REID KURKEREWICZ

Dancing

Hank and Lily danced without me. I played some tune on my synth, hit the loop button and turned the volume down. They danced lazy, watching themselves in mirrors.

"Lily, why don't you ever do my makeup," I whined.

I swallowed my gin and tonic and ate some crap. Lily sat down and made me pick colors. She hadn't finished slathering sparkles all over her face and sloshed her drink.

I picked the colors Hank did, hoping he'd notice.

"Those are Hank's colors," Lily said.

"You'll look like such a baby gay," Hank said.

He addressed Lily officially. "Make the lines in his face run with red. Violence is necessary."

Hank fell beside me. Seeing his lanky body slump, I let my body sink to the floor too.

"You guys mind if I talk about work?" I said. "I've been thinking how I'm paid for the appearance of attention, instead of, like, work. But since I look like shit in khaki I don't have confidence to provide excellent customer service."

"Oh yeah. I got caught smoking a spliff," Hank said. Lily gawked.

"No way. What happened?" she demanded.

"Nothing. Who wouldn't wanna get high busting ice off tractors? Cleaning heavy machinery is not operating heavy machinery."

Hank wrung his blisters together. My piano callouses tingled and I drummed my knee.

"He said it wasn't his choice but to fire me. Said some allegedly existing state inspectors can't catch stoners on payroll. This bitch doesn't have half his staff on payroll. I bet he changed his mind when he realized I'm irreplaceable. I'm the closest thing to a girl he's ever hired."

Lily smashed her brush into my cheekbones, focusing on Hank's story. I wondered if Lily paid any attention to me.

"That's so fucked," I said. "You should have his job."

"Don't talk!" Lily yelled.

"You'd look good in pigtails," Hank said.

I felt myself blush. Hank looked sexy. His skintight top pressed into his abdomen. His bald head sparkled.

Lily yanked my head back and weaved my hair.

"Who cares if a barista gets stoned?" I said. "The worst I can do is recycle compost."

"People need coffee. And your cleaning protects the immune-compromised," Hank said.

I wanted to ask why can't I just bitch, but turned back to my synth. The song grew unbearable so I added a new melody. It sounded ok, so I stood to refresh my drink.

"Should I go hog wild and mix a lavender gin and tonic?" I yelled.

"Lavender is a waste of water. Hank should've left it at the farm," Lily said.

"Lavender is an anti-septic," Hank said, hurt, "And they're studying it as an anti-depressant."

"Who's they?" Lily demanded.

"Sounds like a built-in hangover cure," I said.

The damn bottle was crystallized with sugar. I pressed myself into it to crackle it open. It made my gin taste like grass.

"Don't you think growing a color is cute?" I asked. "Everything I ate today will be burned as fuel anyway."

The song bored me again so I sat beneath Lily again and added a click-track drum beat.

"I'm so jealous of the bags under your eyes," Lily said. She pulled on my oily blobs. I must have looked absurd. Her fingers hurt, and my eyes dried out. I lost my image of her.

My vision returned and Lily held out a mirror. It revealed the usual disappointment. My face was unworkable even if Lily tried. My arms might be attractive on someone else's body.

"Please stop moping," Hank said, yanking me up. We fell into a dance.

"Got to warm up if you're gonna have fun," he said, spinning me around.

I let myself feel what Hank wanted. It felt like I was better at being dizzy.

Lily reminded us the news had said not to go outside. It had rained the day before and the city froze into a deathtrap. Our outfits disappeared under our greatcoats. We looked like every other schlub out bracing against the wind.

Hank linked arms with Lily and I, and we slipped and fell across the ice together. Wind stung our eyes, but we giggled.

The only people we saw that night lined up outside the bar. Bouncers sometimes gave Hank crap, but the guy and Hank knew each other and kissed.

The warm air and blasting subwoofers crossed everything else out. The music beat a steady line through my head. The ballroom wobbled with bodies crashing up against a wall of others at the bar. Grizzled sadomasochists danced with shiny neon queers. Other little twinks, probably only recently released downtown, sat, awkward but smiling, shiny in the booths. Hank jammed the flow towards the bathroom hugging so many friends. I remembered one from being dragged through the House to Hank's lair. The boy hugged me too, but I forgot his name. He smiled as if I was Hank's next lucky muse. I wanted to dance with the boy to see if Hank would see.

The bathroom door had a sign of a nuclear family bedazzled with jewels. We cramped together inside. Hank pissed and squatted on the toilet while Lily preened herself. I called her beautiful, but she ignored me.

"Did you remember it?" she asked. I hated that she had to ask. If Hank weren't here I'd say something nasty.

I fished in my pocket for the ketamine. My throat clenched and I felt like I'd start to cry if I couldn't find the ketamine. If I couldn't find it there'd be no point in going out. I fingered my pockets secretly, but Hank hates secrets and had to ask.

"I won't dance without being high," I said.

"Fuck off," Hank said. "We'll get you drunk. Don't mope. When you mope I mope."

