Katie
I didn’t understand what we were doing. We weren’t dating. We were kissing. His apartment, the library, the museum. It all made no sense to me. He didn’t even want to be friends with me. Again, I was reminded of a dance, the push and pull of partners drawn together and then stepping apart. I didn’t want to dance, though. The struggle for his attention and the unknown of his intentions confused me. My skin yearned for his touch as his hands and mouth took my breasts, but my heart ached at the mixed signals. Then to learn details of his son, and have Levi blatantly shun my help, left me reeling in self-doubt. Leaving his apartment after his drunken breakdown, I had nothing but puzzle pieces that didn’t match.
“We’re less than friends.” Sidonia had asked me about Levi as I stood by the register, straightening and re-straightening notepads made of recycled paper that weren’t crooked. The irony struck me, that recycled paper had history, and my emotions felt as flimsy as the thin sheets.
“Did he say that?” Her green eyes narrowed on me, the weight heavy on me without having to look up to meet them.
“Practically, plus I felt…dismissed…when I left his apartment.”
“You were at his apartment?” Sidonia asked, her tone incredulous. My eyes drifted sheepishly up to hers to find double raised eyebrows and wrinkled skin on an otherwise smooth forehead.
“He called me, and I went to his place. He seemed…out of sorts.” How could I explain what I’d seen? A drunken father, drowning in more than screams of his child. A man defeated by the sound of a baby. What was wrong with him, I cursed, and then remembered his leg and the diagnosis of AJ.
“Did he kick you out?”
I shook my head. “I had to work, plus I sensed it was time for me to leave.”
Sidonia put down a stack of clothes she’d been sorting. “Katie Kat, you can’t make assumptions. If he didn’t say go, you stay.”
“But I couldn’t assume he wanted me to stay when he didn’t say go.” My eyes narrowed at her. “Besides, why does staying make me feel like some kind of love-sick puppy? Stay. Sit. Heel. I might have a serious crush on him, and my body wants all the feels, but I’m not rolling over to play dog for him.” My voice rose as I lifted a notepad and slapped it on top of the neatly stacked pile. The feel of his hands surrounding my breasts returned and my skin tingled. Internally, I cursed myself, knowing I would have willingly allowed Levi to take me, if that was what he needed earlier. His pain was palpable, and I would have given him everything to take it away from him.
“Your body wants all the feels? Do tell?” Sidonia shimmied toward me, holding out a vintage lingerie dress, silky and satiny, and shimmering in her hands as she walked with it pressed against her body. I laughed.
“We’ve…kissed. And maybe, a few other things…” My voice dropped thinking of his fingers pinching my nipples. “But I can’t be a friend-with-benefits. It’s just not me.” And apparently, Levi already had that type of fling, probably many times over, only the most recent one settled him a bit.
“He has a child with the last woman who played that role for him, and that won’t be me.” My head lifted defiantly. No, I would not be playing sex-girl to a sexy man, risking my heart and my body, for some hero worship I’d designed of Levi Walker. Not to mention, I understood his predicament. Levi felt trapped, and I imagine that’s how my mother felt. Stuck with a child she didn’t want, in a small town where she wanted to be set free. It was one of the reasons I came to Chicago. I didn’t want to be cemented to Elk Rapids, and I hoped I’d find my mother. It was a silly thought nagging at the back of my brain. In a city of three million people, finding one person was like searching for a needle in a haystack, hidden but ready at the wait to prick when found.
“Katie, have you ever considered he might like you, for you, but he doesn’t know how to show it?”
I laughed outright, without humor. Levi Walker like me? Doubtful. He had too much baggage to include me among the cases, and I didn’t want to be another bag filled with hopeless possibility. A hope-chest full of future things awaited me, and I sighed with my dreams. I was too idealistic, too naïve, and the saddest part, I knew it. I wanted to believe in happily-ever-after, and dreams-come-true, and figured why not me. My fingers combed through my loose hair and I shook my head.
“I just don’t see that as a possibility. He’s older, wiser, complicated, and I’m me.” I waved a hand down the front of me, dressed in jeans and Converse gym shoes.
