twenty #2
The song ended. While everyone clapped and showed their appreciation with whistles and promises of drinks, the leader announced that they were looking for people who wanted to join in for a song or two. “The true Arrahite spirit,” he said, “is artistic collaboration!”
Sulim looked up at Sonall, who was barely paying attention. “Why don’t you join them?”
“What? You’re kidding.”
“Why would I joke about something like that? You know all the standards. Go grab a gorku.”
She referred to the six-stringed instrument that carried the undercurrent of the main melody.
It was perfect for him. Doesn’t put him in the spotlight, but it’s an important piece.
Like the drum, everything fell apart without the gorku.
Already, a couple of people volunteered to sing or play an instrument.
The leader motioned for more room to be made on the stage.
A handheld gorku with tighter strings and a twill to its notes was handed to a young woman with red curls and a smile that took up half her face.
A middle-aged man with more facial hair than body fat was handed a mic to share his powerful voice as they prepared to play one of Arrah’s oldest local tunes.
“Now’s your chance,” Sulim said. “I think you’ll have fun.”
He smiled back at her. “Don’t go anywhere.” He took a step back. “I mean, you should dance. Just don’t leave the restaurant.”
She laughed. “Why would I!”
“I don’t know!” Sonall turned around before he bumped into the rope separating the walkway from the dance floor.
Sulim watched from their booth as her husband received applause to take a gorku and sit on the far edge of the stage. The song started before she had the chance to wave at him.
People danced into her line of sight. Sulim finished her drink and stared at the frosted window separating her from the alley on the other side of the wall.
Eventually, she closed her eyes and floated away on the music.
If she listened intently enough, she could hear the gorku somewhere between the drums and the vocalist singing a tale about the concept of soulmates and what a gift from the Void it was.
“The world is more beautiful with you in it / I didn’t know how dull my dreams were until I saw you.”
“Ahem.”
“Your aura speaks of the stars and all the lives we’ve lived before / My eyes go blind to behold the fabric of the universe.”
“Sometimes, you all aren’t too terrible at julah-type poetry.”
Sulim snapped back to the world at large, where someone draped over the back of her seat and was almost close enough to sniff her scalp.
“Oh, Void.” Sulim’s hand was on her chest. “You startled me.”
Mira was still grinning, even as she turned her body toward Sulim, barricading her into her seat. “It’s easy to be sneaky when loud music is playing!”
“Don’t remind me!”
A hand appeared beside her. “You owe me a dance.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nobody understands me like you do / I’ll fight death for one more day with you.”
“I said you have to dance with me. Those are the rules.”
“What rules?”
Mira lowered herself closer to Sulim’s ear. “The ones that say I’m tired of watching you with your husband. When do I get some attention?”
Sulim refused to blush, especially around a woman brazen enough to come on to her in a very public place. “That’s how it works. You dance with the one you’re married to.”
“Lots of things you’re only supposed to do with the one you’re married to.” Sulim felt that grin against her temple. “What does dancing have to do with us?”
“Fine.” Sulim pushed past her, shuffling out of the booth as if she had to go to the restroom. “One dance. Let’s not raise suspicion.”
“Oooh, she’s playing a game.”
“Shush!”
Mira took her hand. “I will not. Being around you makes me want to scream.”
Sulim refused to let the woman twirl her until they were in the middle of the dance floor, where she was grateful to see other same-sex pairings stomping, jumping, and spinning with one another.
The group of friends from earlier had broken off into three pairs, claiming their own corner of the dance floor as they occasionally swapped partners and laughed so uproariously that nobody would mistake them for anything but the kind of friends who would die for one another.
“We’ll dance the night away until we’re one with the sky / Let the sunrise wash over us as we turn into dust.”
“That man sure can sing, huh?” Mira kept Sulim a comfortable distance away as their forearms entwined and they spun in a tight circle. As blood rushed through Sulim’s veins again, Mira continued, “It’s always the ones you least expect.”
Sulim almost lost her footing again and swung her arm around Mira’s shoulders to maintain her balance. Naturally, it brought them closer during a slower part of the song.
“Show me who you are when the end comes for us / I’ll see you again on the other side.”
“Aren’t I right?” Mira said as Sulim pursed her lips. “I bet nobody suspects you. The goodest girl around.”
A few months ago, Sulim would have blanched to hear anyone, even the High Priest’s daughter, talk to her like that.
Yet there she was, melting into Mira’s embrace only a day after their passionate affair in the woods.
“Why would they?” she taunted. “Nobody expects a julah to pay attention to a woman like me.”
“Maybe they should.” Mira pushed her away before anyone deemed they were too close for too long. “Because, like my parents, I have impeccable taste.”
They danced without words, Sulim taking every opportunity to touch Mira’s arms, her shoulder, even the small of her back as they maneuvered through the growing crowd and laughed when they almost collided into the group of friends having the time of their lives.
The music swelled with a crescendo that threatened to take the fabled soulmates of the lyrics straight back to the Void.
Yet before Sulim could think too deeply about it, she was swept away on the pounding drums, the plucking strings, and the whining drone of a woodwind.
A few months ago, I would have given anything to feel like this. Higher than the stars. Moving freely through the world. Warm and comforted by another’s body.
In love.
Sulim almost faltered as she was twirled one last time. Because nothing startled her as much as the threat of being in love.
Mira caught her before she fell. “Come on,” she effortlessly said. “Just a few minutes.”
Sulim didn’t know what she meant. Yes, I do.
She didn’t know where they were going. Yes, I do.
She didn’t know what she would do once it started.
Yes, I do. All she knew was that her heart threatened to kill her if she turned back to the safety of her booth.
If anything, Sulim had to ride this high now.
How many chances were there to simply… be in love?
Mira must have been here before, because she didn’t struggle to find the back restrooms where there was no line. She dragged Sulim in behind her before latching the door again.
Sulim didn’t ask questions. There wasn’t enough time for questions.
There was barely enough room for her to be pushed up against the wall, kisses slamming against her skin and hands ripping up her blouse so Mira could find her flesh beneath it.
The music continued to reverberate through the floor all the way back there.
Every time one of Sulim’s feet touched the floor, she was reminded that the current of energy that bound her to the mortal world was still beyond that door.
But right here, in this enclave she claimed with Mira, who didn’t seem to give a shit about other people besides her? Show me the stars, indeed.
Sulim gave herself over, much like she had the day before—only now, she didn’t question why she acted the way she did.
She didn’t think of choices, of cause and effect, or who might be bothered by their excursion to the restroom, where Mira made short work of whatever ladylike propriety was left in Sulim’s heart.
I ain’t got shit.
Well, not quite. She certainly had a lot to give back.
They left the restroom separately, Sulim insisting on being the first to return before anyone knew she was missing. The song had switched over, and when she found Sonall sitting back in their booth, she informed him that she had to go to the restroom. He didn’t question it.
“You sounded great up there,” she thought to say. “Maybe you have a career change.”
“Don’t get too excited,” he said with laughter. “I hit the wrong note more than once. I don’t practice enough.”
She rested her elbows on the table and folded her fingers beneath her chin, gazing at the dance floor through cloudy eyes. They didn’t sharpen again until she saw Mira strolling down the hallway. Sulim looked away before they accidentally made eye contact.
“So…” Sonall hadn’t noticed her behavior, if there was anything to notice at all. “Wanna dance again?”
She ordered one last beer before committing to an answer.