Chageet's Electric Dance Read online

  Rage enveloped her. Everything was happening so fast. She fumbled for the can of pepper spray in her fanny pack. Her hands were shaking excessively and her breathing was heavy and rapid. But, once she got a semi-steady grip on the can, she pointed it at the boys. “Stop!” she cried out finally, her voice scratchy and hardly audible through the woman’s screams and the child’s cries.

  The guys didn’t appear to notice her. The blonde guy unzipped his jeans and shoved his hand under the woman’s dress. She moved violently and he was unable to get a firm grip on her.

  Barbey felt strangled by her own breath. It occurred to her that the pepper spray may have dried out from lack of use. If she moved in closer to the men to get a more proficient aim, they could easily abduct her as well and even more so if the can rendered defective. These thoughts escalated her anxiety causing her hands to sweat profusely. In turn, she began to lose her grip on the can.

  Luckily, she had an idea—she tried to calm her nerves by pretending she was the TV character, Jill Munroe, played by Farrah Faucet on Charlie’s Angels, stopping a horrific crime. Barbey had played the role hundreds of times standing before the mirror in her bedroom. With this thought, suddenly her demeanor changed, “I’ll burn your eyes out with acid!” she warned. Her voice was stern and confident.

  The guys looked up in surprise, eyes wide, filled with the violent energy of their passions. The little girl started to scream uncontrollably from across the alley where she stood. Barbey noticed her arm was broken and bent backward in the shape of a U. It was a horrific sight. The blonde guy got off the ground, smirking as he walked toward Barbey.

  Barbey pressed the button on the can, but he wasn’t close enough to suffer the effects of the debilitating liquid. “Let the woman go!” she demanded, her long legs spread squarely in fighter’s stance, arms out straight before her. Her violet eyes switched back and forth from the blonde guy to the black guy in icy determination.

  The blonde guy swiftly reached for the can, but as he was in motion, she managed to mist his eyes slightly. In his accelerated rage, he flinched for a moment, yet grabbed Barbey by the wrists and expeditiously knocked the pepper spray to the ground.

  She was bewildered by his great strength. Never before had she experienced a physical confrontation with a man.

  He punched her in the gut and then in the face.

  It hurt terribly. Such agony.

  Her mind filled with the kind of unexpected terror, shock, and pain of a naive girl who misunderstood the overwhelming strength and force of the male race. Somebody help me—please, she thought as she struggled desperately for her life. The scenery swirled before her eyes.

  Just then, a dark haired teenage boy with a yarmulke on his head ran down the stairs of a nearby building. At once, he rushed over to them and pointed a gun at the blonde guy. “Let her go or I’ll shoot,” he commanded.

  The blonde guy was consumed with rage as he tried to overpower the relentless, struggling girl and appeared oblivious to his pursuer.

  His friend took notice though. The black guy released the Mexican woman and pulled up his zipper. He had a look of utter terror in his eyes as perspiration trickled down his face. In a rush, he ran away, out of the alley.

  Without further hesitation, the boy shot the blonde in the foot. It was a loud bang that deafened the ears. A scream of horror sounded through the alley. The agonizing wail overlapped in echoes as the blonde guy dropped Barbey to the street at once and keeled over.

  “Get out of here…” the boy said sternly, “…or I’ll kill you this time.”

  He threw his hands in the air and said in a strained, panting voice, “Hey, hey, hey we were just messing around. Let me go. We won’t bother you.” Blood poured from his shattered foot.

  “I said go.”

  Looking around quickly, perhaps searching for his friend, he limped away at once, stumbling down the alley, falling over and dragging his leg. He managed to drag himself down another side street.

  Holding her torn dress together, the woman got up off the ground. Her daughter was whimpering and hugging her leg with her good arm. The woman spoke quickly in Spanish with the boy and hurried away with her child.

  Frightened, Barbey jumped to her feet. Her lip gushed blood and her nose was broken. She backed away from the boy, wide-eyed, panting heavily. “What happened to the woman and her daughter?” she managed to choke out of her raw throat.

  The boy brushed his hair out of his blue eyes. He was exotically handsome and reserved with an air of mystique. “She ask me to not call police. She say it bring shame for family. She not want my help.” He looked at Barbey fixedly for a moment. “You are hurt,” he said. He spoke in a Mexican accent. His voice was now soft and rhythmic. “I will help you—bezrat Hashem.”

  At that moment, he closed his eyes for some time. Confused, she wondered what he was doing. It occurred to her that maybe she should run away. His serene behavior was so odd. But, she was surprisingly drawn to him.

  Then she noticed his dressy attire. He was clad in black dress pants and a white dress shirt. She wasn’t used to seeing teenage boys dressed this formally. Maybe he was returning from a formal event or maybe he was some sort of Mexican royalty. The thoughts caused her to laugh as she imagined him to be Prince Charming.

