Opening Pages of SOUL DANCING by Gail Priest
2015, Philadelphia, PA
Chapter One
SHIRLENE
Next to me, a familiar voice snaps, “She’s moaning again. Please do something.”
Someone holds my hand against a scratchy face. It must be Stan. Why hasn’t he shaved?
“Don’t worry, Shirlene,” he whispers to me.
The deep burning in my chest intensifies. I groan.
Then he barks, “She’s in pain, damn it!” As always, my husband is polite until the pressure builds up, and then he blows his stack.
The panic in Stan’s voice forces me to focus. This isn’t good for his heart. I want to reassure him, but I can’t make my mouth form words. I open my eyes to a blurry environment and glimpse someone fussing with a pole and plastic bag over my left shoulder, but my head refuses to turn fully. I try to sit up.
“Hold on, Shirlene.” Stan gently presses me down. “The pain will subside now.”
Warmth travels up my left arm. I need to ask Stan if he has taken his blood pressure medicine, but with the warmth comes a shadow, like clouds traveling across the moon. The need to get answers slips away, and my eyelids become heavy.
“She’ll be calmer now, Mr. Foster. I’m sorry. That won’t happen again,” a young woman’s voice murmurs.
“See that it doesn’t.”
“I apologize.”
My Stan sighs. “No, I’m sorry I lost my temper. How am I going to live without her?”
“I understand, Mr. Foster.”
“I’ve loved her since World War II. I bet someone as young as you can’t imagine that.”
“It’s romantic you’ve been together so long. I’ll be back to check on her again soon.”
After the gentle whoosh of the door opening and closing, the room becomes still.
Stan kisses the back of my right hand. “It’s time, Shirlene. I won’t be long behind you. It’s okay to let go.”
Although Stan firmly holds my hand, nothing prevents me from detaching from his grasp and from my entire body. I float up. While hovering near the ceiling, I see myself below, eyes closed and face relaxed. I’m covered with the double-wedding-ring quilt my mother made for us back in 1945. Over the years, the pastel colors of the interlocking rings and corner diamonds have faded. On a table next to the bed is a picture from our sixty-fifth wedding anniversary. I was well back then. We are both dressed up and smiling broadly.
This hospital room is not the same one where my doctor told us there was nothing more he could do. Oh, I remember. He said, “I’m sorry, but it’s time for hospice.”
My Stan lowers his head of white hair onto his arms on the side of my bed. His shoulders shake. He’s crying. I wasn’t supposed to go first. Who will take care of him?
I begin to panic when a fierce energy drags me through the ceiling. I don’t want to leave him, but the more I resist it, the stronger the pull becomes. I’m swept into a brightly lit tunnel. The light is so intense that I can’t open my eyes without shielding them with my hands. I separate my fingers and glimpse the silhouette of a small figure several feet away. Sensing it’s the person I most long to see, I keep watching, unable to wait for my vision to adjust. My eyes sting as I blink against the glare. The little boy I know better than anyone exists in the glow. When I attempt to call out to him, a sob escapes my throat. Weeping, I stumble toward him. I would like to kiss his ruddy cheeks, to ruffle his auburn hair.
“Danny.”
“Don’t cry, Mommy. Everything will be all right now.”
“Is it really you?”
“Yes, Mommy. Come with me.” He holds out his hand for me to take.
My eyes begin to adapt to the light. He still appears to be four years old, but he speaks as an older child, a wiser spirit. The last time I stroked his soft skin, he lay dead in my arms. And now he stands before me. I ache to bundle him up in my arms, to inhale his little-boy aroma. Behind me, Stan sobs my name. He is leaning over my body at the other end of the tunnel. I want to stay with my boy, but Stan needs me. My heart is being ripped in two.
My voice breaks. “Daddy needs me a while longer.”
“But your old body won’t work.” A pond appears at our feet. “Look at yourself now, Mommy.”
I peer at the liquid reflection. My strawberry blonde hair flows around my shoulders. All the wrinkles are gone. I smile at myself with perfect white teeth.
His small hand slips into my palm. For sixty-four years and ten months, I’ve never stopped yearning for the feel of his hand in mine. My fingers curl over his warm flesh.
I kneel next to him and gaze into his sweet hazel eyes. “I wish I had died instead of you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” My little boy wipes a tear from my cheek. “It was my time, but now it’s yours.”
