PURSUIT: A Novel – 9: Father

Kansas University – Wednesday Afternoon, March 8, 1989

Christina and Eva left the auditorium by way of the side door that was nearest the dressing rooms. She wore a hoodie over her head; the attention she received on and off stage humbled her.

“Wow! Bright out here! Forgot it was daylight looking into stage lights all afternoon,” Eva said. “What do you want for dinner? I think the fridge is bare, not even leftovers.”

Christina, deep in thought, looked down at the sidewalk as they walked. “Huh?” Her lithe body was still flowing with the rhythm of the finale, a rendition of movements from her spontaneous dance on Easter Sunday three years ago.

“Dinner. We have nothing for dinner. What do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t care.” Christina paused when they reached the brick path. “Hey, why don’t we go to Old Towne grocery and pick up something? I’ve got a lot on my mind and want to spend some time talking it out. Do you mind taking the long way?” She motioned to the path that disappeared into the woods.

“I’m all ears, girlfriend . . . sounds like the male factor to me. I could be wrong, but when a girl needs to talk it out, a man is usually involved.”

“Hmmm, interesting you’d say that.”

As they entered the densely wooded forest, sounds of nature replaced the bustle of campus. Their pace slowed to observe birds swooping in the canopy overhead. Squirrels chattered as the two dancers invaded their territory. The cool and refreshing moist air of the forest floor stroked her bare, taut legs still warm from the afternoon rehearsal. The earthy scent of humus caused Christina to inhale deeply and close her eyes, exhausted from restless sleep. After several minutes of taking in the beauty that surrounded them, she replied, “The last two nights I’ve had the same series of dreams . . . related on one plane . . . the desire for a man in my life.”

“Well, we’re graduating in a couple of months, and you’ve avoided every man who showed any interest in you.”

“It’s deeper than that, Eva. I never really talked about my father, since I never met him. That made it easy, not having to explain anything to anyone. I kept the secret locked up inside of me.”

Eva stopped as Christina continued to walk. “Besties don’t keep secrets.”

Christina turned around and tilted her head. “Ahh, Eva . . . ” Her arms held out, Eva moved in for a hug.

“Do you know who your father is?” Eva said as their embrace kindled warm love.

Christina looked to her feet. Wild violets peppered the forest floor. She smiled at the memory of picking them as a child to make a bouquet for her dad.

“Not really, but I created an imaginary father when I was a little girl. I was too young to understand why a man was missing from our home, but when I saw my friends with their dads, I wondered where mine was.”

“Your mom never told you why?”

“As I grew up, maybe six or so, my mom told me that he was an army man. I asked when he would come home, and she said he was far away, and it took a long time for him to get home.” She paused as her mind traced through the start of the dream.

“Thinking my daddy was coming home, I imagined dancing with him . . . ”

Christina saw herself as a young girl of six with long, wavy and curling blue-black hair that bounced on her shoulders as she moved in dance with her imaginary father, eyes closed to picture him holding her, spinning her, flowing gracefully with him. She always followed his lead to the softly played gospel music. Her mom stood at the threshold of the living room to the kitchen and admired her cuteness as she danced on tiptoes with eyes closed, arms raised, and hands clutching the air.

“Who are you dancing with, Chrissy?” her mom said as she knelt to look into her eyes. Christina continued her dance, eyes closed without responding. It was her secret.

“You look lovely, darling, like a ballerina.”

The deep purple violets came into Christina’s focus again. “At six, I probably didn’t know how to express myself or even have an image of who I was dancing with. I just wanted to hold onto him and not let go. Wherever he went, I went. I stood on his footsteps as he moved. My mom didn’t have any photographs of him so I couldn’t picture a face, just a feeling of comfort every time I closed my eyes and moved to the gospel music she played from sunup to sundown.” She paused and reflected on how dancing to her mom’s music inspired her worship dance to Christian bands, a sharp contrast with the classical music she trained on.

“My mom saw the ballerina in me . . . ”

The image in Christina’s mind shuffled to her dance class where she pirouetted and tiptoed steps as a tiny dancer, her movements graceful and refined. Her arms now enveloped the air and one could imagine that she was dancing with a partner equal in grace. She swooped and rose like waves of a rolling sea, spun then stopped, hand held out for her father to hold as he led her under his arm. As always, Christina danced with her secret partner, the father she never knew. Her dance expressed artistic love as she longed to feel his presence. Emotional movements that mirrored hope for intimacy breathed life into her performance, which gripped her mom and dance instructor, their images reflected in the wall-to-wall mirrors.

“Christina is gifted,” her instructor said to her mom as the music came to a finale. “I’ve never seen such flamboyance and grace in the dance of a twelve-year-old. There’s a recital in two weeks, and I’d like to enter her in the competition. What do you think?”

Her mom followed the rhythmic moves—brushstrokes that flowed with melody stirred reflection on the void in her heart. “Well, you know that Christina is very private about her dance, and that’s the reason for individual rather than group instruction. But, we can ask her feelings on that.” Christina did a bouncing walk as she moved from toe to toe in her ballet slippers. Her arms waved gracefully like that of a soaring bird, her face brilliant with joy.

“Your dance brings such merry emotion as we watch you, Christina,” her instructor said. It’s as if you truly dance with someone and follow his lead, precise and graceful. Who is your imaginary partner?”

“My secret,” she said, smiling at her mom. “Even Mom doesn’t know.”

“Chrissy, Ms. Rivers has invited us to a dance recital, how do you feel about that?” Her mom held Christina’s shoulder as they walked to her dance clothes bag.

She stopped and turned to look at her mom. “To perform?”

“You have such a unique gift, Christina,” Ms. Rivers cut in. “Never before have I felt such emotion watching a dancer your age perform. You’re not just stringing ballet movements together. You’re creating moves because you’re following the steps of your imaginary dancer.” Ms. Rivers took Christina’s hands in hers. “You could win the competition.”

Christina reached for her bag. “I don’t dance to perform. I dance to fill my heart.”

“And your dance fills the heart of others as it did mine,” Ms. Rogers added.

“I love to watch you dance, Chrissy. It fills my heart, too. Soothes the ache of never finding your dad.”

Christina turned to look at her mom, the brilliant joy in her face gone, replaced with a deeper sadness as she looked down at the floor. Ms. Rogers looked from mom to Christina. Her face reflected that she had opened a door that the two of them would rather keep closed.

“It was just a thought, Christina. No big deal. Someday your heart will heal.”

v v v

Copyright 2017  © Jeff Cambridge

Excerpt from PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge, a writer of transformational fiction with characters that tell life-changing stories.

This is a pre-published scene.

To read the scenes sequentially, begin with

“PURSUIT: A Novel – Prologue”

Your comments are welcomed and appreciated. Simply check one of the reaction boxes below, write a comment, or email me at bycambridge@gmail.com.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.