A Time to Dance (13 page)

BOLDER

“Look at you walk,”

Jim says. “Can hardly tell you're wearing a prosthesis.

I'm so proud of you.

How's the dance coming?”

“I love the spring in my new foot and

how much flexibility this leg gives my knee.

But I still can't do the full-sitting pose easily.”

I sink as low as I can, knees out sideways,

legs almost folded in two,

showing him how hard it is to keep my balance.

Then I assume the lunge position:

one leg straight back, toes on the ground,

the other forward, bent at the knee,

torso straight.

“Can't leap into this lunge position the way I'm supposed to.

Can't do any exercise involving it without falling.”

“Not yet,” Jim says. “Does the leg pinch? Rub your skin sore?”

“No, but I tire too easily.”

“Veda, you'll build up stamina. Faster than you think.”

Jim shows me squats to strengthen my left leg.

Exercises to help me work toward the poses I find difficult.

We spend more time together than usual.

He looks up at the clock and whistles.

“We need to stop, kiddo.”

Jim runs his rough fingers through his hair

and stares at his poster-filled wall.

His eyes dim.

He looks lonely.

Lost and lonely, like a stray puppy on the street.

Not the easygoing Jim who jokes with me.

“Something wrong?” I wish I could help him.

Wish I could be part of his life outside this room

as a true friend would be.

“Just feeling a bit blue, kiddo.

I need to make some big decisions soon.”

I blabber, “Maybe you need a cup of coffee? And some cake?

There's a nice café quite nearby—Java Joy.

Going there usually cheers up my friend Chandra.”

“Good idea. Maybe I'll go there later.

Enjoy that leg until we meet again, okay?”

He turns to his computer.

I wasn't recommending he go there on his own.

Didn't he realize I was inviting him to go there

with me?

I take a deep breath.

Jim stops typing

and looks up, startled,

as though he's wondering

why I'm still standing around.

“Another question I can help with, kiddo?”

“I was trying—wanted to say—I wish—you—I

hope that decision thing doesn't get you down.”

I flee

as fast as my new leg will let me.

SYMMETRY

“Today, you'll be moving your hands

instead of keeping them at your waist,” Govinda says.

The class twitters with excitement.

Govinda beckons to me.

“Please come up front?

I need your help.”

He stands so close behind,

I can almost feel his long fingers

touching my back.

“Watch how Veda holds her head and her neck

so it lengthens her spine.

I want you to stand just the way she does.

Imagine a line passing from the center of your head,

through your navel, down to your feet.

Every movement should begin along this line and return to it.

Hold your arms as evenly as Veda.

See the perfect symmetry

with which her right hand mirrors her left?”

The lilting notes of a bamboo flute

play a melody in my mind.

The remaining class time

flies.

A TIME
to
SPEAK

First day of school after the summer holidays,

I pretend Govinda's standing behind me

speaking about my perfect stance

as Chandra and I walk toward school.

Inside the building, we part ways for the first time.

She hurries off to join

the science-math-computer-engineering classes.

I walk toward the history-literature-language section

that's dominated by girls and boys who haven't got good grades

or much ambition.

In my new classroom, I see Mekha and Meghna.

The twins' long-ago insults ring in my ears.

Should we start calling cricket stumps something else

because she has a stump?

“Look who's here!” Mekha calls out. “Veda!

Hey, Veda, does my hair look
limp
today?”

Meghna sniggers.

I think of the little kids in my dance class

who didn't know any better

laughing the first time they saw me fall.

Mekha and Meghna aren't innocent.

They're nasty girls

who should know better.

The rest of the class is quiet—

waiting to see what I'll do.

“Some stupid people are

smart enough to hide their stupidity,” I say.

A twitter runs through the class. My classmates are laughing.

At Mekha and Meghna.

I stride past the twins

as if they don't exist.

NOT ENOUGH

Jim gives me a long, serious look

when I next see him.

“Remember what I said

about having to make some big decisions?

The decision impacts you.”

My heart pirouettes.

“I've decided,” he says,

“to return to America.”

I bite my lip so hard it hurts.

“But don't you worry.

I'll be leaving you in good hands.”

Not

the hands I want.

“I'll miss you,” he says,

“but every project comes to an end, you know.”

I
should
have known.

I can't believe I was stupid enough

to think he cared for me.

That I was special to him.

“You'll do great, kiddo.”

“I'm not a kid,” I mutter.

“I know. I know.” He pats the top of my head

as if he's pacifying a baby. “You're one special young woman.”

“Not special enough for you,” I blurt.

Jim looks as though an earthquake just struck. “What?”

Awkwardness

hangs

in the space

between us.

I wish the earth would spin backward,

erase the last minute and those words

I never meant to say to his face.

“Veda—I'm sorry if—if anything I said or did made you think—”

I shake my head. It was all me.

My mistake.

I read too much into everything.

Dreamed, imagined, and

let my thoughts get

as out of control as my body.

“Veda,” he says. His tone is kind, patient, gentle.

“It's normal to get attached to your caregiver.

You'll get over it soon.”

I sense he's trying to make me feel better,

though it only makes things worse

to hear Jim say I'm as ordinary

as any other patient.

“We'll meet before I leave. Okay, Veda?”

His forehead crinkles with concern.

Feeling more like a kid than when he called me kiddo,

I nod my head and

walk out the door he holds open.

BARE

The words
not special enough for you
ring in my ears

louder and clearer than when I actually blurted them to Jim.

My foolish words even interrupt my sleep,

waking me in the early dawn.

Paati will be up soon.

But this problem she can't help with.

She wasn't allowed to think about boys or men.

Except the one her parents arranged for her to marry.

She couldn't possibly understand

how stupid and confused I feel.

I get my leg on and pace

up and down our balcony.

“Veda?” Ma's
potu

is a smudged red blur on her forehead.

She rubs a bare earlobe with her thumb.

“Ma? Why aren't you wearing your earrings?”

Ma looks at me with sleep-dimmed eyes.

Dr. Murali said Jim's project would subsidize the cost,

not cover everything.

I never bothered to think how much my medical bills cost

or where the money to pay them would come from.

“Ma? You sold your diamonds to pay

my bills?”

“When we named you Veda,” Ma says,

“I remembered the four holy books called the Vedas.

I'd forgotten that dance is also called the fifth Veda.

Until after the accident, I didn't want to accept

you'd chosen that fifth Veda

over any book.

But I should have known

when you and I argued about dance

and I saw your jaw set in the same stubborn line

as mine when I argued with my parents

for permission to marry your pa.

My family wanted me to marry a richer man

so I'd have the security of wealth.

I gave up wealth so I could have this family.

Yet I wanted you to have a well-paid career

that would bring you the comforts I'd once had.”

Ma shakes her head at herself.

“I imagined you'd wear my earrings

on your wedding day.

But that was silly.

Even I didn't marry wearing my ma's jewelry.

So, yes, I sold my earrings to pay

our bills.”

Ma reaches for my hand.

Our fingers interlock.

Between us,

shadows shorten and lighten

as the sun creeps higher into the sky.

“For your sake,” Ma says,

“I'd have begged my family for money

if I had no earrings to sell.

Your future matters more than my pride.

After all, you're my most precious jewel, Veda.”