| Not The Night (For Sweet Revenge)* She
finished her drink. It would be the last tonight. The
pain had receded enough for her to feel something else.
What that was she wasn't sure. Rage? Yes, it was always
there, right next to frustration. The music changed,
calling up other needs. She rose knowing she must act.
She smiled in irony. The song was "It's Not the
Night." Yes, this was the night.
Her body knew it as she paced with the sharp chords.
Not the night for sweet revenge, but she reached out
anyway. She spun on a toe, throwing her head back. 'Crazy
eyes', she hid them behind her hands. Slowly then,
she reached out, one arm at a time, to the mirrored eyes
watching. Quick steps spun her across the floor then
halted abruptly at the shift in the melody. Her
serpentine told of sweet revenge, swaying hips following
the beat. She stopped, turning quickly, pulling
outstretched arms back in...'not the night...'
Again the sensuous swaying, need calling, rage building,
till she stepped out in a strut then turned slowly. Her
cold face was a lie to the heat in her eyes as she she
looked at those looking. She dropped to break the gaze,
hide the lie, then rose slowly, arms coming up above her
head, eyes following. A pirouette and toss of hair...'the
time is right...' Again she spun a quick slash
across the floor. 'Not the night...to spend.' She
slowed and swayed, legs apart, hips thrusting side to
side in the beat. She reached upward, one hand just
behind the other, then swept her arms down as she turned,
half spinning. Her back to any watchers was an angry wall
slowly falling, from a shift of her shoulders cascading
to a swing of hips, a bend of one knee, then the other.
She became a wave falling over and over as the music
softened. She turned slowly as she wove the spell, facing
them as the last notes died. In silence then, she walked
away.
SMT 1998
*Not The Night (For Sweet Revenge), The
Cars
--------------------------------
It's Not the Night--A Closer Look
She looked them over as she walked away, wondering
what they saw. As she scanned their faces a familiar
disappointment gripped her heart. Some stared openly. She
tried to shrug off the dirty feeling. To them she was
little more than a whore. They would take her body,
satisfy themselves, then leave. Other eyes held curiosity
with their lust, as if she was some exotic animal on
display. She sighed. They would be disappointed when they
learned the truth. They expected what, an angel? A living
dream? They would leave when she couldn't live up to
their imaginings. They didn't want a mere woman, full of
flaws, weaknesses and needs. Several pairs of eyes
quickly found somewhere else to look when they met hers.
Cowards. They wouldn't face her because they couldn't
face themselves. She had learned to accept that lust was
part of her. She did not fear that. She smiled to
herself--no, that was the easy part.
She let herself feed briefly on that. It helped fill
the empty place within her. Like trying to sate thirst
with salt water, she knew it wouldn't last. She would
always return, craving more, hating more, and leave
unsatisfied.
She tried like many times before to understand this as
she headed for the ladies' room. In front of the mirror
she surveyed her reflection. She felt nothing as she met
eyes that might have belonged to a stranger. Large and
hazel, emotions shifted in them constantly, giving
nothing away. The face was long, with high cheekbones and
a full mouth that seemed somewhat stern to her. She
appraised the body before her. It carried no fat but was
not harsh with angles. Honey-colored hair hung in a fine
curtain around the face and ended just below the
shoulders. She thought it would look better if it was
more full. Almost mechanically she reached into a small
purse for a comb. She ran it through the stranger's hair
and decided it did look better. Not as beautiful as some
but prettier than others was her final judgement of the
reflection.
Almost imperceptibly, the eyes focused inward. She
fought back tears as the nothingness returned. The hard
part had come at last. This was what she hid from those
outside, from herself when they were watching. Without
them she barely existed. She could never see what they
saw, yet they were her only mirror. She wasn't sure when
it had happened, but she knew that somewhere in her life
something vital had broken. That empty screaming place
inside had once held all her visions. It had been the
keeper of her dreams, the fuel of her hopes, the mirror
of her possibilities. She hardly remembered now how to
fill that well herself. Sometimes she tried, but too many
disappointments had taken their toll on her confidence.
Like smoke on the wind, her dreams inevitably blew away.
Not like a prostitute, who knew she earned her pay for
service given, but rather like a vampire who fed on the
perceptions of others, was how she survived the blindness
in her soul. Constantly refueling her mind with the
transitory images reflected back from those who dared
meet her eyes, she absorbed their lusts, desires, hopes
and dreams. Like a chameleon, she could shift her image
to give them what they showed her, but her own desires
remained abstract. She let these things flow through her
as she danced. In those moments she was most herself, the
motion of her body a reflection of her shifting thoughts
and emotions, nebulous as shadows in fog.
