by Naomi Niles
“Ahem,” one of the moms cleared her throat.
Lexie turned back to glare at her. “Yes?”
It was Mrs. Regis, the mom who had her daughter attack one of the girls during the last class. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She wasn’t.
“No, it’s okay. Did you have a question?”
“Do you think we should be telling the girls about the dangers of not stretching before they work out?”
“Actually,” Lexie responded, “recent studies show that stretching before a workout doesn’t decrease your risk of injury at all.”
“I’ve always heard differently,” Mrs. Regis snapped. Some of the other mothers were nodding their heads.
“It’s an old myth that’s been dispelled after years of research, but I can see why you’d be mistaken.” The mom gave her a smug look, but kept her mouth shut. Lexie turned back to the class. “The first stretch we’re going to do is called the tree. I want all of you to reach up to the sky as far as you can and make sure to keep your roots on the ground.” She pointed at her feet.
All of the girls reached up to the ceiling.
“Good job. Now we’re going to reached down and touch our toes.” She bent over to demonstrate, and the girls followed her. Beth looked back at me a little warily and stopped halfway down. I could tell that she was having a little trouble staying focused, and her mother was the only mom that hadn’t stayed for practice, so I walked up beside her.
“And down,” I said and bent over. She did the same. “Good job, Beth.”
“Thank you.” She seemed pleased and began following my cues as we moved through the stretches, the poses, then the pliés. The mothers watched me the entire time, and once Mrs. Regis turned to the woman sitting next to her and whispered something with her eyes locked on mine.
After class, when the girls were starting to get their things and leave, she came up to me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Excuse me?” I tried to remain calm.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the special treatment you were giving to that little girl. I pay good money for these classes, and I’m not about to sit around and watch you play favorites.”
“I was encouraging participation, Mrs. Regis.”
“Don’t give me that crap. I know what you’re doing. You’re singling out the best so you can prop them up. Well, I won’t stand for it. If you want to keep getting my money, you’ll pay the same amount of attention to my girl as you pay to the rest of these brats. You got me?”
I stepped forward, close enough that she backed up. “You can leave. I don’t want you here. Lexie doesn’t want you here. We were planning on kicking your daughter out the second she stepped out of line anyway. There’s the door.” I pointed back towards the lobby.
She looked at me, confused at first. She didn’t seem to know what to do, and she certainly hadn’t been expecting me to talk to her the way I did. Finally, her face settled into its natural look of haughty indignation. “You can’t treat me like this. I want my money back.”
“You paid for the classes she took.”
“I’ll sue.”
“Go ahead. Your contract clearly states there are no refunds, and you signed it. Now if there’s nothing else, and trust me, sweetie, there isn’t, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“You couldn’t keep me here.” Her daughter was on the floor a few feet away changing her shoes. Mrs. Regis ducked down and wrenched the girl up, dragging her out of the room.
“Thank you so much,” Lexie walked out of the lobby. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get rid of that woman all day.”
“I’m just glad it was soon rather than later.”
Chapter Five
Dwayne
I closed my eyes and started focusing on the effort it took to breathe, allowing my thoughts to drift outward with each exhale. I saw myself as a little boy, shaking in the back of the school room, where the children had been gathered. I was crying, screaming that I wanted to go home.
Breathe.
I focused on the material world – the feeling of the plane seat rubbing against my elbow, the sound of the flight attendant’s cart wheeling past. They seemed far away compared to that dark room where the jihadi in the burka was pulling on my hand, telling me it was time to go home. I didn’t want to go home. I’d be leaving a part of myself behind in that room, but the jihadi was insisting on dragging me out into the light, back into the plane cabin.
The real world was starting to come back into focus. I took a glance outside my window. Below us, I could see rich strands of green, spreading out across the landscape below. I knew we were getting closer. My body wouldn’t let me forget. My skin was buzzing with electricity, and my breath caught in my throat. I could feel the anxiety pushing through, breaking my resolve.
I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. Breathe. Go back to the moment.
It should’ve been enough. Usually it was…but there was no comfort in this moment. I was scared.
I had left for the navy the second I turned 18. There was no ratty apartment, no fast food job. My adult life began under the watchful eye and care of the United States government. I didn’t have to fend for myself. I had to learn to live with what was given to me and do without the things I couldn’t get. That became my normal, and I was used to it. I hadn’t known anything else for almost a decade.
Now, I was entering a world I didn’t understand, throwing normal out the window, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. I’d have to learn to live in a world so alien, it was hard to believe that it even existed or that I’d lived in it all.
It was the freedom that bothered me. I didn’t want to go lax and lose the discipline the navy had given me. I’d seen it before. People left and they started to act out, partying and doing drugs simply because they’d been constrained for so long that they had to do something to get rid of that pent-up energy.
I felt that energy surging across my skin, pounding my heart like a drum. There was so much I’d missed, so many experiences I’d never had. I felt like a sheltered child who had grown up in a bubble. I was ready to experience the world for the first time.
