I’m dancing like some whirling dervish and I’m not even at the dance yet. I held back from going because I wasn’t exactly in the mood to celebrate our departure. I don’t know how to feel about leaving this place. I never saw it as our permanent home so I never formed an attachment to it. Yet at the same time I feel it’s too early to leave these secure walls for the unknown. I’m especially not ready to be entirely at the mercy of these soldiers. All they have to do if they feel we’re not following orders is leave us by the side of the road to die. Honestly, if I had our food storage here I’d stay behind with the kids, but where the soldiers go, the food goes.
So why am I dancing with wild abandon like I’m in a disco? And why do I keep forgetting where I am? I dimly remember running into the General in the halls. This is a very rare occurrence in that it’s happened, well, never before. I remember him asking me why I wasn’t at the dance, and I remember boldly asking him why he wasn’t at the dance. I remember him laughing, which is something else that’s never happened before. It didn’t serve to lighten the mood. It only enhanced that sinister evil villain vibe he puts off. I remember things getting even creepier when he insisted I share a drink with him, and I remember not wanting to drink but feeling like I couldn’t refuse. I remember enjoying what tasted like my first Coke in just about forever, and then after that the lines of reality started to blur.
I know I must be going crazy because I’m no longer in the cold grey tile-and-concrete halls of a high school. I’m at the first club I ever went to with Grant, long before we were even married, and we’re dancing. The past few months of madness melt away and all that’s left is me and the object of my desire getting closer and closer on the dance floor. It’s like the parasite invasion never happened, or I’ve slept through our rescue and everything has returned back to normal, or I’m dead and living out the best moments of my life…all I know is that I’m happy and I’m having fun. I am no longer the one in charge of young lives, no longer burdened by responsibility, no longer scared out of my mind with worry and longing. I’ve been sick of life for so long, and now that Grant is with me I’m cured.
I’ve missed Grant so much I lunge at him, throwing my arms around his body so I can feel him against me and never let go. But something doesn’t feel right. I’m immediately shocked by how cold and stiff he is. It’s as if I’d hugged a corpse. I look up into Grant’s eyes for an explanation…but it’s no longer Grant. I’ve just wrapped my arms around a thick column at the end of the hall. I jump back in surprise, but before my mind can adjust to reality I find myself back in the club dancing the night away, giving Grant a come-hither look while swaying like a drugged-out rock star, making him chase me all over the dance floor. It’s the same cat-and-mouse game we play whenever we go clubbing, and the longer we play it the more I anticipate being caught. I know that when he holds me in his arms at the end of our game, we both win.
I feel so free at this moment, free from fear, free from anxiety, free from obligations and commitments. I’m free from bad memories and free to love someone without the thought of losing them. It’s the best feeling in the world and I’m willing to give into this illusion if it will just make that feeling stay. I’m dancing on the go, looking back to make sure Grant is following me and feeling a thrill every time I see that he’s not only following me, he’s watching me closely with an intense look in his eyes. Better yet, he’s gaining on me.
I’m tired of this chase. I want to be caught! I want to feel swept up in Grant’s arms; I want to feel his lips pressed up against mine…I want to feel like I’m in a Harlequin romance! I stop dancing and turn around, waiting for Grant to catch up to me so I can grab him and whisper “Let’s get out of here,” in his ear, but suddenly I feel dizzy. I take a step towards him—he’s only whispering distance away now and he has a grin of anticipation on his face—but I’m too woozy to stay upright. I start to fall like I’m in slow motion. This isn’t real, I think. This can’t be real. To my relief Grant catches me before I hit the ground. This time he’s warm to the touch and holds me like we’ve ended a fandango with a flourish. I’m so relieved he’s here. I could just stay here in his arms looking up at those beautiful dark brown eyes forever. The room is spinning so much that I can only lie there looking dreamily into his face. My entire body feels heavy, so heavy that I can’t even raise a hand to touch his cheek. My useless limbs lie limply at my side, my fingers barely brushing the cold floor.
It’s getting harder and harder to gaze up at Grant. His form seems to be shifting…I want to scream. I need to scream because I can now see that everything’s changed: Grant’s face is no longer Grant’s face, it’s the General’s…I’m back in this vile refugee center and I’ve been caught by the General.
I want to struggle free from his arms, but my body won’t obey my mind. I’m no longer grateful for being caught. I’d rather drop to the unforgiving concrete floor than be touched by the General, but the room is starting to spin again and I feel paralyzed with dizziness. All I can do is look up at the face I’ve grown to despise. And what is that on his face? It’s creepy, it’s disgusting, it’s unnerving…
It’s a smile.