Naked
in the Dark
She
was dancing naked in the dark. Her hips moved with the beat of
the music in the red glow of the lights. Back arching, twisting,
she sank to the floor and the music pulsed inside of her. The
eyes consuming her were caught fish, twitching, transfixed. The
girl stretched a naked thigh along the floor and, like an ecstatic
penitent caught in the throes of a prayer, pounded the air with
fists and flying hair.
The
final beat of the music ended and the girl ran off the stage.
Silently, the man in the darkest corner picked up his coat, and
walked to the scratched door marked "Employees Only."
Hesitating for just a moment, he entered and found himself alone
with the naked girl. She was sitting at a mirror, staring at herself,
and her expression did not change as the door closed behind him.
He was looking at her silently when she startled him by turning
to face him. She let her father look at her. Tiredness filled
her eyes; her face was young under the makeup.
Suddenly,
the girl began to cry. He moved to her desperately and knelt at
her feet while she bent over clenched hands, sobbing. He tried
to touch one of her fists but she gasped and pulled it to her
chest, rocking back and forth through her tears. He heard her
whispering, very low, very quickly, "I’m sorry... I’m
sorry. I’m just so sorry. I—oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry."
The
man looked at her sadly. He said, very gently, "Please just
come home."
The
girl sucked in her breath and became still. With effort, she looked
in her father’s eyes and finally, in a steady, bruised voice,
she spoke.
"Listen.
When I dance, everything becomes real. And the men watching me
help make it real. There’s nothing but my body and I can’t
hide a thing. Dancing shows every bruise, every scar, everything
that’s wrong with me, you know?" She looked at him intently.
The man nodded slowly, but would not look at her.
"Please,"
he said humbly, "would you please cover yourself?"
The
girl looked down at herself and then at him again, somehow surprised.
He shifted awkwardly, but said nothing. After a moment, she picked
a crumpled dressing gown off the floor and wrapped it around herself.
"The thing is," she continued, "The dancing also
shows them everything that’s right about me. Everything hurts
less when I’m dancing because it’s all out there instead
of inside. And it’s like, for those few minutes, I’m
not faking anything." She looked away. "I know I’m
just a jack-off girl. They don’t understand—I’m
telling them my life. I got evicted, okay? I’m scared to
death. But when I’m dancing, it doesn't scare me quite so
badly." She licked her lips and looked at him.
"Go
on," he whispered.
Quietly,
she said, "I know I’m a bad woman for doing this. And
I know what everyone thinks." She looked at him seriously,
"I am sorry. So, so sorry. But I wish you could understand.
My life is tough, okay? And sometimes I feel so trapped and scared
and—don’t you get it? When I’m dancing naked on
stage, it’s the only time I’m ever free."
And
for a brief moment, the man really looked at his daughter, and
he thought he understood.
Christy
Meyer