Dancing Naked

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  Dancing Naked

  Dancing Naked

  A NOVEL

  SHELLEY HRDLITSCHKA

  Copyright © 2001 Shelley Hrdlitschka

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication

  may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or

  by any means, electronic or mechanical, including

  photocopying, recording or by any information storage

  and retrieval system now known or to be invented,

  without permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Hrdlitschka, Shelley, 1956-

  Dancing naked

  ISBN 1-55143-210-2

  1. Teenage pregnancy—Fiction. 2. Adoption—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS8565.R44D35 2001 jC813’.54 C2001-910946-6

  PZ7.H854Da 2001

  First published in the United States, 2002

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001092678

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for

  its publishing programs provided by the following agencies:

  the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry

  Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council

  for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

  Cover design: Christine Toller

  Cover photograph: Image Copyright © Digital Vision

  Printed and bound in Canada

  IN CANADA:

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Station B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  IN THE UNITED STATES:

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  07 06 05 04 • 6 5 4 3

  To Heather Verrier, sister and dear friend.

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to: Reverend Brian Kiely for so graciously creating an adoption ceremony and then allowing me to tamper with it at will; Diane Tullson, who inspired the title and prodded me into writing the book; and the members of my Tuesday and Thursday morning writing groups for their enthusiasm and ongoing support, despite my lousy attendance record.

  I’m particularly indebted to Beryl Young, Kim Denman, Alice Frampton, Sandra Diersch, Alison Harvey, Amanda Harvey, Vivienne Frampton and Kate Blake, who read early drafts of the manuscript and whose comments and suggestions were invaluable. The lyrics to the song on page 227 were written by Alice Frampton and are used with permission.

  I’m blessed by my association with the Unitarian church, and the creator of the O.W.L. (Our Whole Lives) program, for the inspiration that flavors this story.

  Finally, I’d like to thank Andrew Wooldridge of Orca Book Publishers, for understanding—from the start—what it is to dance naked, and for the wise guidance, humor and insight that he brings to the editing process.

  prologue

  The spirit of life dances lightly among the people gathered in the birthing room, teasing goosebumps to the surface of their skin, forcing fine hairs to stand at attention. It is elusive, silent and indefinable, yet they all feel its mysterious presence, its promise, as it swirls about, waiting to breathe the silent respiration of the universe into the newest member of the human family.

  The birth begins as small, regular and almost painless contractions that remind the girl of soft ocean waves gently lapping the shore. She is able to relax and accept them, knowing, just as with ocean waves, there is nothing she can do to stop the continuous ebb and flow. But they gradually increase in intensity, just as waves increase in strength with an oncoming storm. They begin to peak, and in the girl’s mind they’ve become whitecaps, slapping the shore, boasting of their power and volume and hinting that the worst is yet to come. Just try to make us go away, they seem to say when she longs to stop and turn the calendar back nine months to a time when she can make different choices, when she still has options. But the contractions continue to rip through her and she feels like she is being battered by the storm—the waves are smashing against the shore and she is no longer able to focus or see the reason for being there. She is losing her breath, drowning in pain.

  Suddenly she’s shaking all over. A low moaning comes from deep within her. Someone says it is time, time to push. You’re ready, the voice says. But she already knows that. With a desire and strength that surprises her, she leans forward and bears down, joining with—instead of fighting against—the unrelenting forces of nature. She is vaguely aware of chanting voices. Push, push, push, the voices say. The moaning becomes a cat-like howl and then fevered panting. She is totally focused on the task at hand. The other people in the room no longer exist for her. There is only the overwhelming need to push, the excruciating pain and the throbbing new life inside her that wants to be born.

  The room spins and sweat drips into her eyes. She feels an unearthly power assisting her and she continues to bear down with each crashing wave. The storm crests and she feels an explosion, like a volcanic eruption. The head is born! someone declares. A few more pushes and then the baby slides out with a gush of blood and fluid that pools around her. The tiny baby is placed on her bare belly, its airways are suctioned, and the umbilical cord is severed. For a moment she feels a pang of grief, for now she is only one again; there are no longer two hearts beating inside her. But she pushes the grief aside and watches as the baby inhales deeply, drawing in air, that final yet vital life force. Then it begins to wail, a raw and insistent cry, and the sound fills the girl with awe.

  The crashing waves subside quickly. The storm has passed, but in its passing it has blessed the earth with a new life whose spirit is now a tangible and very noisy presence.

  the first trimester

  Kia stepped into her flannel, teddy bear-speckled boxer shorts and tugged one of her dad’s old T-shirts over her head. Crossing the room to turn off the overhead light, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. She paused and stared at her reflection, her dark eyes resting on her waist and stomach. She pulled the T-shirt up and the waistband of the shorts down for a closer inspection. Turning sideways but still looking in the mirror, she let go of the waistband and ran her hand over her stomach. It was flat and firm, same as always. Using both hands she slowly pulled the T-shirt up higher, exposing her chest. A loose strand of long hair tickled the soft, sensitive skin. Her breasts looked the same, but she knew that something was different. She let go of her T-shirt with one hand and gently pressed the soft flesh. Her breast felt bruised and sore, even though there was no outward sign of injury.