  With his eyes still shut, he seemed entirely in his own world, as if he had entered some other dimension she was not privy to. He reminded her of spiritual leaders she had seen on television who entered meditative states, levitating their bodies, walking on water, turning staffs into snakes.

  Then, at once, light exuded from his body.

  Barbey blinked, unsure of this vision before her eyes.

  The blood stopped rushing from her lip. Her nose swelled, took shape and then healed entirely. It was as if the natural healing process occurred in speed time.

  He opened his eyes serenely. “Baruch Hashem—you good now.” he whispered this melodically, the words sounding like a heavenly lullaby in Barbey’s mind.

  Barbey felt uncontrollably drawn to this boy. It was like they were two halves of the same soul. She was utterly confused, utterly drawn to him, and utterly on fire.

  Suddenly, a woman wearing a head covering stuck her head out of an apartment window facing the alley. She yelled angrily in Spanish at the mysterious boy. Then, Barbey heard the pattering sounds of her feet rushing down the enclosed stairwell.

  She hurried over to the boy and grabbed him by the cheek as she continued to reprimand him in Spanish.

  He blushed as he tried to pacify the woman in his gentle voice.

  She looked at Barbey, smiled faintly, and then pulled the boy away.

  Just then Mama drove into the alley, waving animatedly at Barbey from inside her Mercedes Benz. Barbey felt healthy and light, completely rejuvenated. Her nose wasn’t broken anymore. She wasn’t bleeding. Her body was in perfect working order. When she turned back to thank the mysterious boy for saving her, he was gone.

  2

  The high granite mountains etched in horse and all-terrain vehicle trails formed a jagged box around El Cajon Valley. As the sun blared down overhead, the hot June wind blew dust up from the dirt valleys along the sides of the roads through the brush, up through the dry swaying palm trees, and over the rooftops of the randomly dispersed ranch houses set on one to two acre plots with riding rings, old barns, and swimming pools.

  Deeper within the valley, past the track homes, past apartment row, and past the strip mall sat El Cajon High School, blue and yellow flags blowing in the wind. In front of the parking lot, upon a huge marquis that read: “Janet Jackson MTV Video Tryouts—main auditorium,” a bronze alma mater eagle with a piercing, ominous gaze perched with its claws and wings spread as if preparing to swoop down upon an unsuspecting victim.

  School just let out for summer last week. Next year Barbey would be a sophmore. Off to the side of the picnic tables on the lawn, Barbey hung out with Sage Richards wasting time until it was her turn to try out for the Ja
net Jackson video.

  She wanted to make it so bad. Last year the school hosted tryouts for a Madonna music video, but she didn’t make it likely because she tripped over her feet and fell on her face during a pirouette. She also didn’t make it as a Mouseketeer last summer when she auditioned in Hollywood for the Mickey Mouse Club. That time she forgot her routine and ran off the stage in embarrassment. Around Christmas time, she almost got a part in an AFU student music video, but they said her nose was too big and they wanted a blonde with bigger breasts who could shake her hips faster.

  But now she was determined to win. She had been practicing every day, making up the perfect audition routine and taking dance classes every day to hone her skills. If only she could get chosen as a dancer in Janet’s upcoming video, then she could call herself a professional dancer. She would be on TV! And she could feel that amazing rush she lived for—that euphoric feeling that comes from winning and recognition. Oh, please, please, please!

  She would be competing against girls of all ages. Many of those girls were from her dance studio and other dance studios in San Diego. Only one girl would be chosen and she yearned for that to be her. With all her heart and all her soul she wanted to be a star—somehow, someway.

  It was a hot sunny day. She noticed the grass and bushes looked very green and lush especially compared to the dull gray and dry, cracked cement of the quad where some of the cheerleaders and football players stood around in clusters gossiping as they waited for pre-season summer practice to start.

  Barbey had an odd feeling that someone was staring at her as she fanned her face with the back of her program to cool off, but when she looked around the quad, she didn’t see anyone even seeming to notice her. It was a creepy feeling. Hot chills ran up her spine.

  “I’m sure that boy that saved you in Tijuana didn’t heal you with his mind, Barbey!” Sage was a plain, yet pretty girl with shoulder-length, straight book-brown hair, big brown eyes, and a small button nose. And she was usually kind, considerate, and philanthropic enough to snap Barbey’s rubber head back in the neck socket whenever it happened to pop out. “That’s just crazy to think that.”

  “I know it sounds wacky, but I was, like, beat up so badly and after he closed his eyes, my body healed up miraculously. I felt it happening. In fact, I felt completely euphoric. It was, like, so amazing.”

