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Hot and dry, high in my cloven heels,
this is how real love feels,
as we prance and die.
Oh my Lord, such a fancy fire.
As we dance.
You sure can dance.
dance, dance.
You I will never forget.
I hope you remember me later.
I'm swimming in a puddle of sweat,
I'm hot baby, don't burn your fingers.
I'm tenderly served on your plate,
the band must continue to play,
so we can dance.
I love to dance.
Baby, dance with me.
Yeah I can dance.
Your love is to dance.
Now dance me home.
*****
Slow Dance in Time
This sallow-faced creature with the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes bruised with unnatural tiredness could not be her vivacious Aunt Caroline. Only a year ago her aunt had run the New York Marathon, power walked to her job as an editor at the Greener World Magazine, and had proclaimed Sunday, not a day of rest, but ‘Rock Climbing Sunday’.
But like a blood-sucking vampire that enjoyed playing with its food, cancer had stalked Aunt Caroline and now taken her hostage, drawing her life source out of her day by day.
“You sure you’re going to be OK?” Avery asked for the fiftieth time as she tucked her aunt into bed. She put her meds beside her and made sure her favourite book was on her bedside cabinet along with her reading glasses, a glass of water, her cell in case she needed Avery, and the remote to the ancient mini television that sat in the corner of the room.
Aunt Caroline smiled wearily and made a shooing away gesture. “I told you, today is a good day. Will you please just go? Your friends are waiting for you.”
Ignoring the knot of anxiety in her chest, Avery pressed a light kiss to her aunt’s cheek and made her way quickly out of the apartment before she changed her mind. She had gone through this every month since her aunt’s diagnosis. But it stopped her aunt from feeling unnecessary guilt, and truth be told Avery needed the break sometimes.
“There you are.” Sarah grinned at her, throwing an arm around her as she stepped out of the apartment building. Jemima winked at her and stubbed out her cigarette with the toe of her six inch yellow heels. At five ten with dark chocolate skin, unusual hazel eyes and a figure to die for, Jemima belonged to the world of modelling in New York City. She smoked because she swore it kept her skinny, but knowing how much Avery hated it (and everyone was taking it easy with Avery these days) she tried not to smoke around her.
“How you doin’, girl?” Jemima asked, rubbing a hand up and down her arm affectionately.
Despite perks such as Jemima not smoking in front of her, this is what Avery hated: everyone treating her differently because her aunt was dying. It had happened when she lost her parents and it was happening again. She forced a smile. “I’m all dressed up and ready to party.”
“You don’t say.” Sarah took a step back from her, her little sequined clutch purse winking in the cast of the street lights. “Josh is going to blow a gasket when he sees you in this get up.”