  Hearing a movement in the hall, she dropped her shirt, blushing at the thought of being caught studying her own body. She flicked the light switch and climbed into bed. The reading lamp cast a pool of light onto her night table. Pulling open a drawer, she reached for the tattered notebook she used as a journal, but hesitated before taking it out. Instead, she picked up the beautiful spiral-bound book that lay on top of the table and ran her hand across its cover. It was made from recycled paper, and seeds and delicate flower petals were pressed into it. She leafed through the pages; each one was unique, flecked with bits of pastel-colored tissue that had bled, creating a mottled effect. Though they felt slightly grainy to the touch, the pages seemed as delicate as butterfly wings as she turned them.

  Shawna had given her the journal for Christmas because she knew about Kia’s compulsive journal-writing habit; she was the only person allowed to read what Kia wrote. Shawna was also the only person who knew what she’d done with Derek. Once. But, of course, once is all it takes.

  Kia hadn’t written in the journal yet, not wanting to mar its unspoiled beauty. She opened the cover and reread the
inscription.

  To my wise friend Kia. Your words deserve special paper.

  Keep on writing girl!

  Luv ya,

  Shawna

  She continued to turn the pages, undecided, then saw a connection between what was on her mind and the new journal. Picking up her pen, she turned to the first page and began to write.

  Jan. 1

  Virgin paper, fresh, crisp, clean

  Is only an illusion.

  It’s recycled, not pure at all.

  Illusion ... do I look different?

  Can anyone see what is happening to me?

  Kia skimmed over what she’d written. She shook her head, surprised, as usual, at what had appeared on the page. She put the journal in her night table, turned off the light and snuggled down under her comforter, but she knew sleep would elude her again tonight. She curled herself into a fetal position and allowed her thoughts to return to that night, just five weeks ago. The night that had changed her life, possibly forever.

  From: Justin

  To: Kia

  Date: Jan. 3

  Subject: r u ok?

  hey kia, there was someone who looked just like u at youth group last night but i guess it wasn’t u. she wouldn’t look at me, she said “pass” at her turn in check-in and she looked majorly out-of-sorts.

  what’s up?

  justin

  From: Kia

  To: Justin

  Date: Jan. 3

  Subject: Re: r u ok?

  justin, i’m sorry about my lousy mood @ youth group. it’s not u and it’s not the group. i can’t share it yet, but it’s ... i don’t know. maybe i’ll be able 2 talk about it later, maybe not.

  kia

  From: Justin

  To: Kia

  Date: Jan. 3

  Subject: all ears

  kia,

  i’m here 2 listen when you’re ready to talk about it. u’ll feel better, guaranteed. (that’s why they pay us youth group advisors the big bucks!)

  T.O.Y.

  justin

  Kia watched as Derek leaned over the pool table, lining up a shot. “Are you about done playing with yourself?”

  Derek glanced up from the billiard balls, his pale blue eyes meandering up the length of her body before reaching her eyes. Her black hair was caught up in a butterfly clip, and it fanned out over her shoulders as she lay sprawled on the couch. “Very funny, Kia,” he said. “And as you know, I’d rather play with you any day.” He took the shot, then turned back to her, his seductive smile spreading slowly across his face. That smile alone usually created a stir throughout her entire being, but not tonight. Her stomach was stirring, but for other reasons.

  “You’re looking a little pale,” he said, hanging his pool cue on the wall. “Are you sure you’re over that flu thing?”

  “I didn’t have the flu.”

  “No?” He settled himself down on the couch beside her. “Just skipping school? That’s not like you.” He leaned over, his lips lightly brushing hers while his hand ran down her arm, over her hip and began its way up her back, under her sweater. She was tempted to give in to the flood of wonderful sensations, that full-body rush. There was none of that clumsy, pawing stuff with Derek. He knew what he was doing. But that’s how she’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

  “Derek.” Kia pulled away before he could unhook her bra. She reached for his hand—to keep it off her—and began massaging his palm. Her thumbs dug deep into his flesh. She waited until he made eye contact with her. “We have a problem.”

  “Really.”

  Kia could see he didn’t care.

  “It can wait. It’s been way too long.” His eyes looked like hazy blue pools as he leaned forward to kiss her again.

  She had more willpower this time. “No, Derek.”

  He sat back with a sigh. “It’s that time of the month, right?”