Again, Stan cries, “Shirlene.”
I peer through the tunnel and watch him caressing my face. He kisses my lips. He’s ninety-three with a failing heart. How will he manage? I’m torn between the two people I love most in the world, but my beautiful son is safe. He’s guarded by angels.
“I have to take care of your daddy. We’ll both come to you. Soon.”
“Your old body is gone, Mommy. You can’t go back to it.”
“But your father can’t cope without me. I don’t want to leave you, but I must.” I release Danny’s hand.
The first time I was separated from my boy, it wasn’t my choice. This time, it is, but it’s just as agonizing. My chest is splitting apart as the tunnel spirals out of control. I’m still being yanked toward the light.
“No!” I shout. I float up and start swimming urgently away from the light and my son.
“But your body is dead, Mommy!” Danny shouts from a long distance away.
Once I break free of the energy carrying me to the light, a vacuum sucks me through the vortex. The bright light fades. I lose control as I spin like a wash cycle. Blurred images whirl about me, making it impossible to focus on any one thing. I squeeze my eyes closed to avoid vomiting.
The movement abruptly stops. Everything becomes still, and I blink my eyes open. I gasp to find myself hovering above my body and Stan in hospice. A force prevents me from returning to my old body, which is cold and solid. I can’t penetrate it.
I cry out, “Stan!”
He glances up, but his confused expression makes it clear that although he may sense me, he doesn’t see me.
The energy sucks me through the ceiling again. Determined to stay with Stan, I fight against the bright light. This decision returns me to the swirling vortex. I close my eyes to fight the recurring nausea.
Reverberations pound in my head until an unfamiliar female voice whispers in my ear, “Take care of her.”
The sickening whirling stops. Intense pain returns, but it’s different.
“We have a heartbeat!” a woman shouts.
“It’s crowning,” a different lady says. “Come on, Rain. Now that you’re back, work with us.”
Damn—it feels as if my insides are being squeezed against my pelvis in a nightmarish scenario. I have the urge to push.
“That’s it, Rain. Keep pushing,” the woman demands. “Can she hear me?”
I feel pure agony. I keep my eyes closed, bear down, and scream.
“She hears me. I have the head.”
Panting, I can’t inhale enough air into my lungs.
“Try to take deeper breaths, Rain. And push again.”
The pain intensifies. I push, grunting.
“Here we go. Shoulders are out. And torso and legs.”
A baby cries. Something warm, wet, and squirming is plopped onto my chest.
“Open your eyes and say hello to your lovely daughter.” It’s a male voice, deep and gentle.
I take in the tiny infant covered with blood and amniotic fluid and wrap my arms around her. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. When Danny was born, the nurse immediately whisked him away. I touch the soft, round line of the newborn’s cheek. I must be dreaming. A tiny bubble comes out of her kiss-shaped lips. She furrows her brow.
“Do you have gas, sweetheart?” I whisper.
People laugh, which reminds me I’m not alone with this precious creature. There are medical personnel in my dream, women in scrubs and masks, going about their jobs. A small blanket is positioned over the baby. A hat is slipped over the top of her head.
“Rain, give another push. Hopefully, the afterbirth will be easier,” the woman standing below my legs says.
Why does the doctor keep calling me this odd name? I’m so preoccupied with the tiny infant that the contraction delivering the placenta feels like nothing more than horrible cramps. The doctor continues taking care of me below the sheet propped up on my knees.
Another person steps into my view. He’s young, with black hair and a light-bronze complexion. Perhaps he’s Polynesian. He must have been the one who told me to open my eyes. He touches the baby’s tiny blanket-covered back and beams. His hand is giant in comparison to the child.
The baby starts rooting around toward one of my nipples, only these firm breasts aren’t mine—the nipples are lighter in color. But that’s how dreams are.
“She’s hungry.” I move her to help her latch on.
The man steps back. “You don’t plan to nurse, Rain, so don’t let her do that now,” he says without judgment in his tone.
Who is this guy? I cover myself with the blanket. I wish he’d go away and let me enjoy this dream.
One of the nurses touches my arm. “Some new mothers change their minds about breastfeeding once the baby arrives. It’s instinctual for them.”
