Chageet's Electric Dance

by Ashir, Rebecca

  “It’s such a long drive though.”

  “It’s no problem for me. We’ll make a fun day of it. A picnic lunch or what not.” He brushed his hand lightly over the top of his hair and then rested his head against the backs of his hands.

  She looked at him carefully for a minute analyzing his nature. “You know, every time I see you, you seem different. It’s like you’re always changing into different characters. I’m kinda like that too. It’s weird—I never met anyone else like me.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  ****

  The sun blew through Barbey’s mind as John Prince rounded the mountain turn, tires wheeling hot on the road, as she took another pain killer from the bottle the doctor had left for her at the motel. “Was I bitten by a snake?” suddenly, she asked, her memory foggy as a hot smog haze.

  John Prince stared straight ahead into the blazing sun, his hands hard against the steering wheel. “What?”

  “When I was on the mountain, I, like, thought I was struck by a snake from behind, just before I passed out.”

  “Uh…no. The doctor didn’t say anything about a snake bite. You must have imagined it due to the trauma.”

  “Really?” She looked out the side window at the big cacti along the side of the road flashing by in pricks and heat. “I feel so out of it, weak, and confused. It’s really weird. I can’t quite get a grasp on all that’s happened.” A spray of hate scratched against her skin like a sand storm hitting her all at once in a dry heat and she felt like she abhorred John Prince. This made her feel guilty. “If it weren’t for you coming along and finding me, I would have died,” she said trying to mask her feelings.

  “Probably.”

  A small crack of clarity opened in her mind, shining through bright as fire-light, and she knew then that he must have followed her to the river, impelled by his crush for her, his obsession, as he had revealed earlier. The thought of him watching her without her knowing it while she was camping with Rave and the others made her cringe. But, had he not been so enamored with her, she would have died, she reasoned. “Thank you for saving my life,” her stomach twisted in nausea and stitches as she forced a weak smile.

  Then, pushing all thoughts out of her mind, Barbey stared blankly at the yellow dashes dividing the road as his Trans Am drifted slightly into the other lane and then back again. She pretended his car was Pac Man eating the dots as they seemed to digest in the churning of her mind.

  29

  Barbey stood feebly in the driveway of her parents’ wedding cake house, staring blankly at John Prince’s red Trans Am as it bled out of the driveway, oozing slowly forward, scabbing up, out and away, down the road. When she turned her gaze back to the house, streams of sunlight setting in her hair, she was surprised to see that the side door, which she and family used as an entrance, was open. Her nerves shot up and fluttered in fear, causing an endorphin rush of heightened strength. Why is the front door open? As her balance was slightly off, she steadied herself. I’m sure I didn’t leave it open.

  Scuttling over to the rose garden lining the driveway, she grabbed a hoe which she had noticed that the yard worker, Juan, mistakenly left behind as he often did. I guess I’ll use this as a weapon if there’s a burglar in the house. Now squinting to keep the sun out of her eyes, she took a quick look around the yard. Where are those darn poodles when you need them? She whistled. They didn’t come. So, she crept anxiously through the front door, looking side to side and behind herself, holding the hoe in her good hand above her head prepared to strike if needed.

  The setting struck her as rather peculiar though when she noticed lunch meat, French rolls, and condiments spread out on the kitchen counter. There was even a bucket of partially eaten ice cream with a spoon sticking out of it. “Hello? Who’s here?” The words swirled out in haste, and though her mind was mixed up in a kaleidoscope of colors, she yelled out again, “Hello? Who’s here?” Nobody answered, so she crept into the formal living room with the pink marbled floors, white furniture, and pink glass table, startled to hear snoring coming from the couch which had been turned around toward the far wall facing a portable television that was sitting on a TV tray. Could a burglar actually decide to have lunch and take a nap in our house? She had seen such a thing occur in some movies she had viewed, but it seemed farfetched. Nonetheless, she decided to take precaution and held the hoe upright in fighter’s stance in case she had to whack the Big Bad Wolf over the head if she did not recognize him. But, when she approached the couch and saw his small incisors, she realized it wasn’t a Big Bad Wolf at all and released a loud exuberant scream of joy, “Oh my gosh! David! What are you doing here?”

  Her twin brother, David, jerked his head up, startled out of his sleep. “You woke me up,” he complained, half dazed, laying on his back. He stretched his tattooed arms over his head across the end pillow as he arched his thin long back like a bald pigmented Rex cat.

  “You shaved all your hair off! I can’t believe you tattooed your head!” she shrieked.

  “Yeah, so?” He responded in his usual low, complaining, guttural voice. “Nice to see you too.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she began, smiling at him with a loving kindly gaze, lilacs dancing in her eyes. “I’m soooo glad you’re home! I didn’t think you were getting released from prison for like another six months or whatever.”

  He sat up on the couch and turned on the television, flipping through the channels. “Like I told you and everyone else before, I didn’t rob that mini-market. It was Al who did it and I didn’t even know he was doing it until he came back to the car and told me to ‘Drive!’”

