Excerpt

In my damp basement I would dance for boys. I would sit them down on my couch and start humming to my own music. My hips would sway for the boy whom I had chosen this time: captain of the football team, student body president, jazz band member. My humming would turn to panting as I twirled and made delicate leaps-my hot feet leaving marks on the cold floor. I would pick up the pieces of gauzy fabric I had scattered everywhere and cover my dirt brown eyes. Suddenly my world would have a green filter. Or purple. Or red. I kept myself small for my spectators; I needed to teach that they could be larger, stronger, and less helpless. I needed a role to play. My ribs protruded in such a way that it was safe to assume that I had consumed a xylophone. My cheeks had dissolved and my bones became so pronounced that I looked dangerously sharp at first, then ridiculously breakable at further inspection. So I’d undress and dance and sweat and pant, and when it was all over I’d cry. I would collapse onto the frostbitten floor, kneeling while the boy would scramble for his things then either stand by the door for a second hesitantly or give my head a quick kiss and drift out silently. They never said a word to anyone. I was their secret and they were all carrying mine.


One had stood in the doorway before leaving and whispered, "what a terrible angel you are. He was the only one who gave me his tears.