Interpretive Dance at 65 MPH
Written by
Gwen Sund
Copyright 2011, Gwen Sund
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents are purely a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual persons - living or dead - places or events are coincidental.
Chapter 1
Hazel shifted uncomfortably on the crowded pew. Thoughtless judgmental eyes sized her up from behind red hat brims. Whispers rippled from curious ear to curious ear. She knew she stuck out. A pastel yellow headscarf in a sea of elaborate red hats, she might as well have held up a hand written sign declaring, "Yes there is a Muslim in your midst." She at least felt safe that no one could see how brightly her ears burned at the unwanted attention. Surely something would draw away their attention. Where was the priest? When would there be a hymn? Allah please take their attention, because I don't want it, she silently prayed. The attention was a creeping presence, a slow suffocating desire to chase her out. The pressure was so intense that she didn't even take notice of the warm hand that tenderly touched her shoulder. "I love your scarf." Hazel tensed up. So many muscles she didn't even know she had suddenly went painfully taut. Was the comment a very sly kind of sarcasm? The hand stayed firm, so Hazel decided that her options were limited. Surely she had to do something. Slowly she turn to face the kindly woman that the hand was attached to. An awkward pause built up between them as Hazel sized up her smile. Did it have a hint of an evil intent? No, it seemed genuine. Shakingly Hazel whispered back, "Thank you." As quiet as she tried to say it Hazel could feel her words bounce off the cold brick walls. Each reverberation sending a new trickle of sweat down her face.
"The color is quite lovely. It must be nice for keeping out the cold," the kindly woman chuckled while pulling her knitted gray shawl closer to herself. "You know what they say about the weather out here. You don't like it, just wait ten minutes," she quietly smiled into Hazel's eyes hoping to connect with her.
But Hazel had other things to pay attention to. At first she thought she might be crazy. Surely some one else in the room saw what she saw. She quickly glanced to the right, then the left. All eyes were secretly on her, the jelly bean in the pack of M&Ms. How could it be that no one else saw this? How was it that the aged man made it half way down the aisle before she even took note of him? Steadily he moved down the straight path. Clank shuffle shuffle the three legged man progressed.
"I'm sorry dear, but you don't need to worry about them. It's just what all us curious old gals do. Youth is captivating and all that you know," a little uncomfortable the kindly lady smiled again hoping that Hazel wouldn't shun her. This time to her relief and surprise Hazel did respond, of sorts. Never breaking her gaze from the the elderly man she simply, slowly in beat with his movements, shook her head and mindlessly pointed in his direction. Both women silently watched the aged priest take each step. The rhythm to his movements were deliberate, meditative. After a couple of minutes Hazel could feel his steps matching her own heartbeat. Clank shuffle shuffle. As she slipped into the rhythm the surroundings began to blur. The sea of red hats, the whispers, the footsteps. They steadily became their own ocean, and the man in white walking on it.
Each step he took on that beating sea of red another trace of age fell away. First his posture straightened, then his hair grew thick and dark, slowly his vestments became a familiar jacket and scarf. Hazel knew the new man trekking across the water before becoming aware of it. His name hidden deep within her heart. Sheltered away for so long in the hopes of keeping it safe. In that place, in that moment, it snuck softly between her lips. "Reza," she sighed. The young man half turned and smiled at her. The waves between them sharply snapped still for a single heart beat as she longed for that smile that haunted so many days and nights. She frantically tried to close the distance only to find that the moment she moved the ocean once again opened up.
Try as she might to keep her head above the water she couldn't. He was free to walk, she was doomed to sink. Slowly she descended, weighted down by the darkness in her heart.
As her vision began to blur into a deep crimson she awoke to a sharp pain in her shin. With the sharp start her first instinct was to lightly place a hand over her lips terrified that she might have been drooling. Reza always used to make fun of her for that odd habit. His little space cadet he would say. No, she thought to herself, I can't start remembering. I can't bring him back in a place like this. With that she took a deep measured breath and locked his name safely in the treasure chest hidden far back behind the book cases, rocking chairs, and stern faces of her relatives. Much further back in the broom closet hidden behind the box full of grandma's letters. There she moved a small part of the floor and tucked his name silently into a shoe box she kept tied with a red string. There he was safe. There no one could find him. There no one could get him.