I wasn’t going to get any sleep, but I was fully present in the moment, so I looked out the window and watched the landscape pass by below. It was mostly flat, green ridges that grew into mountains, shadowed by the clouds above.
“This is your captain speaking. We will be landing shortly. Please make sure that your tables are in the upright position and your seatbelts are fastened.”
I sighed. The flight had been far too short. When we landed, I waited for the other passengers to grab their bags, then reached up into the overhead compartment and slowly made my way through the tunnel towards the gate.
I didn’t want to just run out. I wanted to delay the moment as long as I could. I didn’t have any direction, any idea of what I was going to do or how I was going to live. I had never planned for anything after the navy. Eventually, I had to reemerge. I couldn’t put it off much longer.
When I reached the gate, I was bombarded by a flash of black hair and familiar arms wrapping themselves around my neck. “Oh, I love you. I love you. I’m so glad you’re back home.” My mom pulled away to get a look at me. “You should grow your hair out,” she said as she rubbed her hand over my black buzz cut.
“Mom, I just got back. Can we save the fashion tips for later?”
“All I’m saying is-”
An arm wrapped around my neck, nearly cutting on off the airway. I reached my foot back and stomped down without even realizing what I was doing. “Ah, fuck!” I turned around to see my brother Jesse, hopping up and down on one foot, holding the other. His shaggy brown hair was bouncing with him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” my mother asked.
“Nah, it’s my fault.” Jesse let his foot down. “Shouldn’t be sneaking up on a soldier like that.”
“Damn, right,” I said. “What are you doing here? I
thought you were on your dope trip.”
“It’s not a dope trip,” he said. “I’m a travelling musician.”
“And, I’ll bet you smoked quite a bit of dope along the way.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he laughed. “I just wanted to see you get back, honestly. Nobody’s seen you in forever. How are you?”
“Jetlagged and pissy. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
The mountains, the river, the familiar buildings of downtown Chattanooga... They were all the same as I remembered them, but they still didn’t feel real. I had to get out and experience them, touch them — give them material form just to know that this wasn’t a trick, and that I wasn’t still sitting outside that school wondering how I was going to save those children.
This was supposed to feel good, like I was getting out of prison or exile. Afghanistan was torture, but this world was even worse. It was too mundane, too simple. My mother and brother kept on talking about nothing in particular, asking me questions. I answered them as best as I could, but I was still lost in thought, drifting back and forth between the Afghani desert and my mother’s luxury sedan.
When we left the city and quiet settled over us, I relaxed a little. This was familiar. We traveled all the time. The landscape was nicer – and there were no IEDs. “Why are you so quiet?” My mother asked once we’d made it into Gatlinburg.
“I don’t know. I’m just thinking.”
“Well stop thinking and have fun,” Jesse said.
“That’s your motto, not mine,” I countered.
“It’s a damn good one. It’ll keep you sane.”
“And high.”
“Nothing wrong with that every once in a while.”
My mother turned into our neighborhood. “I’m sorry your other brothers couldn’t make it, Dwayne.”
“No, it’s fine. They have lives of their own. Besides, it looks like you’ve got a full house.” I didn’t really want to see everybody in the world. My eyes were drooping and everything was hazy. I wanted to collapse on my old bed and fall asleep.
Instead, I walked into a crowd of clapping people, many of them already in various stages of inebriation. I was bombarded by long-forgotten faces, familiar names, people I grew up with and laughed with in what seemed like another life. Nobody understood why I was so stoic or quiet, and I didn’t think anyone would understand, so I kept to myself and slumped into a quiet corner in the backyard.
I was staring down at the grass when I heard a familiar voice say, “You still don’t know how to have fun.”
I looked up to see Michael, the only person who’d ever come close to understanding me. He was holding two beers. He reached out to hand me one. “I don’t drink.”
“You should’ve been born in Utah. You’re the perfect Mormon choir boy.” He sat down next to me. “How are you?”
“Jetlagged and pissy.”
“Does it feel weird being out?”
“It doesn’t feel real. I feel like I’m in a completely different world — I am.”
“You look subdued.”
“When is this all going to be over?” I asked. “I want to go to bed.”
“It won’t be long. Jesse brought a bottle of tequila.”
“He has no shame.”
“Are you glad to be back?”
“No… I don’t know. Everyone talks about how great it must be, but that’s been my world since I was a kid.”
“You got used to it.”
“Yeah, I did, and I still feel like I left a part of myself back there. I’m not the same man, Michael. It changes you – and not in a good way.”
“It’ll get easier.”
“Sure, but things will never be the same. It’s like all of the fun has been drained out of everything. Those ribs,” I pointed at the grill, “taste like plastic. That beer, like water. When it comes to the thrill of battle, everything else pales in comparison, and that feeling that you get while you’re fighting doesn’t go away. It dulls over time, I’m told, but something always brings me back to that moment. It keeps me from experiencing the present the way that I should.”