  Kia almost laughed at the irony. “No, that’s not it.”

  “Oh, good.” The smile was back, but now it was looking more mischievous than sexy. “Everyone’s out,” he said. “Why don’t we help ourselves to a couple bottles of beer and find somewhere more comfortable to hang out? Then, when we get back to this,” he ran his finger lightly along her bottom lip, “it will be even better.” He leaned forward to kiss her again, but she pushed him away. She hated that he could still make her want more, even now.

  She stood up and walked toward the pool table. “This is the problem, Derek.”

  “This? What are you talking about?” He looked confused. Or was it angry?

  She took a deep breath and let it spill out. “You knew I didn’t want to ... to go all the way. But you said it was safe, you had a condom, but ...”

  “But what?” He actually looked puzzled, as if he couldn’t see where she was going with this.

  “I think I’m pregnant.”

  Derek stared at her, stunned. She stared back. The desire that she’d just seen in his eyes had vanished, and they looked hard and flat. She noticed his jaw clenching. He finally found his voice. “You say you think. You don’t know for sure?”

  “Right. But I’m almost three weeks late.”

  “That’s it?” Derek brushed by her. He grabbed the pool cue from the hook on the wall. “I hear my sisters talking all the time. That’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal for me. I’m never late. Haven’t been since I started in grade seven. That’s five years without changing.”

  Derek lined up his shot. “You haven’t taken a test or something?”

  “No.”

  The cue ball slammed into the colored balls. They spun away in every direction, but it didn’t look like any of them were going to sink into the pockets. Kia watched the cue ball. It rolled slowly toward a corner pocket and dropped in.

  “Shit!” Derek flung the pool cue onto the table and turned to her. “Then take one. You can get them at the drugstore, cheap. And don’t bother me again until you know for sure.” He stormed out of the room and Kia heard him stomp down the hall. Then she heard the footsteps returning. She felt a rush of relief. He was going to apologize. He was just upset.

  He stood in the doorway, glaring at her. “And don’t give me any of that crap about it being all my fault.” He spat the words out. “You wanted to do it as much as I did.” He spun around and thumped back down the hallway, his bedroom door slamming behind him.

  Kia stared at the empty doorway, shocked. Don’t bother him? That was it? “Fuck you, Derek Klassen!” she yelled, hurling a cushion through the doorway. But he was right, she realized as she slipped into her shoes and left though the front door. She had wanted to do it. That was the part she hated most.

  Jan. 5

  Blue.

  The blue of tropical water, the surf pounding the shore.

  The blue of the sky on a brilliant spring day.

  The blue of a speckled robin’s egg.

  The ice-blue of Derek’s eyes.

  The blue ring in the water.

  It’s confirmed.

  I am.

  Blue.

  The phone rang four times before he picked it up.

  “Derek. It’s me, Kia.”

  “Uh-huh.” There was not even a trace of warmth in his voice.

  “I took the test.”

  “And?”

  “It’s positive. I am.”

  For a second Kia thought the phone had gone dead. Then she heard him whisper, “Shit.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay.” Derek cleared his throat. “Here’s what we have to do. I’ll take you to a clinic tomorrow after school. We’ll get it confirmed at a lab. Those home jobs aren’t always accurate. It could be wrong.”

  Kia knew it wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t argue. She was relieved that he was taking charge, and he was right, they did have to rule out any doubt.

  “Make sure you have your
health insurance number with you,” he added.

  “Okay. And then?”

  “Then, if we have to, we go to a different kind of clinic.”

  “You sound like you’ve got experience with this stuff.” Kia rolled her eyes. It figured.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “Do you want to do something this afternoon?” Maybe he could redeem himself—a little—by showing even the teeniest streak of compassion. At least pretend that he cared about her and how she felt.

  “Do something?”

  “Yeah.” Like get together and cry on each other’s shoulder, she thought. “Hang out, go for a drive. You know, do something.”

  “Sorry, Kia. I’ve got too much homework.”

  Homework? It was a well-known fact that Derek Klassen never did homework.

  “Fine.” She hung up before he had a chance to say anything else, but there wasn’t the usual satisfaction in getting in the last word. There was only a rush of anger— mostly at herself. How could she have been so stupid?

  Kia logged onto the Internet. She tapped in the word pregnancy. A moment later a list with over 500,000 sites was displayed. Starting at the top, she read the headings until she came to one called Week to Week Pregnancy Calendar. She pointed the cursor to it and clicked.

  The site came up. She scanned the information and then hit the print command. While she waited for the hard copy, she did some quick calculations. If a pregnancy lasts forty weeks from the first day of the last menstrual cycle, that made her seven weeks pregnant already!

  Snatching the pages off the printer, Kia went down the hall to her room. After shutting the door, she glanced down the page until she came to the entry for seven weeks. She read: