Phaidra's Blues

Phaidra's Blues

 by Roya Sorooshian

Phaidra slammed the door to her room. A collage fell off the wall. She turned to her tape player, pressed play and cranked the volume to it's highest. Ani DiFranco's clashing vocals and guitar chords reverberated from the brightly colored walls and cieling. She took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her hands, letting the music wail for her. She slid a chair in front of the door, and went to her window. She slid the glass open, and carefully popped out the screen. She grabbed her hand-crocheted bag off of her bed and slightly akwardly jumped out of the window. The shades closed behind her with the slightest of rattling. Once outside, she relaxed. The moon was out large and yellow, casting an eery light over her. The neighborhood was dark, except for one orange streetlight glowing softly. She started walking, the hot tears on her cheeks freezing. The heated argument she'd had with her mother likewise cooled. She pushed it to the back of her mind, feeling slightly giddy as she realized her mother couldn't stop her. She walked for about 10 minutes till she reached a 7-11, dropped 35 cents into a payphone and dialed quickly, her fingers cold. "Hey Duff? It's Phaidra. Will you pick me up? The 7-11. Yeah. See ya." She hung up, and went inside the 7-11 to get warm. She saw Duff pull up in his small silver Rabbit, and went outside. Duff was wearing a white undershirt and tight jeans as usual. His leather jacket was slung across the passengers seat and the car was full of smoke. He leaned over and pushed the car open, flashing a smile as Phaidra climbed in.

 "You wanna dance?" Duff asked in his deep voice. Phaidra nodded, breathing
in the comforting smell of smoke and leather.
 "So what happened this time, Phaid?" Duff asked after a few minutes of
silence. Phaidra shrugged.
 "The usual pyscho-bitch act." She said, trying to distance her voice. "This
time, irony of ironies, it was about my lack of family values. I told her
that I must be a failure because I had no real parental figures to look up
to. Needless to say, she didn't like that." Duff barely nodded as he reached
for the radio. Phaidra sighed and reached to take Duff's cigarette from his
mouth. She inhaled, exhaled, and only then did Duff look over.
 "That's sexy," he said. 
 "What?" Phaidra asked, nearly choking.
 "The way you smoke." Duff replied, his attention going back to the dark
street. Phaidra blushed, and looked out the window. She always felt like
such a weird combination of little girl and woman wit him. He was three
years her senior, and she could remember watching him for years. She'd
watched him through his Fonzie obsession, when he bought a motorcycle, and
even after he'd given up the bike for practical purposes, when his love of
the fifties stayed. He'd only noticed her this year. He had been leaning
against his car, smoking, when she walked by. WIth a jerk of his head he'd
hailed her over, taken her hand and written on it 7 digits in blue ink.
 "Gimme a call," he'd said, and gone back to his cig. 
 "Thanks," Phaidra breathed, and blushed and stumbled her way home. She'd
gotten in trouble that night, her mother screaming when she saw the phone
number on her hand. She had scrubbed Phaidra's hand with steel wool. Phaidra
bit her lip trying not to cry. She'd already written Duff's number in her
journal though, and as soon as her mother let her go, she'd called Duff. He
said he'd pick her up in 10 minutes. He'd asked what happened to her hand,
called her mother a fucker, and gave Phaidra a cigarette. And so their
friendship grew.

He bought her things - candles, skirts, champagne. Every time her mother did something, Duff would show up at the 7-11 with a present. Phaidra could never understand why he paid her this much attention, although she was grateful.

 "Dancing?" Duff asked again, and Phaidra nodded. The rabitt (dubbed
"killer" in honor of Monty Python) pulled into the parking lot of a bank.
Duff tossed his jacket over Phaidra's shoulders for the 3 block walk. They
opened the door to a tall building and walked up a flight of dark stairs.
They could hear the music building as they walked higher. The second they
walked through the doors their eyes were met by swirling masses. The room
was dim, with red and purple roses projected on one wall. From wall to wall
there were couples charleston-ing and lindy hopping, twirling and spinning.
Phaidra took a deep breath, feeling happier by the second. One of Phaidra's
all consuming passions was dance. Swing dance, in particular. When she
danced, she felt like a part of something important. When the music filled
her from her head to her toes and inside and out, she was happy. Total.
Complete. She felt whole. She remembered dancing with her dad when she was
little, holding his fingers in her little fists while she stood on his feet
and he danced around the room. He loved jazz music, his favorite of all time
was Sarah Vaughn. He would pick her up in his arms and swing her when
Sassy's Blues came on. She learned early that she could make him happy by
scatting along. Those were here favorite memories. After that things changed
-- her dad met someone. A deep voiced singer at a jazz club, and he left.
Phaidra's mom became suspicious of everyone, and bitter. She forbade Phaidra
to see boys at all, and started staying home a lot. Jazz music wasn't
allowed in the house.

Phaidra was always surprised that she had fallen for Duff. Outwardly, he was a good old-fashioned American boy from the fifties, from the faded jeans to the comb in his black pocket. No one would ever accuse him of being a dancer he was more the kind that would pull up to a dance on his motorcycle and leave with half the girls. But this wasn't the fifties, and the way he stood out among the wannabe punk rockers and brainfried surfers made Phaidra's heart skip a beat. He had taken her here first, to this dance club, when he'd made her tell him about her father. He didn't know how to dance, but Phaidra loved teaching him. He wasn't afraid of her body like so many new dancers. He held her tightly and his smoke filled eyes watched her closely. The smell of his jacket reminded Phaidra so much of when her father would come home late from clubs and bars, his jacket smelling like a hundred people's different colognes and sweat. Whenever she was in a dance hall like this, the first thing she did was scan the room. She always saw dozens of men who could be her father the father she hadn't seen for seven years.

 Duff squeezed her hand, knowing what she was looking for. Phaidra looked at
him and shrugged. He pulled her out onto the floor. Duff must have been
practicing. Phaidra looked at him in surprise, and his eyes twinkled. "Come
on," he whispered in her ear. "Let's fly." Phaidra's heart and feet soared.
She loved this -- the music was so loud that no one talked much. Everyone
talked through their bodies, and the wide ecstatic smiles on their faces,
the sweat on their foreheads.
 This is God. Phaidra thought. This is life. This is how it's supposed to be
-- where all the mothers and fathers are happy in each others arms. Where
the music speaks the only language. Where eyes say eveything. Where time
means nothing.

And then as she flew in and out and around, she stopped thinking at all. As they left the building, Phaidra was gasping for breath and shining. Duff didn't say anything until they were driving away.

 "When you dance, your eyes turn a different color," he said, thoughtfully.
"What's it like Phaid? To be that blissed out and spacey? You're like...like
solid energy. Or light. Or music. And I want to hold you forever so I can
have a part of that." He pulled into the 7-11 parking lot and turned to look
at her. Phaidra's heart thumped. She had no idea what to say, so she undid
her seatbelt and started to open the door. He said her name and she turned
back. He kissed her. A kiss of purple roses and smoke and murky colors and
silver cars. A kiss of people flying in and out of each other, of red red
wine, leather jackets, and phone numbers scrawled on arms. He pulled away
and she got out of the car. Her mind was whirling faster than she'd ever
danced. "Hey," she heard his husky voice drawl behind her. She turned again.
"Gimme a call sometime," he said. He flashed a grin and pulled out of the
parking lot. Phaidra watched the small silver car out of sight, then turned
and started walking. Underneath her streetlight she stopped and did a quick
charlestone. She hummed Sassy's Blues under her breath, and smiling she
crawled in through her bedroom window.

wow roya...that is super cool...~Malia