Then another sharp pain dug into her shin. This time more aware of her surroundings she glanced down to find a tiny boy curled up under the pew in front of her. Some how in the room full of staring eyes this little boy managed to make a world all his own. Police men and firefighters valiantly fought off evil dinosaurs and rogue ninjas. The pain that kept brining her to the present was the force of squad car five nimbly dodging both the fierce T-Rex fire and the deftly thrown ninja stars. "Vrrrrrooooom! Screeeeee, ereeee cashooooookahh!" he gleefully sounded as the car zoomed and zagged here and there. "His name is Mark," the kindly lady whispered. "We both ended up in this place at about the same time and he's just been my little shadow since then," she giggled to herself. "I hope he isn't bothering you too much."
Hazel's face flashed red for a second, "Oh no! Not at all!" She frantically waved her hand in front of her face while laughing and trying to hide the wince when squad car five once again slammed into her shin. "He's adorable. Sure beats all the red hat bitties," a cackling of snickers rippled through the congregation. "Where is his family?" the second the thoughtless question slipped from her mouth she regretted it. Holding back a sob she apologized for the gaffe. "Sorry, I..." the kindly woman nodded trying to hide her hurt. "I... I'm sorry I didn't ask your name. I'm Hazel Hassenfeffer," she timidly reached out a hand and the kindly woman returned the favor.
"Nice to meet you Hazel, my name is Ingrid. Hazel is a nice name, I was expecting something more..." she reached for a word that wouldn't offend her new friend. "More Eastern I guess. But Hazel makes more sense, you don't look eastern after all."
A pause built up between the two women. What could Hazel respond? How could she explain to Ingrid that she did actually have an 'Eastern' name too. At first the only thing she could come up with was an awkward laugh that only seemed to complicate the conversation. No that wouldn't be good enough. She needed something more. She ran through the list of communication skills she was always told to present. She had to be tactful, she had to consider the other speakers, and she had to sound happy. Well here goes, "It's okay, I have all sorts of names. The name they gave me when I took hand is Raha, but I'm not to sure I'll ever live up to it."
Before Ingrid could ask what was so difficult about living up to the name Raha the old man finally reached the lectern. In a screeching feedback loop the old man cleared his throat. A disgusting combination of squeals and hacks gathered the attention of all present. For at least five minutes the priest, completely oblivious to the feedback mumbled through the introductory prayers. "Screeeee Hakkeraaaaaaaa Seeeeruooom Takkkkkooootako," sign of the cross, "Bigggggktakkkiittyayshahallll hi," hands raised in praise, "wAAAAAkkghghghfashallla ballliknbanana villllwriking," solemn bow.
As soon as the first prayer finished an awkward teen galloped from the back of the church straight to the lecter
n. Flustered he stood before the confused priest, fist clenched, jaw tight, the teen debated the best course of action. Wordlessly and awkwardly the teen grabbed the cord for the microphone and jerked at it entirely too hard causing the plug to audibly snap him in the leg. Another pause filled the space between the two figures as they considered the best way to move forward from there. Should the priest tell a joke? Should the youth proclaim something loosely metaphysical? No instead they decided to continue the service, the teen embarrassingly standing before the lectern cord still in hand and the priest hidden behind him mumbling his prayers.
Eye brows raised Hazel turned to Ingrid, "You saw that right." Ingrid slowly nodded. "I'm not really sure what to make of this place. How long have you been here?" Ingrid shrugged. "Surely there is something else we can do. This can't be it, can it?" Ingrid stared Hazel directly in the eyes and shook her head.