  Attempting to mollify him, she rejoined, smiling sympathetically, “I know. I always believed you.”

  “Yeah, well, nobody else did.” Hardly dulcified, he shut off the television. “They let me out early for good behavior.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! You don’t know how much I missed you!”

  “I’m sure,” he mumbled sarcastically as he pointed the remote control at the stereo. “You didn’t even visit once.”

  “Mama and Dad wouldn’t tell me where you were being held. I went to that prison downtown, but they said you weren’t there. I was, like, so scared to be in that place. Then when Dad found out, he, like, went ballistic and forbid me to go again. I’m sorry I didn’t visit.”

  “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.” He was playing Metallica on the stereo. “Gretchen called.”

  “Oh, yeah, I spoke to her. Thanks. Did anyone else call?” She was hoping Rave had called because she hadn’t reached him when she called over at Parker’s house.

  “Yeah, some Rave called and said he wants to see you. The message is on Mama’s machine.”

  “I left them the main phone line number because I was afraid I might have forgotten to leave my machine on.”

  “What happened to you?” He motioned to her wrapped hand.

  “Didn’t you hear the messages on the machine that John left?”

  “Nope.”

  “Really? That’s weird. He said he left messages about my accident and that I was ok.”

  “Didn’t get ‘em.”

  “Well, I can’t quite remember what happened, but I, like, cut my hand on a piece of glass by mistake and fainted. I must have fallen on another shard because I cut my stomach a little too. I think.” She felt confused, achy, and a little dizzy. “I’m going to return my call. I’ll come and hang out with you after if you want?”

  “Sure.” He was tapping out a drum rendition on his lap to Metallica.” This reminded her of Rave.

  With this she walked away heading for the door, yet turned back, looking over her shoulder, “Mama and Dad are in Ireland. In case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  As she walked into the TV room with the Hawaiian print couch where the answering machine was kept, she took in a deep breath, exci
ted to hear Rave’s voice recording. She was surprised how much she missed him as she played the message. “Barbey…” his voiced swayed in rhythm as he said her name flirtatiously. “It’s…it’s Rave.” He paused. “I’m glad you’re ok. I…I want to see you tonight after work.” He usually worked the lunch shifts. “How…how about 7:00?”

  She played the message several times to bask in the nuances and rhythm of his voice. Then she called him at the restaurant after looking up the number in the city directory.

  “Luigis,” a feminine voice answered the phone.

  “May I speak with Rave Robinson?”

  “Who’s calling?” She sounded curious.

  “Tell him it’s Barbey.”

  “Who?”

  “Barbey.”

  “Who? Hold on a second.” She took her mouth from the receiver and yelled out, “Send the putanesca to table five.” She spoke back into the phone. “What is this regarding?”

  By the way the girl was acting, Barbey became afraid that she might get him in trouble for calling at work. “It’s his mother.”

  “You don’t sound like a mother.”

  “Now listen here young lady.” Barbey deepened her voice to sound older. “Let me speak with my son or I’ll come down to that restaurant and whip you myself!”

  The girl laughed. “Hold on a second.”

  Barbey was surprised her shenanigan had worked and even more surprised she had mustered up the confidence to do it. Her pride only lasted a moment before she began to feel regret and self-doubt. When that girl gets Rave, she might say what an idiot I am. That would be so horrible. What if he thinks I’m annoying and embarrassing.

  “It’s Rave,” His voice was strong and confident.

  “Hi, it’s me.” Barbey giggled.

  “Who?” He seemed distracted.

  Embarrassment welled up thick and hot in her throat. “It’s Barbey.”

  “Barbey,” his voice became flirtatious.

  She was relieved. “So, you’re going to come over at 7:00?”

  “Tomorrow at 7:00 actually—have to work a double shift today.”

  “Oh goody! Can’t wait to see you!” She spoke in a childish high pitched voice.

  “Looking forward to it. Better go now.”

  “Ok. Bye-bye.”

  30

  She couldn’t wait to see Rave! Oh, how she missed him. Pin needle streams of evening sunlight lit forth through the tiny holes in the white eyelet curtains that covered her heart-shaped windows. The lights reminded her of sprays of light that boogied around in zaps and strikes on the slick floor at Roller World whenever the DJ played a disco song. This light looked prettier though, more elegant, as the streams hit the pink and white striped walls of her room. She interpreted the beauty as a sign that tonight would be the most lightning striking night of her entire life. Oh, how she yearned with her entire being to completely surrender herself to Rave. With fairy dust in her mind, she sprayed Paris perfume on her neck. Now the room wafted in sprays and mist of a floral garden! Rhapsody! It was inevitable in her perception that it was time to become one with him—to lock their souls together in eternal unity. He was her soul mate and she would rather die than spend another day without him. Therefore, she would prepare for this night with careful precision. Tonight she would not emulate a movie character; she would be herself. Herself! Herself! Herself! Some flicker of inspiration told her that tonight she should be real in every sense.

