying her as quickly as I can.

  “Don't worry about that,” says Helms. “We'll cross that bridge, when we get to it.” The quarter-mile is an eternity. Her face is pale and she's all but limp in my arms. I pick up speed, until I see the ambulance in the ruined yard. I set her on the prepared stretcher. The responders get oxygen on her face and load the stretcher into the back of the vehicle. It's only then that I notice the dress she's wearing. I also notice her running shoes.

  Wait... what the hell?

  (Carmen)

  My eyelids open. I'm staring at a monitor. Why am I staring at a monitor? What the hell are all these numbers? Why do I feel like hell?

  My body aches. I groan. I bring my right hand up to my forehead. It feels like it weighs a ton. Cords dangle off of it. There's a sharp pain in the crook of my left arm. I lower my arm and look down at it. My eyes focus. I'm in a hospital. The sharp pain was an IV needle moving in my veins.

  “Carmen?” I hear his voice.

  “Hm?” I ask, closing my eyes again.

  “How do you feel?” It's Jacob.

  “Thirsty.”

  “Here,” he says. I feel the brim of a cup on my lips, and drink the water he offers until no more comes. My lids slide all the way open. “You're in the hospital,” he says.

  “Someone took me,” I say, memories swimming in brain.

  He nods. “Yeah, he did.”

  “I feel all wiggly...”

  “That's from the morphine,” he says. “You and I need to have a conversation, now that I know you can.” I cough and shut my eyes, nodding. “Maybe not now...”

  “It's okay,” I wheeze.

  “I only have one question,” he begins. “You're Roxanne, right?”

  “Yes.” I can't help but smile, albeit drowsily.

  “Why didn't you tell me you could sing... or that you talked, for that matter?”

  “I'm sorry,” I apologize slowly.

  “How long?”

  “Singing... weeks.” I lick my dry lips.

  “And talking?”

  “Not 'till last night,” I say sleepily. He reaches out and takes my hand. It's the best feeling in the world.

  “Last night... last night...” he whispers. His eyes turn thoughtful. “I'm sorry about that.”

  “Why?” My first thought is that he doesn't want a relationship, that he's sorry because he gave me some kind of false hope.

  “I shouldn't have tried something with you. I barely know you. I didn't know Roxanne—you.” He chuckles. “Why last night?” he asks.

  “I thought you said you only had one question,” I say, coughing hard.

  “Yeah. Here, let me get you more water.” His hand leaves mine and I miss it, even though he's only gone for a minute. A set of footsteps return and I think they might be his, but instead Kyle's face floats into view.

  “Hey, how are you?” he asks, leaning over.

  “Alive.”

  He laughs. “Are you sure? You look half-past dead.”

  “I'm sure.”

  “Good.” He takes my hand. “I think it's only fair for you to know that the doctor loves you,” Kyle says.

  “Does he?”

  “He won't say it, because he doesn't know how you feel yet, but he does. And he doesn't just feel that way about Roxanne, he loves the real you. In fact, he wouldn't shut up about it after he saved you.”

  “He saved me?”

  “Yeah, he shot the guy who kidnapped you. The guy was going to cut your throat. He was totally psycho,” Kyle says, his eyebrows lifting.

  “I seem to attract those.” I say, shutting my eyes again. For once, thoughts of the abduction horror are not in my mind.

  “Don't say that. You attracted me,” Kyle says, snickering. “Not like... him, though.”

  “Well, that's good news,” I say with a grin. I squeeze his hand. “'Cause you're like a brother to me.”

  Jacob appears back in the doorway. “What's good news? Who's like a brother?”

  “Oops. I'll... just leave you two alone,” Kyle says, backing away from the bed and out of the room. He pulls the door most of the way shut.

  Jacob lifts the water up to my mouth and I drain the second cup, too. The cold water feels great in my throat. He sets the empty cup on my tray.

  “Carmen...”

  “Sh.” I put a finger up to his lips. “For once, let me do the talking.” He smiles behind my finger. “I love you.” I've never spoken a harder truth. Those words have never meant so much to me, until now. “I have for a while. I know it's fast. I know it's probably not the right thing to say, but I do. I don't know what's going to happen when we leave here. I don't know if our time together meant to you what it meant to me. All I know is that you're special to me. You helped me, you believed in me, and you protected me when I needed someone.” Tears cloud my eyes. “I don't know if you feel the way I do, or that, if we get together, we'll stay together forever. I'm happy I could be with you and know you.”

  His smile spreads wide. “I'm so glad to hear you say that,” he says. “…for more than one reason. You know, I always hoped I would be the one to help you talk again.”

  “You were the only reason I talked again,” I say, the tears streaming down my face.

  “I love you, too,” he says. “Last night meant more to me than I thought it would. When I woke up alone in that room, I was torn. I thought of Carmen and I thought of Roxanne. I thought about the girl who was quiet, but that I knew cared about me, even if it was just in friendship. In contrast, Roxanne sang her heart out every night on that stage. But now, I realize you really are the same person.” He reaches out and sweeps a tear from my cheek. “You're so brave,” he says.

  “I'm not brave,” I argue, wiping my face. “I hid inside myself. I didn't talk for a long time, because I was afraid to be myself. Singing was a total fluke. It happened almost by accident.” I frown. “I'm not brave. You're the one who was brave,” I say, patting his hand.

  “No...no. I'm not brave, either,” he says. We both laugh. “I was barely able to fire that gun, and when I did, I was afraid. I was scared he'd kill you. If only I'd had enough courage to tell someone years ago about how much he harassed me, this might never have happened. It was my fault you got abducted.”