Ingrid might as well have punched Hazel in the stomach then jumped around singing something about not so nice witches that are larger than the small ones. An eternity? Here? Listening to the little old man mumble? Hazel frantically searched the room. Why didn't she notice before that there weren't any doors? There weren't even windows. No way out, no way in. How did I get here, wasn't I better than this? What did I do? What didn't I do? What did... a painful flash of crimson shot through her memory leaving her with nothing but panic and tears. Distraught she rested her head against the pew in front of her much to the disappointment of the red hat currently occupying that spot. Down below squad car five carelessly drove right into the heart of a dinosaur flame ninja star combination sending them careening through the air. What could Hazel do, where could she go? Surely a pew amongst angry red hats couldn't possibly be her fate. Who could deserve it, how could they deserve it?
A stream of tears fell from her clenched eyelids splattering on the hymnal below. Panicked she saw that the pages of the one and only hymnal given to her for all of eternity were starting to crinkle. She snatched the hymnal to her heart apologizing profusely. Surely if she just turned to each page she could soak up the tears with her sleeves and all would be well. Yes that was the answer. She opened the book and quickly tried to soak up the tears only to see that the damage was done. The pages were ruined forever. All eternity with imperfect pages, a red hatter would never make this mistake. She silently closed the hymnal in shame and finally noticed the gold letters across it's front. This wasn't a hymnal. This wasn't even a holy book. "Ingrid?"
A motherly hand began to rub her back, "It's okay hun, we can trade if you like. I don't mind a couple of wrinkled pages." Ingrid chuckled. Hazel quickly shook her head. "What is it? Are you okay? It's just a book after all."
"That's not it," Hazel visibly gulped air. "No, that's not it at all."
"Well out with it already, you're starting to make me nervous."
"Ingrid... I wrote this book. I wrote it before."
...
"I realize that you wrote this, and you should be proud," Professor Lapiz's eye brows subtly knitted together as she considered her next sentence. "You should definitely be proud, you've written your first book! It's just that..."
"It's not very good is it?" Isaiah Trigger lowered his eyes at the confirmation of what he already knew.
"No, it's not that it's bad," Lapiz sipped some coffee. "It's more that it just doesn't make any sense."
"Was I too subtle? I tried so hard to have so many layers in the piece referencing everything under the sun, you know," Isaiah made a little circle with his hands, "like an onion."
"Oh I'm docking you some points for that one. It's such a lame metaphor," Prof. Lapiz chuckled to herself and started flipping through the pages of Isaiah's book. "See like here. 'In reply Beowulf charged at me with his fist ready to deal me oblivion.' Completely nonsensical. Or 'Since I got that sword I gained some crazy kind of an ability to be like a cat and always land on my feet, and I did.' I can tell that you wrote this with love. It's obvious that you expressed yourself in your novel, expressed the hell out of yourself, but it is just too much too fast. It reads a bit like one of those independent movies where the crew had more blind love supporting their script than much needed editorial skills," Prof. Lapiz shut the manuscript and turned her gaze outside. "It has potential, it just needs work."
Isaiah glanced at the falling snow outside trying his best to fight back tears. "Maybe I did write it a bit fast. At least I have an entire lifetime to work on it right?" he forced out an awkward laugh. Wanting to desperately change the subject he resorted to the typical South Dakotan fall-back. "I like it when it snows like this. It gives the world an odd sort of peace," Isaiah prepared himself to hear another comment about cliches, being trite and all that, but Lapiz simply nodded.
Peace was something that couldn't be denied in those brick walls a week after finals. The traffic died down both in the halls and on the streets. There were times Isaiah swore he could hear the snow land on the ground, puff, puff, puff. Isaiah took a deep breath, carefully put his manuscript away, and pulled his knitted cap down tightly on the top of his head. "Well it's time for me to go," he started out the door and stopped before leaving. "It's like a blank page."
A little confused Lapiz replied, "What is?"
Isaiah pointed out the window, "The snow. It's like a blank page."
Professor Lapiz laughed and waved him out the door mumbling to herself, "When will you learn to have your own ideas?"