Hank jumped at me and I flinched, but he just put a soft hand on my cheek. It felt warm and hard.

"I don't deserve to live if I can't even do simple tasks," I said, smirking.

Hank must've meant to slap me, but he slipped and his fist bulleted my gut. It was an accident. I held my stomach like it would fall out. A concoction of gin and lavender boiled inside me.

"Don't say that shit," Hank said.

Lily cackled, I thought at me. But she pointed to the baggie in the puddle Hank slipped in. I bent below Hank to pick it up, ignoring the beginning of a bruise. Hank didn't mean to hurt me. It was a touch.

"It doesn't hurt, right?" Hank said.

I smiled.

"I didn't mean to hit you hard. Did I hit you hard? I shouldn't have hit you."

I couldn't breathe and it was hard to talk. I nodded.

"And I just can't stand the negativity. It's hard to love someone who thinks they're unlovable."

Hank punched me because I'm hard to love, I realized. I would have to become more lovable.

"It doesn't hurt," I said. I spoke in short sentences so I could breathe. Hank had taken my breath.

I tapped out little white lines on my pocket mirror. Hank told me to take the first hit. It stung the inside of my face. My friends snorted the powder too, and I could see up their noses in the mirror. Hank didn't mean to hit me. Lily didn't mean to laugh. My emotions would flatten out if I forgave Hank and I did.

We pushed out of the bathroom and into the bodies. Sequenced lights revealed the crowd coasting and bobbing. I recognized some faces floating toward me. Hank dragged Lily forward and I lost them. When I pushed through to the bar I couldn't see them in any direction.

I looked around at all the bodies and saw no one I wanted to touch. A man I don't remember and don't want to bought me drinks. He sucked at dancing, so I left him.

I danced best when they came to me. I never let my arms above my forehead because I looked frail that way. You must distract people from what's limp about your body and you can't ever let only one movement shine. You must let your limbs work together and fall into harmony with space.

Every inch of me loved Hank again. All the world was freed from usefulness. Even my enemies loved me.

I laid my head on the patio window. Ice melted down the glass towards the heater. It looked like a river in spring, floating down to nothing.

I had a hard time feeling anything. I asked myself what was up and got no response. I let my brain cool. Half-formed thoughts trickled by.

I watched shadows dancing outside. They two-stepped and swung each other around. A few dancers trickled out to join them. I help the door open.

I watched the silhouettes become my friends through my glass reflection. My makeup ran in creeks. I looked like a whore.

I walked outside and saw little rose dots poking up from Hank and Lily's cheeks. My friends were cold. I launched across the ice, slammed into other dancers on the way to my friends.

I stopped myself on Lily's cheeks. She smiled sweetly. I rubbed her face up to its usual ruddiness.

"Now me," Hank yelled. I felt his skull. It felt so good to touch him.

Lily and Hank massaged my cheeks together. Their thumbs carved into my cheekbones. I hummed, slackened, and slipped. I caught myself on them and made them come with for drinks.

I was too drunk to remember the walk home.

I woke up staring at Hank's zodiac tapestry. I thought about how Hank thinks he's guided by moons and planets. The world just never locked into place like that for me.

I pretended to sleep and watched Hank prepare for his bike ride to the farm. When he slammed the door, I fell back asleep.

In the morning, I brewed coffee and fried eggs for Lily and me. She ran around freaking out, ignoring me. She could be a baby about hangovers but mine was bad too. I shook like a broken motor. She complained at the idea of food at first but forced it down.

After she left I sat alone at the table. Make-up, drinks and crumbs were all we had left of last night. I pressed play on my synth to see if my song was any good. My head bleated at the noise, and I deleted it.

Stepping into the sun felt so good I thought maybe I could survive the day. I couldn't look at the snow. Buses farted and masked bikers bounded in and out of traffic with huge snow tires. I hid deeper in my scarf and made fists in my pockets.

I unlocked the café door five minutes late. A regular waited outside stomping around for warmth.

He had the strength to smile. I gave him his latte and was glad he didn't try to talk.

In the bathroom I gripped the sink, willing myself away. My face was hazy in the water-stained mirror. I looked so ugly. Last night's make-up made me look dead.

Hank texted me, "Just puked in the compost, lol."

I don't know what he wanted me to say.

I kept scrolling and read that two homeless men had died in the cold. Their bodies were found in the morning at opposite ends of the city.

I gripped my stomach, brushing Hank's bruise. It hurt so badly.

When I vomit my brain plays along. The worst things I can think of come with the bile. I thought of Hank puking, and puked.

Back at the espresso machine, I made myself a lavender latte. The caffeine did nothing to the knots in my head.

I plugged my phone into the café's speakers. The music filled my stomach. My fingers danced the rhythms beneath the register for hours. I would go out again that night.

Reid Kurkerewicz is a writer in Madison, Wisconsin with work appearing in the Adroit Journal, Tone Madison, Isthmus, sea foam mag, and Mikrokosmos.