toe-rings tap impatiently on the floor.
Thai thai. Thai thai.
The sound is a snatch of music, a dance rhythm,
carrying me back in time.
I see a little girl on her fatherâs shoulders,
yearning to touch the feet of divine dancers
carved into temple walls.
I see her on a stepladder placing her hand on her chest,
feeling Shivaâs dancing feet
in the beat of her heart.
âWhen I was little I felt my heart was beating
to the sound
of Godâs dancing feet.
Everywhere, in everything,
I could hear music to dance to.
When I grew up that music grew fainter
and I started to love applause.
I want someone who can help me feel dance
the way I used to.
I miss feeling dance inside me.
I miss hearing music in everything.â
Akka gives me a sharp nod.
Encouraged, I continue. âMy grandma said she saw
you dancing long ago.
That you treated dance as a sacred art,
an offering of devotion to God.
And I think I felt that way a little when I was young.
I want a teacher who can help me learn about that.â
Akkaâs gaze pierces me. âVeda, if you want to relearn dance,
Youâll need to begin at the beginning.â
âAlong with the little ones?â
Part of me cringes at the thought.
But I straighten up,
look her in the eye, and say, âYes.â
âAs for fees, Veda, I do things the old way here.
Each student gives me whatever they can.
Some students pay nothing.
I leave it up to them
and their parents to decide what they can afford.â
Iâm her student already?
Without having to prove what I can or canât do physically?
And she doesnât care whether I pay?
It feels too good to be true. I stutter my thanks,
explain about the new limb Iâll be getting soon.
Akka sets a date for my first lesson and says,
âGovinda, the student who teaches the beginners,
is about your age.
Youâll learn from him until
youâre ready to learn from me.
Come, Iâll take you to him.â
GREETING
GRACE
Dhanam akka leads me toward an airy classroom.
Pausing outside the door, I hear a sound Iâve missed:
the sound of feet raining a dance rhythm on the ground,
a sound that fills me with a desperate longing for dance
the way a wilting plant must long for water.
âGovinda!â akka calls.
A boy walks out of the classroom.
His body
long and muscular. Back perfectly straight.
A dancerâs body.
His hair
a sheet of midnight. Sleek, shiny, shoulder length.
His eyes
pools of honey. Deep brown, flecked with gold.
âGovinda, this is Veda,â akka says. âShe was a dancer
but met with an accident
that cost her her right foot.
Youâll be helping her relearn dance.â
If Govinda feels shocked that heâs getting a student who is a below-knee amputee, he doesnât show it.
He presses his elegant, clove-dark hands together,
closes his eyes, and greets me the traditional way. âNamaskaram.â
His voice matches his looksâdeep, rich, smooth.
The grace with which he bows his head and hands,
the seriousness with which he says Namaskaram,
as though heâs chanting a prayer,
remind me of what the greeting meansâ
that he salutes the God within me.
When I return his greeting, pressing my palms together,
it feels magical instead of mechanical.
Govindaâs gaze meets mine
and I burn with a desire to dance myself beautiful
in front of him.
A REAL
SMILE
âDhanam akkaâs the one,â I tell Paati
as I enter our apartment.
Breathing heavily, she heaves herself up
off the floor in front the household altar and says,
âYour teacher is lucky, Veda.
Sheâs found a student whoâll create a new world through dance
just as Shiva creates new universes through His steps.
A world where others with special limbs
will learn to enjoy their beauty.â
First thing Pa asks after he and Ma come home,
âHow was the new dance school, Veda?â
No surprise
K. Sterling
Jacquie Rogers
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley
Shiloh Walker
Elizabeth Moynihan
Mary Balogh
Tara Fox Hall
Jonathan Maberry
Jane Hunt
James Kakalios