For the next week, I own you.” Miss Davis teeters for a second, allowing this shocking news to sink in. It’s the Monday before the show. “Homework in your academic classes? Unimportant. Family and friends don’t exist. Exercise? Burn calories onstage. Your love life?” She takes a long look at Gus and Misty, who are attempting to merge into one person. “Not on my time. And make no mistake about it—your every waking moment is my time. I’m not about balance.” She stares at us. “Understand?”
We all nod, somberly, like we’re supposed to. Even Gigi.
“Good. Places for the opening number.” We start to file offstage. Miss Davis holds out a painted claw, and fixes on Gus. “You!”
Gus executes a comic stop and gestures like, Me?
“Yes, you. Purchase an athletic supporter.”
“Why?”
“Because your … equipment is showing. If you don’t find one by tomorrow, I’ll take you shopping during lunch.”
We’re all trying real hard not to laugh, but someone (I’m not sure it wasn’t me) lets out a high-pitched giggle, and then we’re all cracking up.
Through it, I hear Gus. “Miss Davis?”
A sigh. “Yes, Gus?”
“If I’m not s’posed to be doing anything but practicing, when do I shop?”
I don’t even hear Miss Davis’s answer. But the rest of the afternoon, every time I pass Sean or Gigi, we say things like, “Excuse me? Do you happen to have your equipment with you?” or “Can you get your equipment? I need to change a lightbulb.”
Sean drives me home after rehearsal.
“How’s it going?” he says.
“Great. We’ll be rehearsing so much I’ll hardly see my mother.”
He laughs. “Yeah, all I can think about is this show. Would you believe the other day, I woke up, and my hand was stiff? I’d been doing jazz hands in my sleep!”
“What I can’t believe is that three months ago, I’d never heard of a jazz hand. And now…” I make a gesture like my hand is stuck that way, fingers straight and stiff.
“You’re really improving at dance.”
“Thanks to you.”
“No. Thanks to you.” He pulls into my driveway and stops the car. The lights are off inside the house, but I can see Harold the flamingo, who’s now dressed like Santa Claus. Sean pulls me toward him and hugs me, and it’s different than other times, because I know it’s just a hug; a friend-hug and nothing more.
When we part, I say, “So, do you think Gus went and found an all-night sporting-goods store Monday night?”
Sean laughs. “I bet he did. I wouldn’t want to go shopping for a jockstrap with Miss Davis!”
Opera_Grrrl’s Online Journal
Subject: Sean
Date: December 7
Time: 11:35 p.m.
Listening 2: “Che Gelida Manina” from La Bohème (w/headphones so as not 2 incur the wrath of Mom)
Feeling: Tired
Weight: 112 lbs. (I think I lost weight from dancing so much)
I’ve spent a LOT of time thinking about the whole Sean thing, and what I’ve figured out is: everything happens for a reason .......... All my life, I wanted 2 be thin & have a boyfriend, but when I did finally get a boyfriend, it didn’t work out w/him ....... in fact, he HURT ME .......... and it didn’t work out w/the next guy either .......... & what I figured out is that I DON’T WANT A BOYFRIEND at this particular moment of my life. I think maybe what I need is a friend & w/Sean, I have that. I have that more than I’ve ever had that in my life. And what’s more, he’s SAFE. I can love him, and he isn’t going 2 hurt me, isn’t going 2 try and make me be some1 else. Does that make sense????????? I don’t even know if it does, & maybe any1 reading this will think I’m crazy (I don’t even know if any1 does read this) but I think it’s right. And what’s more, I think it’s more important 2 be w/some1 b/c you actually care about that person, than being w/some1 2 be w/someone.
I don’t know what I mean 2 say. But I know what I THINK: I’m happy.