  This was all fine and lofty in principle, but… Who was Barbey Bardot? Who am I? She sat at her vanity mirror looking nervously now at her makeup that was compartmentalized in square plastic containers, in uniform colorful rows. Who am I? She looked in the mirror and saw something very perfect and plastic staring back at her. The bandage was off her hand and aside from some stitches, it looked nearly perfect with her cute heart decaled nails with shining rhinestones in the centers. Am I really a Barbie Doll? She gasped in horror. This couldn’t be.

  Then she went to her closet, pulled out a plastic pink Barbie Doll suitcase that she had been saving from childhood, and withdrew her favorite Suntan Barbie Doll. In fear, she carefully examined the doll, studying her angular features, her thin long legs, her tiny waist, her hard plastic breasts… And she wondered, What is reality?

  Giggles slipped from her pink lips in pastel bubbles that floated in the air at the thought of considering the possibility of her being an actual synthetic Barbie Doll. I can’t believe how stupid and paranoid I am sometimes!

  But then she couldn’t think of what to wear. What would someone who is a Barbey Bardot wear? She became thoroughly confused, rationalizing that it was the pain killers she was on, and for a moment she felt like crying. “Brush it off. Brush it off.” She rubbed the palms of her hands together like she was dusting off crumbs.

  Oh, this is so stupid! I’ll just be Kathleen Turner’s character, Matty Walker, from Body Heat. I’ll talk in a low husky voice and act real confident and experienced.

  So she dressed in a white knee length pencil skirt and a white long sleeved blouse similar to Matty Walker’s outfit in her opening scene on the ocean pier. Though she desperately wanted to act quickly to distract her mind from pondering her reality, she was slowed as she had to move assiduously so to not strain her midsection, which ached considerably. Taking out the scissors from the drawer of her vanity stand, she stared at herself intensely as she cut her long hair to just below the shoulders much like Matty’s hairstyle. If you’re going to go for a character, go for it all the way, she said to herself trying to justify her rash decision. But then she realized that she had forgotten to drape her haircutting cape over her clothes for the haircut and in turn had gotten hair all over her blouse, so she changed into a white tank top instead and stuffed the blouse with all the hair into her hamper absent mindedly. Smiling at herself in the mirror now, she inhaled deeply, and applied heavy makeup. I have to look older, more mature. She applied thicker eyeliner, more blush, redder lipstick.

  Still gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she leaned back in her chair, picked up an eyeliner stick pretending it was a cigarette, and inhaled slowly as she ran her fingers through her hair. She picked up a magazine and fanned herself with it as she leaned back languidly in her chair, staving off the imaginary summer heat, ignoring the pain she felt in her body. A thought of light streaming from one of the eyelet curtains pricked her mind—she couldn’t imagine why someone as gorgeous and sexy as Matty Walker would plot to kill her own husband and lover just for money! This seemed so strange and unbelievable. As she fanned herself, pondering the thought, little bits of hair from her haircut kept flying into her mouth, so she spit the hairs out feeling awkward and ominously sad.

  After rehearsing her character for awhile, she looked at the clock and saw that it was already 7:45! Oh no! Rave was already forty-five minutes late for their date! She looked at herself nervously in the vanity mirror. Her red lipstick and heavy black eyeliner had smeared during her rehearsal giving her a pathetic look of someone much older and spent. Her hand throbbed now. If only the mirror with her reflection would shatter, she hoped, maybe she could just vanish into nothingness. Out of panic rather than out of anger, she threw her brush at the mirror hoping her image would shatter, but the mirror seemed to only laugh at her. The laughter became loud and maniacal sending her eardrums into a loud pulsating scream. She paced the room in disorientation like a dog abandoned by the side of a country road and she tried to pretend like her life had not forever changed. She tried to pretend like she was the most beautiful princess in the world that everyone loved, but she couldn’t pretend anymore. All she could do was pace.

  31

  A million crystal prisms twinkled in Barbey’s mind as she inhaled the powdered lines of methamphetamines that Elvira had chopped up for her on a little glass mirror that she placed on the car console for Barbey to snort. Barbey gazed lovingly at her as if she were her fairy godmother feeding her powdered sugar and crumpets there in her old beat up station wago
n that she had parked in an alley behind a donut shop downtown. She imagined Elvira’s hair twisted up upon her rectangle head in a French knot with white baby’s breath flowers resting gracefully atop like a halo glowing in the dark alley night. In Barbey’s imagination, Elvira was not wearing army green painter’s pants or her father’s oversized khaki Polo shirt; rather, she was draped in a white flowing gown with matching crystal buttons, earrings, and high heeled-pointed toe crystal slippers. Her fat droopy cheeks were now round and cherub-like. Her skin seemed almost translucent with a pastel haze lighting up the front seats and dashboard.