SMT 1998
----------------
Moonlight Mile*
She stood alone on the pale blue carpet in the middle
of the nearly empty room. She had some furniture, but not
enough to fill the space around her. She'd left most of
what she'd known behind her. All she needed she held in
her arms as she stood there holding herself, hands over
her shoulders. Head tilted up, eyes focussed on visions
only she could see, she reached for what was left of
feelings. As the first soft notes began, something within
her seemed to stir.
She let her hands answer, releasing her shoulders and
reaching for something that seemed far away. Her hips
caught the beat of the firmer notes, when the wind
blows...Swaying steps carried her soul along the
path of the Moonlight Mile. She let her head lead the
slow spinning of her body as the timpani beat out the
march for her feet. Her heart followed as her steps
quickened. With upflung hands to the rising call, she
reached for him, so far away, then pulled him close in
her empty arms while the night passed slow. Drum
or heart, she couldn't tell as she wove a winding trail
in measured paces across the room. Just another
madman and she lifted her lips to him anyway,
turning slow circles with arms above her head, till she
flung them aside to throw back her head and kick out. Livin'
to be lyin' by your side rang through her head as
she ground gently down, arms mesmerising as cobras to a
flute player. Want and pain forced her up, just about
a moonlight mile, like every day of waiting,
wondering, and doubt. Rhythmic swaying calmed her against
the loneliness, helped her find hope in motion. Her body
was a wave, an ocean, as incapable of rest as the tide.
She let herself flow from knees to hips to head to
turning, spinning reaching waters. Her breath was the
wind caressing his face, just about a moonlight mile
on down the road. As the wind turned to gale in the
quickening drums, she skipped a series of mad thrashing
steps of wrath to the pounding drums in her head. She
halted abruptly to change directions, beating the fury of
frustration in her steps against the floor. I'm
hidin' baby, and I'm dreaming, she dreamed as she
strutted, ground, kicked and spun. Emotion bit her like
ice and snow as she released them all in her unseen
dance.
As the music slowed, she stood alone on the pale blue
carpet, arms wrapped around all she needed. She reached a
hand to lift up what was left of feeling, as it rolled
down her face to land glistening on her skin.
Sonja Torres 1998
*Moonlight Mile, Rolling Stones
-----------------
Man of Golden Words
I want to show you something,
Like the joy inside my heart...*
The gentle chords of the piano call out, softly but
firmly. She rises slowly, gracefully, in answer. She
sways as the music fills her heart and flows through her
long legs. Her hips rock, her head tips back, her arms
reach up as the flow raises them. She turns once,
scooping sound in her outstretched hand, holding it like
sand and letting it flow between her fingers, never
losing the rhythmic sway. Her arm draws a circle around
her as she turns. She smiles and reaches out, 'I want
to show you something...' and she moves away, in
measured flowing paces.
'Words and music, my only tools...' she lets the
piano's voice carry her in a sinewy serpentine, turning
like a music box dancer, oblivious to her lover's eyes as
they watch. She moves slightly faster, arms and legs,
hips and head flowing 'in love with music...' Her fine
hair billows around her like a golden halo as she spins
once, quickly. She tosses her head as she steps around,
then stands still, except for the beat moving in her
knees as she brings one arm, then the other over her
head. 'Divine glory...' She pulls her hands to
her breast and turns, smiling into the eyes on her. 'The
expression' draws her hand out to brush his cheek before
the force of the piano pulls her away and she falls, 'the
knees bow...' Her lips form silent words of love in
shy confession.
Her face is hidden as she kneels, hypnotized by the
liquid melody, her body in fluid communion with passion.
Suddenly, her hungry eyes look up and she surges to her
feet. She spins before her 'lord of lords', then
slows to a standing serpentine, weaving her hips to the
softer 'king of kings.'
She moves away again in a blended series of struts and
smooth turns. In the center of the room she stops, only
motion and melody to carry her like a wave in a sinewy
circle as the piano tide ebbs. Content with her offering,
she smiles.
-SMT 1998
* Man of Golden Words, Mother Love
Bone
------------------------
Melody
of Her Heart
The music began,
and it pleased her. She glanced at him across the room. It wasn't a
very large room. Her cheeks burned when she saw him catch her glance
and she looked away, knowing he was still watching. Conflicts
wrestled inside her. She wanted to dance; the music was wonderful.
She felt self-conscious with him watching; he was too close. She
stood and closed her eyes. Her back was to him.
He watched her
stand. She seemed to hesitate. He wondered why. The lights were low
in the small room. It made her seem larger than life when she moved.
