Chapter Six
Gillian
The real challenge was getting my mind off of work long enough to have fun. I didn’t think I could do it. I was still humming “Dance of the Little Swans” and this new composition Lexie had been playing. I didn’t know the name. I just knew that I missed the dance floor.
The rest of the world was boring when compared to the art of expression and the feeling I got when I leapt into the air. Dance was the ability to make the intangible manifest. It meant connecting to the world of dreams and that unconscious place where our secret desires and elusive thoughts moved below the surface of everyday life. The mundane world simply didn’t cut it.
Lexie was wrong. I had a life. Dance was my life. Anything else was a meaningless distraction.
I could smell the BBQ all the way from the end of the block when I parked my car. My mouth was watering, and my stomach was grumbling. I didn’t know how hungry I was until I realized that the food wasn’t ready and there was a long wait. Dwayne’s father barely got the grill started, so I took a seat at the patio and waited while the party went on without me.
At some point, I heard everyone clapping, which must’ve meant that Dwayne had arrived. I didn’t really care at that point. I was starving and bored. I felt out of place. I hadn’t even been home in months, and most of those people I hadn’t spoken to since I was a girl.
When Dwayne walked out, I didn’t know it was him at first. He used to be skinnier than I was with shaggy black hair. The man who walked outside was stiff and quiet, with a buzz cut and tattoos scrawled up his massive arms. He took a glance back before he grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the corner so he could sit down.
I watched him closely out of the corner of my eye, unsure of what to make of the man. He was different. The navy had changed him. He bland and quiet, far too serious for his own good, and didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all. But there was something pensive about him, like his mind was racing a thousand miles a second. I wondered what was going on inside his head that he couldn’t get past it long enough to have fun.
Michael got up to talk to him, and he waved away the beer Michael brought — a purist, I thought. I liked that. When he braced himself against the chair to get up, his arms flexed, and a shiver passed down my spine. He used to represent budding male sexuality, the embodiment of everything innocent, young and vibrant in masculine nature. Now, he’d fully matured. He wasn’t budding, young, or even vibrant. He was the stoic, brute force behind the masculine spirit.
“How’s the party going?” Carrie, Dwayne’s mother, came up behind me.
“Good. I am starving. I could eat a side of beef and still have room for those ribs.”
“Food’s coming up,” Dwayne’s dad called out from his place at the grill.
“I’ll bet you’re glad to have Dwayne back at home,” I said to Carrie.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. He was stationed in Afghanistan during the war, and it’s so dangerous there. I’ve been worried.”
“He’s lucky to have a mom who cares about him as much as you do.”
“My boys are my life,” she said. “Without them, I’d have nothing.”
“That’s not true.” Jesse walked up, his eyes bright red, and put his arm around his mom’s shoulder. “You’d have your knitting.”
“Put a sock in it.” She wrenched away playfully.
“Sorry,” he said and walked off.
“Well, I better get back to the party. There’s still a lot of cooking to do and tons of dishes.”
“If you need any help, just let me know,” I said, mostly to be nice. I was still dying for a taste of those ribs.
“Hey, little sis.” Michael came out, red in the face with one arm as far around Dwayne’s shoulders as it would go and a beer in his hand. “This is for you.” He handed me the beer.
“Thanks,” I took it from him and set it down, trying not to blush at the way that Dwayne was staring at me. “You should go check on the food.” I glared at him.
“Sorry, I was just trying to be nice.” He staggered off.
“Sorry about that,” Dwayne said. “He had some of Jesse’s tequila.”
“I see that,” I laughed.
He smiled. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in years.”
“I’m doing well. Lexie and I are running a ballet school in Chattanooga.”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s a dream. Most people never get a chance to do what they love for a living. How are you? What are your plans now that you’re out?”
“I’m not sure what I want. It’s a little strange being out, but I’ve got a job lined up in Chattanooga working for a security company.”
“I’d love to-”
“Come and get it,” Dwayne’s dad called out, interrupting our conversation.
Everyone started shuffling around outside, scrambling for a plate. Dwayne disappeared with his ribs while I was left sitting at the table. He was so different. In high school, he had been loud and boisterous, always joking with Michael. Something had snuffed out that excitement, leaving behind a beautiful enigma — solid, strong, and disciplined.
I wanted to crack open his shell to see what was inside. Back in the house, I found him and Michael sitting on the couch. “Hey, sis.”
“Hey, listen, I’m gonna head home.” I’d written my number down on a napkin and folded it up in my hand so that he’d take it when I shook his hand. He took it, his eyes went wide, then met mine with a knowing smile and a look of raw desire so palpable it made me shudder.
Michael turned to me. “Don’t you have something better to be doing than hitting on my best friend?”
“Michael, I’m not hitting on him.”
“Whatever,” he shrugged.
“It was nice seeing you again, Dwayne,” I started to walk out.
“You, too.” The tone of his voice said a whole lot more than his words.