“What I see is a beautiful girl discrediting herself.” Sidonia rose an eyebrow so high it wrinkled her otherwise smooth forehead. “And if he doesn’t like what he sees, he isn’t worthy of looking. Now, here. I want you to try this on.” Holding out the pale material, she dangled the dress side to side before me.
“When would I ever need to wear that?” I laughed.
“The scholarship ball.”
Another hefty sigh left me. I’d forgotten about the fall fundraiser, mandatory for scholarship recipients, as a way to mingle amongst donors and show our appreciation for their support of higher education. I internally cursed Sidonia for reminding me. Briskly swiping the soft material from her slender fingers, I stalked to the fitting room. It was more like a closet with a heavy curtain before the opening. Slipping out of my clothes with haste, and falling against the wall with a clatter, I eventually shimmied the dress over my skin, relishing the silky sensation slipping down my hips and abdomen.
“You can see all my lines through this thing,” I yelled as I observed myself in the mirror. The dress was a pale blue, almost white, and the color shifted with the movement of my body under the dim light. It highlighted the color of my eyes with correlating shade of blue.
“Take off your underwear and bra.” Sidonia’s voice carried, and I hoped we didn’t have any customers. I briefly shook my head. There was no way I could do such a thing, I thought admonishingly, but in my defiant mood, I slipped up the dress and pulled down my underwear. The material fell seductively down my naked hips, sinfully caressing my thighs. My legs pressed together as my core leapt with the sensual kiss on my skin. The spaghetti straps were delicate, and I was afraid of breaking them to remove my bra with the old-slip-in-and-tug-out trick. However, the move worked, and suddenly my breasts were free to play and peak against the fabulous fabric. My skin felt alive, prickling and tingling, hyperaware of each fine hair kissed by the material cascading over me. My hands smoothed down my narrow hips before slipping upward under the weight of achy breasts. I wasn’t too large to go without a bra, but some support might be better underneath the barely-there fabric. The material felt decadent and rich, and I felt otherworldly standing in it. I didn’t recognize myself. My hair wild from hastily tugging off my sweater. My eyes alight from the sexual hyperactivity between my thighs. My chest rose with ragged breaths from the soft tickle of the dress against the sensitive skin of my breasts.
“How’s it feel?” Sidonia’s voice startled me, its nearness proving she stood on the other side of the curtain. “Let me see.”
Without waiting for a response, she drew back the drapery. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and her breath caught.
“You look beautiful. A natural princess.” Her voice was low, her eyes appraising. The dress really wasn’t fluffy and regal, but sedate and seductive. Modern and sleek with its simple lines, it fit my subtle curves like it was made for me. “What do you think?” The smile in her voice grew as her eyes met mine in the reflective glass.
“I’d never be able to afford it.” My voice was small. Sidonia knew I was a struggling grad student, after all, that was the point of attending the scholarship dinner. The dress I wore might have been second-hand, but was most likely only worn once and by someone who could afford such lush material.
“It’s on me.” The pleasure in her tone warmed me and I blushed.
“I couldn’t possibly take this. You could easily get four hundred for it.”
“It’s not going to be worth one dime to me, unless you wear it. Show him what he’s missing.”
I smirked in the mirror with a gentle laugh.
“I don’t think he’s a scholarship candidate.”
“Then entice a rich donor to be your sugar daddy.” My hands came to my hip and I laughed heartily. Sidonia laughed as well. “But honestly, girl, that dress is made for a queen. You need to wear it and let me live vicariously through you.” She winked, and the curtain fell. I took a second look at myself. If I lived in a fairy tale then Sidonia just became my fairy godmother.
* * *
On the weekend, I volunteered at VetGym, an organization established for veterans within the community. VetGym calmed people. They found camaraderie there. Members understood one another. If no other life experience would have brought them together, the loss of limb, sensation or spirit did. It was a place to find comfort with those who might better understand the veteran experience. Pity got checked at the door, according to Maxwell Huston. This place was about finding a new you, not grumbling about the old one, he’d tell new recruits, as he called the members. Most volunteers were from within the unit, his nickname for the group collectively, but I got my position because of my skill.
