March.
Our first day together on the boat, Christian asked how long it’d been since I’d been sailing, and that was it. My last time on the open sea. But it was also the last time I’d let the music infiltrate my limbs, the last I’d felt my dance steps sync with the soulful, upbeat rhythms of Bella Garcia. She’d always been our favorite, mine and Natalie’s. That last time, that last dance, my twin and I had stood side by side on one of the resort boats, singing and laughing, timing our moves with the currents of the Caribbean Sea. The stars glittered overhead, as if they’d shown up and turned on their eternal spotlights just for a better glimpse of the soon-to-be-famous d’Abreau sisters.
The day before, after accepting her Queen of the Bands crown, Bella had introduced us to her manager exactly that way: These are the soon-to-be-famous d’Abreau sisters.
Now, standing alone on the cold shores of the Pacific, I was in the dark; no stars shone through the Oregon haze. Lemon was deep in creative thought in her studio. Kirby, Christian, Vanessa, and Noah were at the club with all the other kids summering at the Cove. I’d no one to coordinate with but the waves, no audience but the last gull of the night, bobbing on the surface.
I looked for Atargatis but saw no one. Heard nothing but the sea.
I slipped the earbuds in—both of them this time—and sucked in the salty air.
One song. Only one.
I’d erased all the others long ago, but this one I couldn’t bring myself to forget. I’d hidden it, voted it down to the bottom so it would never turn up in a shuffle. But I couldn’t delete it. It was like my own personal lighthouse; just knowing it was there was enough to give me a tiny sliver of light.
Dancing, if you’re into it . . .
Like the gull diving beneath the waves, I waded through Lemon’s new-age playlists, all the wood flutes and whale calls and songs about fairies, and finally found it.
“Work Ya Way Back” by Bella Garcia. Just seeing her name on my iPod again was almost enough to fillet my heart. But it felt good, too, that old pull. Although I was tired from cleaning the boat, my legs tingled with anticipation, muscles warming like they’d been waiting for this night all along.
Like all our favorite soca stuff, “Work Ya Way Back” never failed to lift us from a foul mood, never failed to inspire a head swerve or a good old wine—a twist-and-roll from the waist, the hips, the very soul. The song was about the obvious—shaking your boomsie, working the crowd—but it had another meaning too. It was about dancing through the darkest and most lonely nights we faced. It was about getting up again, fighting your way back from even the scariest, lowest places the human soul could go.
In all my years of listening to this song, it had never once failed to lift my spirits, to chase away the darkness.
I’d been afraid to listen to it for so long. Afraid it wouldn’t work.
Now, with my thumb hovering over the screen, I hoped it would still have the same effect on me.
Flame. Ashes. Phoenix. Flame.
I tapped play, cranked the volume.
Closed my eyes.
Dug my bare toes into the cold, damp sand.
And finally I let the familiar beat seep through my ears, calling to a deep place inside.
A smile twitched at the corners of my mouth. My hips swayed. The music took hold. And for the first time in too many months, I danced.
You can’t have me, Atargatis.