Myrtle was up early this morning. Leaving Jaquinn sprawled across the pull-out bed in Darron’s living room, she explored the kitchen until she found all the necessary items for a cup of coffee. She was just taking her first sip when Darron’s door opened and he came out, looking about as happy to be awake as she was. Myrtle took one look at him, laughed, and poured him a cup.
They enjoyed their drinks in silence for a while. Finally Myrtle was awake enough to look up and ask, “So what’s the plan for today?”
Darron shrugged. “No real plan. We could be tourists—Willis Tower, Grant Park, Buckingham Fountain. There’s all kinds of museums. We could head out to the lake. Or—”
Myrtle raised her brows, hearing in that one word that what Darron hesitated to mention was what he really wanted to do. “Or?”
“Well,” he said, glancing around, “this place doesn’t have a lot of space for you to show us your moves. But if you wanted, I have a friend in the theatre department who could get us into a studio for an hour or two.” He gave his sister a shy smile. “I haven’t seen you dance in ages.”
Myrtle was not as surprised as she might have been. She has mentioned her most recent dance project to Darron, and he has been very interested. She set down her coffee cup. “Okay, but it better be a nice studio.”
It was a nice studio. Darron’s school, DePaul University, has a fine theatre with several movement studios to offer. The room that Darron’s friend brought them to was a bright, open space with hardwood floors and a good sound system. Myrtle tested it with her own music, and the three of them had a good deal of fun for a while, dancing and laughing together, and though Myrtle teased the men about how much worse they were at dancing than she was, she didn’t really mean it.
But after a while Darron turned to his sister. “So are you gonna show me what you’ve been working on?” he asked. “The one about Mom?”
The mention of Abby, the first in the twenty-four hours they’ve been together, sent a rush of panic through Myrtle. Her first instinct was to say no—she wanted to go on in the peaceful truce they have been observing, to go on pretending that the painful things did not exist.
“No,” I whispered to her, stepping closer. “It is his past too, and he deserves to see what you have begun. Be brave.”
She took a deep breath and slipped out of her shoes. “All right, but keep in mind it’s a work in progress.”
I believe I have spoken before about the difficulty of describing dance with words. This was even harder than anything I have seen Myrtle do before, because while I could tell you every movement she made, every twist of wrist and toss of head, there would be no way of conveying the way the movements communicated emotion. The dance told a story about happiness lost and found again, and the painful journey in between.
When she was finished, Darron and Jaquinn sat silently, staring at her. Jaquinn had not seen the performance in its entirety yet—in fact he has not ever seen Myrtle perform like this. He was stricken with a strange mix of pride and wonder at seeing a part of Myrtle he has never seen before.
For his part, Darron was wordless. He understood much of the emotion and memory that went into the performance, and it moved him to tears. “Wow,” he said, so softly that Myrtle almost missed it.
Feeling self-conscious under their gazes, Myrtle sank to the floor. “It needs work,” she said. “I need to change up the music, I think.”
Jaquinn, noticing Darron’s attempts to recover himself, spoke up with a smile. “I’ve got a DJ[1] buddy who could help you with that.”
“Yeah? Is that Michael? I might give him a call when I get back.” She looked at Darron, still awaiting his reaction.
He lifted his head. “Have you thought about adding other dancers?” he asked. “It might have a bit more power that way.” He was thinking of a writer friend of his, who insists on hearing criticism, even of things that are already well-shaped and beautiful. This, however, was the only critique he could think of—Myrtle herself could not have done better, in his view.
“You think so?” Myrtle asked. “I’ve never done any choreography for grown-up dancers.”
“You did this for yourself, Murry,” Darron pointed out. “How hard could it be to add in a couple more bodies?”
Myrtle snorted at the ignorance of this statement. But she was intrigued and got to her feet again. “It might be interesting. I could have them in unison early on, and then later start to mess each other up—” She tried a few moves, then dragged Jaquinn to his feet and began to position him like a doll.
It is beautiful to me, the moment when creativity seizes a person, when they cannot shake an idea and must bring it to life or have it haunt them for days. I was sorry when their time ran out and they had to leave.
On the way out of the building, Darron seized Myrtle’s hand and squeezed it. “It was good, Murry,” he said.
She only smiled, but everything was warmer between them after that.
[1] DJ stands for disc-jockey, although no one ever seems to say that anymore. The DJ is someone who provides music for parties and events, and they are talented at shaping music by way of electronic manipulation.