/>   “It wasn't your fault. Some of the stuff he said and did... you wouldn't believe it.” I shake my head. “He was insane.”

  “I guess,” he says, looking past me at the wall.

  “Maybe, what matters is that together we can be brave for each other,” I say, squeezing his hand.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  He leans in and kisses me. I can't taste great, considering I've been pumped with poison and medicine to fix the poison, but just like before, when my imperfections stood out in the world... when my mouth was permanently shut, when I didn't look like a model, when I was weak and trying so desperately to be strong, he doesn't care.

  He loves me.

  And, I love him, too.

  (Carmen)

  “It's important to remember posture,” I say, standing upright and demonstrating the proper attitudes.

  The set of fifteen girls stand upright as well, mimicking me.

  “Very good, Layla. Arms, girls! Arms!”

  Jacob strolls into the studio, waving at my students.

  “Take a break!” I shout to the troupe.

  “How are things?” he asks, handing me a smoothie. I pull the paper slip off the end of the straw.

  “Good. We're working on posture,” I say. I take a huge sip.

  “I'm glad you decided to do this,” he says.

  “Me too,” I lean against the mirrored wall, the barre pressing against my lower back. He leans beside me.

  “When do singing lessons start?” he asks.

  “I teach an afternoon class, today,” I answer, taking a big swig. “God, this is good. What is it, peanut butter?”

  “Yeah—”

  “Excuse me,” says one of the young dancers. She can't be taller than Jacob's hip.

  “Yes?” He bends so he's at eye-level with her.

  “Is it true that teacher used to not talk?” she asks.

  He looks up at me, and I lift my eyebrows, not taking my mouth off my straw.

  “That's right.”

  “And you helped her talk?” she asks.

  “Yup.”

  “She sure yells a lot for somebody who used to not talk,” she says peering up at me.

  I almost spit smoothie everywhere. I laugh as I choke.

  “Yes, she does,” he says.

  “Go back to the group,” I say, trying to keep the peanut butter from oozing out my nose.

  “You yell at them?” he asks, taking me into his arms. My smoothie is between our faces.

  “Someone has to,” I say with an exaggerated grin. He takes the cup from me and looks me in the eye. “Keep it PG,” I warn.

  He presses several small kisses to my lips, but even those are enough to get me going.

  “Be nice to these girls. Remember, you were once like them,” he says, giving me back my cup.

  “Yes, doctor,” I say teasingly.

  “You...” he shakes his head. “I'll see you later.” He pecks me on the cheek, then heads for the door. I set my cup on the far bench against the wall.

  It turns out that I never quit dancing. I just learned to sing. I learned to talk. I learned to be what I am.

  I'm many things, a dancer and a singer. One thing I didn't know about myself, was that I'm a teacher, too. I was never done living. My wings were never clipped. My voice was never really silenced. My life has just begun. I've just begun to fly, just begun to sing, and I never intend to stop.

  I clap my hands together, “Alright girls, back in your lines. Let's take it from the top.”

  Songlist

  (Song name - Composer/Songwriter)

  Black Water - Patrick Simmons

  Keep Your Hands to Yourself - Dan Baird

  Today I Sing the Blues - Curtis Lewis

  If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out - Cat Stevens

  Since I Fell For You - Buddy Johnson

  Someone to Watch Over Me - Ira Gershwin

  Candy - Alex Kramer

  I Miss You So - Bertha Scott, Jimmy Henderson, Sid Robin

  Precious Lord, Take My Hand - Thomas A. Dorsey

  Nice Girls Don't Stay For Breakfast - Jerome J. Leshay, Bobby Troup

  I Need a Little Sugar in my Bowl by Nina Simone - based on Need a Little Sugar In My Bowl by Bessie Smith

  The Days of Wine and Roses - Henry Mancini, Johnny Mercer

  I Put a Spell on You - Screamin' Jay Hawkins

  Damn Your Eyes - Steve Bogard, Barbara Wyrick

  Prelude to a Kiss - Irving Gordon

  Body and Soul - Edward Heyman, Robert Sour, Frank Eyton, Johnny Green

  Chances Are - Al Stillman, Robert Allen

  Dr. Feelgood (I Never Loved a Man the Way that I Love You) - Aretha Franklin, Ted White

  The Lady is a Tramp - Lorenz Hart

  DEAR READERS,

  Thanks so much for picking up my little book. It means the world to me that you've finished. I hope it held your interest and entertained you.

  I'm willing to admit that I'm not a therapist or a ballet dancer, but I did my best to research this book. I spent several weeks watching filmed ballets, sometimes for hours a day. I got comfortable with some dance terminology. I studied some dance routines, back when I was ambitious enough to think I might add some specific choreography to the book. Being that Body Language was my National Novel Writing Month project, I didn't have enough time to devote myself fully to that task, so, I had to give it up. I'd like to believe if I spent a year or more writing Body Language, it would have appealed much much more to ballet artists than it does now.

  Body Language is my first attempt at publishing. Before November began, I started writing a book called Call Me Maybe. It's a comedy, so it's much lighter than this book. My writing goals next year include publishing Call Me Maybe and to write two other novels, the titles of which I won't reveal now.

  I hope to hear more from you, readers, and make new connections with all of you. On the next page, you'll find my information! Feel free to drop me a line any time. I love making new friends!

  Thanks again for reading!

  Dahlia Salvatore

  * * *

  CONTACT THE AUTHOR

  CLICK ON ANY LINK BELOW TO CONTACT DAHLIA.

  On the Web: Dahliasalvatore.webs.com

  On Facebook: Facebook.com/authordahliasalvatore

  Email: authordahliasalvatore@gmail.com