Free Bone Dance by Martha Brooks Page B

to the washroom or something. She disappeared in a cloud of Exclamation! perfume.
    â€œI’m drunk. I’m very, very drunk,” he said, sadly wagging his head. “But”—he lifted his hand, pointed a finger at Alex—“not so drunk that I can’t ask ’er for a dance. Okay, Alex? ’Kay?” Right in her face.
    She wanted to escape. She wanted to leave. To hide.
    A hand on her bare shoulder. She turned to see Peter, resplendent in a T-shirt emblazoned with a thunderbird, black tuxedo pants and cummerbund, a black opera cape. He opened up his arms. “Dance with me, darling.”
    She laughed but felt like crying. She stood, wobbling slightly in her satin heels. He led her onto the dance floor, where he promptly lost all his bravado. He put his head on her shoulder and confessed, “It’s this night. I don’t know. I felt so good. And now I feel like crap. Know what I mean? Nothing feels real.”
    The music man started up with “Stairway to Heaven.” She swayed with Peter, in one spot, until the lights came on again.
    Later, when Serena came back to her place, trailing a peach satin jacket, the morning light beginning to pierce its way past post-graduation-dance fog, they collapsed on Alex’s bed, a bag of taco chips between them and a carton of milk that Alex had hauled out of the kitchen downstairs.
    â€œYou never tell me what’s going on in your head. Not really,” said Serena. She had found a half-eaten package of M&M’s at the bottom of her purse and socked back a handful, munched thoughtfully, shoved her hand back into the taco bag.
    â€œWhy are you telling me this?” said Alex.
    â€œI always have to guess.” Serena turned her head on the pillow. “Don’t tell me you enjoyed yourself tonight.”
    Alex remembered the way Peter clung to her on the dance floor. And how Serena, sitting at the table, had watched them, straight shouldered, with an excruciating unveiled longing.
    She wished that he were here now, not Serena. To have his lone-wolf heart right here, beating beside her own, that would be comfort enough.
    â€œYou’re such a good friend to me,” continued Serena sadly. “You put up with all my crap. And I always end up disappointing you.”
    Alex shivered, sank down under her quilt.
    â€œLike I’m looking at you dancing with Peter tonight. And I’m thinking—I don’t know what made me think it—but I started thinking about your grandpa. About how he was such a pal. Always around. Like the best dad. Know what I mean? Steady as a rock. You were so lucky to have him—even if it was only for part of your life.”
    â€œDon’t let’s talk about this right now. Okay?” Hot tears began to pool in her eyes. She blinked them away. Reaching over, she took Serena’s hand and held on tightly to this friend from her childhood days. She felt as if she were sinking. As if she could disappear altogether. And no one would be able to find her again.
    â€œAlex,” said Serena as they both blinked up at the ceiling, “I have to say something. I’m sorry I ran outon you. You know, with Peter. That I sort of abandoned you. Again. Like, it was all just so stupid. I don’t know if I will ever forgive myself for doing that. But, you know, and this is the truth, sometimes you make people feel so lonely.”
    Two nights later, she had another dream. In this one she is sitting in front of a large slate-colored rock. It’s drum shaped, about three feet in circumference. She and Grandpa and Old Raven Man are all around it, beating it, trying to make its voice come alive. It’s a frightening ceremony. She feels her own voice rise in song. It comes from a deep and primal place. As the song rips up toward the sky, the rock begins to pulse with life. And its life is huge, as if it is waking up from a century-long sleep. She is awestruck that a rock can be