  Sage laughed. “You come up with the funniest ideas. I’m sure you just imagined that your nose was broken and your lip was split.”

  “The blood was still on my face and neck when I got in the car, Sage. But, there wasn’t a scratch on me.”

  “The blonde guy who attacked you probably bled on you. Maybe the Mexican woman scratched him when they were struggling and his blood got on you when he grabbed you.”

  Barbey frowned as she wiped perspiration off of her heavily made up face. “Yeah, well, it didn’t seem like that.”

  “Look, don’t think about it anymore. It’s best if you just move on. You should just be happy that a tall, dark, and handsome guy saved you! Only you get that lucky.”

  “He was cute,” Barbey tried to hide her embarrassment. I wish he would have asked me out.”

  “Oh, brother—that would be real suave to ask the victim out right after you save her,” Sage smiled. “Oops. I almost forgot. I brought your favorite drink.” Sage handed Barbey a bottle of diet raspberry iced tea.

  “Thanks, Sage.” Her shoulders slumped, dissatisfied with the conclusion of their conversation. “I brought you some Swiss chocolate Mama brought home from her travels in Switzerland.”

  “She and your dad are back now?”

  “At least they’re home for this week.”

  Just then an attractive blonde guy in dark sunglasses and a fashionable suit and tie, appearing to be slightly older than them walked up. He seemed oddly familiar to Barbey, but she couldn’t place where she had seen him. He spoke in a whisper, straining his throat as if he had trouble speaking. “Hello, girls.”

  Barbey jutted their chin back, acting slightly indignant that this guy was interrupting them, though internally she was excited by the attention.

  “I’m a talent scout, looking for models to represent at my agency. I have connections with Vogue and Cosmopolitan.”

  Barbey’s eyes lit up. “You look young. Do you go to school here?”

  “No. I already graduated, but I was given permission to look around campus to see if I could find any girls who have potential as supermodels.” He handed Sage his business card. “My name is John Prince.” He held out his hand first to Sage and then to Barbey.

  “I don’t like modeling,” Sage said in a slightly irritated voice, wondering why he was interested in her when stunning perfection was sitting beside her.

  “That’s too bad because you were the girl I had in mind. You have striking, dark features.”

  Sage scoffed, knowing her fleshy face was far from striking.

  “I like modeling,” Barbey interrupted with a big smile. Maybe this was her big chance. Maybe she could become a famous supermodel. That would be the ultimate thrill!

  “Well, you’re not really what we’re looking for at this time.” He started to turn as if he was about to leave.

  Surprised that someone would perceive Sage as more attractive than her, intrigued her sensibilities. Sage had never even had plastic surgery.

  “I’ve already done a little modeling actually and I acted in a TV commercial recently,” she said slightly indignant as she ran her fingers through her blonde hair seductively.

  “Hmm.” He turned back to her, rocking on his back foot giving the impression that he wasn’t particularly interested. “I see that you have potential if we fine tune your look—give you a little more edge. You’re too cookie cutter right now.” He stared at her a moment fixedly. “I’ll talk with my team, but first give me your telephone number and maybe we can set up a photo shoot. We can’t do anything without a spreadsheet.”

  A sudden hot wind blew through Barbey’s hair as she quickly scribbled her name on a piece of paper and handed it to him. Oh, I just want to be famous so I can feel bliss!

  ****

  Beyond the school quad, past the rows of book lockers and the snack bar, music from Janet Jackson’s hit song, “Control,” vibrated out from the walls of the school auditorium slightly muted by the loud thrashing from some oak trees blowing in the sweltering wind.

  Barbey was standing under the trees upon a small wooden deck which was set up against the auditorium’s backstage door. It was procedure for the dancers to wait upon the deck ten minutes before they were called onto the stage to perform. She was waiting for her turn to perform her solo jazz dance routine that she made up before an audience and a panel of judges. Lots of dancers from her studio would be in the audience and it would be a thrill to dance in front of everybody, especially if she did a good job. Then lots of people would talk about her and think she was great. If only she didn’t mess up, fall over, or do something stupid this time and ruin her chance. She was so nervous.

  The heat and her nerves were causing her to sweat as she chanted the choreographed combinations of her routine out loud over and over again like a windup toy doing what it’s programmed to do. All the while, an uncontrollable itch overwhelmed her—the silver sequins of her bodysuit rubbed against the scars on her breasts that were still healing from her recent implants.

  Desperate for relief, yet afraid someone might perceive her as crude for scratching beneath her clothes in public, she quickly glanced through the quad checking for onlookers. To her relief nobody was around.

  Without hesitation, she proceeded to thread her hand through the side of her dance costume, scratching around her nipples where the irritation was the strongest. This only provided partial relief though because she felt as if she itched all over—especially on her face and head which she had assiduously made up to look glamorous for her performance.