“You’ll get it,” he assured me.
“But in the meantime, it’s torture.”
“You need to find something that will keep you distracted.”
“Like a hobby?”
“Anything — just so long as you can focus on it and it doesn’t piss you off.”
“Good point. Who’s all here?”
“Got the Fergus girls and their husbands.” He pointed at a pair of ginger twins wrestling toddlers. “Then there’s Tom. He’s out back in the alley smoking with Jesse.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Some of your mom’s friends are here. They’re all sitting in the kitchen, and then there’s Gillian.”
“Gillian? Your sister? I didn’t see her anywhere.”
“Dude, she’s right there. How could you not see her?” I saw her; I just couldn’t believe that that was Gillian. She used to be short and a little pudgy with a mane of black hair she couldn’t seem to straighten.
The woman I was looking at was skinny, with full hips, wearing a tight white shirt, short shorts, and long black hair that fell down to her butt. “She looks different,” I said. “I didn’t recognize her.”
“Well, that’s her. Come on,” Michael lifted the beer he brought for me. “Have it.”
“Fuck it.” I grabbed the beer and chugged half of it.
“Yeah, that’s right.” He laughed and stood up. “Let’s get you another.”
“No,” I said.
“You’re coming with me.”
“Fine.” I followed him into the kitchen.
Chapter Six
Gillian
The real challenge was getting my mind off of work long enough to have fun. I didn’t think I could do it. I was still humming “Dance of the Little Swans” and this new composition Lexie had been playing. I didn’t know the name. I just knew that I missed the dance floor.
The rest of the world was boring when compared to the art of expression and the feeling I got when I leapt into the air. Dance was the ability to make the intangible manifest. It meant connecting to the world of dreams and that unconscious place where our secret desires and elusive thoughts moved below the surface of everyday life. The mundane world simply didn’t cut it.
Lexie was wrong. I had a life. Dance was my life. Anything else was a meaningless distraction.
I could smell the BBQ all the way from the end of the block when I parked my car. My mouth was watering, and my stomach was grumbling. I didn’t know how hungry I was until I realized that the food wasn’t ready and there was a long wait. Dwayne’s father barely got the grill started, so I took a seat at the patio and waited while the party went on without me.
At some point, I heard everyone clapping, which must’ve meant that Dwayne had arrived. I didn’t really care at that point. I was starving and bored. I felt out of place. I hadn’t even been home in months, and most of those people I hadn’t spoken to since I was a girl.
When Dwayne walked out, I didn’t know it was him at first. He used to be skinnier than I was with shaggy black hair. The man who walked outside was stiff and quiet, with a buzz cut and tattoos scrawled up his massive arms. He took a glance back before he grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the corner so he could sit down.
I watched him closely out of the corner of my eye, unsure of what to make of the man. He was different. The navy had changed him. He bland and quiet, far too serious for his own good, and didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all. But there was something pensive about him, like his mind was racing a thousand miles a second. I wondered what was going on inside his head that he couldn’t get past it long enough to have fun.
Michael got up to talk to him, and he waved away the beer Michael brought — a purist , I thought. I liked that. When he braced himself against the chair to get up, his arms flexed, and a shiver passed down my spine. He used
to represent budding male sexuality, the embodiment of everything innocent, young and vibrant in masculine nature. Now, he’d fully matured. He wasn’t budding, young, or even vibrant. He was the stoic, brute force behind the masculine spirit.
“How’s the party going?” Carrie, Dwayne’s mother, came up behind me.
“Good. I am starving. I could eat a side of beef and still have room for those ribs.”
“Food’s coming up,” Dwayne’s dad called out from his place at the grill.
“I’ll bet you’re glad to have Dwayne back at home,” I said to Carrie.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. He was stationed in Afghanistan during the war, and it’s so dangerous there. I’ve been worried.”
“He’s lucky to have a mom who cares about him as much as you do.”
“My boys are my life,” she said. “Without them, I’d have nothing.”
“That’s not true.” Jesse walked up, his eyes bright red, and put his arm around his mom’s shoulder. “You’d have your knitting.”
“Put a sock in it.” She wrenched away playfully.
“Sorry,” he said and walked off.
“Well, I better get back to the party. There’s still a lot of cooking to do and tons of dishes.”
“If you need any help, just let me know,” I said, mostly to be nice. I was still dying for a taste of those ribs.
“Hey, little sis.” Michael came out, red in the face with one arm as far around Dwayne’s shoulders as it would go and a beer in his hand. “This is for you.” He handed me the beer.
“Thanks,” I took it from him and set it down, trying not to blush at the way that Dwayne was staring at me. “You should go check on the food.” I glared at him.
“Sorry, I was just trying to be nice.” He staggered off.
“Sorry about that,” Dwayne said. “He had some of Jesse’s tequila.”
“I see that,” I laughed.
He smiled. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in years.”
“I’m doing well. Lexie and I are running a ballet school in Chattanooga.”