He could touch her if she stood just a little closer. Her back was
straight. Defiant? He couldn't see her eyes to be sure. The music
was slow and haunting. She lifted her head. Upon her back, her hair
shifted with the motion, flickering threads of gold sliding
between her shoulder blades.
Her eyes were
closed as she let the music fill her, and take away everything else.
Her arms rose slowly, as if lifted upon the opening notes. It threaded
around her and she reached for it, weaving it through her arms and
legs in a tapestry of motion. She wanted to create something
beautiful, something worthy of the music, and of his eyes. She spun
slowly, the sinewy motion gradually turning her to face him. She met
his eyes and smiled.
He watched her
move with interest. The music was not his taste, but it suited her.
She didn't dance so much as she flowed, like a tide that ran
with the rise and fall of music instead of the moon. She held it in
her hands, and embraced it with her arms. He caught her smile. It
seemed to hold a deep pure joy. It was beautiful. Then it
was gone as she rode a wild note away from him. His hands dropped
into his lap. He hadn't realized that they'd risen, reaching for
her.
She let a
surge in the music carry her away from him. She rode it like wild
horses, giving it her fears in trade for the liberation of
her soul. With her back to him again, she accepted for a moment that
she was glad he was watching. She surrendered to the music and
wrapped its beauty around and within her arms, legs and hips. She
flung her arms wide open to it, and felt the place where she loved
him rise like dawn. She used it to let him watch. The fear was
gone, replaced by the melody where she could speak without words the
love, the sadness, the passion, hunger and joy, and she hoped, the
beauty of his place in her heart.
He watched her
flicker and flare, a flame in an ever-moving breeze. He saw her
speaking in a language so old he heard it with his soul and
interpreted it with his heart. He felt for a moment like an intruder
stumbling upon a prayer, and yet, he knew she wanted him to hear.
The words winding through her fingers were for him, and the hunger
in her hips matched his own. She bared her soul entwined in
music, and she was trusting him with it.
Her mind was
empty of words. There was only the music and the emotions it
revealed as it rose and fell within her, guiding her motions upon
its currents. It was a thing of beauty, an artist painting
loveliness upon the blank canvas of her body. She let it feed on her
joy and turn her rage into rapture. For him she let it flow pure and
naked, trusting that he would find the beauty in it. As the music
drew to a close, she stood before him, arms reaching out, eyes
intense. She waited.
He watched her
final arc burn with graceful fury around the little room. He
leaned forward in his seat while his heart hammered in his
chest. He was no longer sure if she was real. When her last step
ended before him, his eyes rose slowly along the lines of her body.
His hands lifted and he could feel the heat radiating off her
skin. Her eyes smoldered, raw and hopeful but unashamed. His hand
closed around her arm. She was real. More real than he'd ever really
known.
She closed her
eyes and sighed, stepping into his arms. Their warmth flowed around
her like music and her heart sang. He held her close against his
chest and felt the melody of her heart. He realized he suddenly knew
all the words to its song. He smiled into her hair.
©Sonja Torres
2004
------------------------
The Power
of Three
The music soared around them, sax, harmonica, guitar and drums. The
blues flowed like beer down from the rafters. She felt it all the
way to the tips of her toes. A pair of girls made their way to the
dance floor, not for the first time tonight. The men watched them,
eager but passive participants in the show, as the girls began to
move together, combining blues and sensuality in a sinewy smoldering
tease.
She watches them casually, appraising their moves. Not bad
she thinks, but she knows that when the mood is right, she’s better.
She glances at her companions. It’s girls’ night out and they’re
laughing together, but they’ve noticed the two girls also. One jokes
to her to go join them. “I don’t know them well enough” she replies
with a laugh. “But I think we can take them…”
The music continues, calling and tugging. She wants to answer. It
is one of those nights, and the mood is right. She feels
it in her hips and the pit of her stomach. She looks up at her
companions, about to ask, when she sees their heads together. Her
two friends rise together, grinning. Her smile joins theirs as she
follows them to the dance floor. It’s primal now. The earthy music
calls to the oldest, most basic instincts and needs. The three women
close ranks, swaying and flowing together, weaving the oldest of
spells. The first two keep grinding, but the power of three is
complete and compelling. The challenge was made, and answered. She
revels in her body’s answer to the music, but also in the sweet
kinship with her sisters. The competition is not with them, this
time. The men appreciate, but can never understand. They do not have
to have to, but it does matter that they are there. They don’t need
to know this, but the women hint at it, playing to them as they
laugh with each other, suffused with joy and the power of three.
©2007 Sonja Torres
*Dedicated to L & L, you know who you are!
|