I’d worked here as often as I could for four years, and while guidance counselors mentioned it would look good on a resume, I decided early on that the only reason I was at the gym was because it was something I felt I needed to do. Knowing what it was like to be closed off, to hide inside silence, I wanted to help others learn to express themselves. Communication was important, I’d learned as I grew older, although I wasn’t terribly good at putting it into practice for myself.
“Hello beautiful.” Victor Puterburgh met me with a smile every time I entered the doors. The wrinkled man looked a hundred but acted like he was fifteen. He winked at me, appraising me with watery blue eyes that had seen his share of history and a war long forgotten by too many. His gnarled, shaky fingers held up a pen for me to sign-in and then he handed me a volunteer badge.
“How are you today, Vic?” He demanded I call him by his nickname after repeated attempts to respectfully call him Mr. Puterburgh. He said it was a mouthful of peanut butter to say that name, and Vic sounded svelte, like him. He exaggerated his attempt at swagger by slipping a hand over his barely-there, white hair.
“Never had a bad day in my life,” he teased as he took the pen back from me. “We have some new recruits. One of them looks rather swanky.” His eyebrows wiggled back and forth. Vic had tried to set me up with his grandson, but I’d politely refused. It didn’t stop his eternal prompting for me to date someone, calling me a “catch,” and continually prodding me toward people too old or too damaged to want a relationship. I giggled with each suggestion and appreciated his flirtatious attention to my love life.
VetGym was an old elementary school complete with a variety of classrooms and a tight gymnasium hosting a basketball court. Many rooms were made cozier with overstuffed chairs and love-seats versus school desks and folding chairs. I entered one such classroom to work with my students.
Hello beautiful, Frank Bickell greeted me in a manner similar to Vic. At forty-five years old, he was a veteran with hearing loss after an explosion burst his eardrums. It took a new mindset to learn sign-language at his age, but Frank decided he could help others if he learned the common language of the Deaf community. I’d learned the skill as a child and kept current myself by practicing it. Emily and I considered it our private language, often using it to speak without others listening. VetGym offered me the opportunity to teach ASL to those with permanent loss as the result of injury. The psychological side effects of an adult losing his or her hearing was not my domain, but I’d seen an occasional breakdown in someone’s spirit. The thought reminded me of Levi.
Xavi, I spelled out, catching Xavier Gomez’s attention after tapping his forearm. Heavy tattoos covered his skin, cascading down his arm from a too-tight, standard ARMY T-shirt. He suffered auditory loss when he was captured unaware during a routine sweep. He wasn’t “buying-in” to learning to sign, but he showed up to his sessions each weekend. His attitude preceded him through the door, but Maxwell often made a pass through the lessons to keep Xavier in check. At thirty-three, the burly man with a neck thicker than my thigh didn’t realize his presence alone spoke volumes. He wanted help, he just didn’t know how to ask.
Hi, Carmela Mastus waved at me. She’d lost her vocal cord use with a neck injury. She’d had some kind of reconstructive surgery but her mouth struggled to form words. Carmela decided she couldn’t speak her whole life using paper. Her pretty caramel skin and dark bobbed hair matched her attitude of acceptance. She was eager to learn and share her skills with her children. All three of my students had been through extensive surgeries and rehabilitation upon return to the United States. Their journey home intrigued me and I’d learned much about them over the last years. Our session fell into its normal Saturday rhythm. Around eleven, we took a break for lunch.
Did you see the new recruit? Carmela signed and wiggled her eyebrows at me. I shook my head with a laugh.
People keep mentioning him, I signed and spoke to use both forms of communication with Carmela. She grabbed my elbow and guided me down the hall. I could hear the bouncing of a basketball rhythmically echoing down the corridor. As we came to the entrance of the gymnasium, she pulled me around her body, and I stopped short. My eyes blinked to focus. Men with prosthetic legs and arms dribbled and dodged, racing for the hoop at one end of the court.
Carmela nudged me for her attention. He’s hot. Her head nodded toward someone I’d never seen at the gym before and I couldn’t remove my eyes from him. There on the court, in black shorts and a sweat-filled, gray T-shirt, was Levi.