I can’t take my eyes off this precious peanut getting her fill, but as I support her head with my hand, I notice my fingers are larger and long. The knuckles are no longer gnarled with arthritis. I shift the baby and brush a strand of long blond hair out of the way. My hair is blond? The doctor lowers the sheet over my legs, which also seem longer, and steps out the door with one of the nurses.
The baby finishes feeding. I gently lift her to my shoulder to burp her. A tiny sound comes out of the infant.
“Is it okay if I wash and wrap her up now?” another nurse asks. “I promise to bring her right back.”
I reluctantly let go. Without the newborn to distract me, my heart races. Things are appearing more real.
The young man sits on the edge of the bed. “We thought we were losing you. The doctor said your heart stopped. They had me step away while they worked on you. Then you were suddenly okay.”
I am unable to look at his face. I need to hide the panic building in my chest. What has happened to me? Where am I? Who am I? I shiver.
I vaguely hear the man ask, “Are you all right?”
My teeth chatter.
“Nurse?” He rises from the bed.
This isn’t my body. Old or young, I’m no longer me. The nurse places a warm blanket over me. The man reaches to adjust the blanket.
“Don’t touch me!”
He opens his mouth to speak.
“Please, get out,” I say firmly.
Surprise registers in his eyes, followed quickly by disappointment.
The nurse places the baby, now cocooned in a tight wrapper, in my arms. Guilt, horror, and sadness grip my heart. For an instant, I see the reflection of my son in the window.
I hug my tiny girl close to my chest. “Danny,” I whisper.
The man hesitates a moment longer before leaving the room.
I read my hospital bracelet. Rain DeLuca. Born twenty years ago on May 1. Not that I expected to find my own identification on my wristband. Still, the truth is difficult to face. I am in someone else’s body.
***
Cut Scene from SOUL DANCING
CAMERON
It’s a perfect beach day with low humidity. While Shirlene attends an AA meeting a few blocks away at St. Edmonds, Hattie and I take the baby in her stroller and walk up the boardwalk to the center of town.
After I take Hattie to Browseabout Books where she buys more five books, I see something I think she’ll enjoy. “Would you like a Kohr Brother’s frozen custard?”
“Before noon? Absolutely.”
Even at this early hour, there’s a bit of a line, so I guide her and the stroller up to the boardwalk. “Why don’t you sit here on a bench with Arlene. Which flavor would you like?”
“Something orange. Then I can pretend I’m drinking juice.” Hattie winks.
“Would you like to sit facing the boardwalk or the ocean?”
“What do you mean?”
I flip the back of one of the large, white, two-way benches which line the boards close to the sand dunes so that Hattie can look at the ocean, and she giggles with surprise.
By the time I cross over to Kohr Brother’s Frozen Custard, the line to order is short. I forgot to ask Hattie if she wants a cup or cone, but getting to know her as I am, I decide she’d like a cone. I hurry back, dodging tourists, to get to the bench before the custard starts to melt. I hand Hattie her orange cream and a napkin. I start working on my swirl of chocolate and peanut butter.
“This is delicious.” Hattie sighs pleasurably. “I’m going to be sorry to leave here in a couple of weeks, but at my age, I have to travel while I still can. I haven’t been to Ireland before.”
“Hattie, you look like you’ll be traveling for a long time yet.”
“With Shirlene here, I don’t mind living longer. If she and Stan were both gone, I’d be ready to go.”
“You have Arlene and me, too.”
Hattie takes another lick of her frozen custard but keeps her warm eyes on me. “I’d like to come back here again.”
“You’re always welcome any time.”
“Thank you. I like Rehoboth Beach. There’s a nice mix of people if you know what I mean.”
I nod. I also appreciate how inclusive the community has become over the years. “It wasn’t always this way.”
“A lot of places still aren’t.”
“Tell me about the photo on the piano of you and Shirlene at the beach when you were teens.”
“Blacks were confined to a two block stretch of sand between Missouri Avenue and Mississippi Avenue in Atlantic City. It was the only place Shirlene and I could go together. We tried to stay near the edge of it, so my people just ignored the two of us. I don’t think they liked it but, no one said anything.”
“Did you take other white friends there?”
Hattie laughs. “Shirlene was my only white friend. Her brother and Stan kept an eye out for us, but basically, I had black friends, and Shirlene had white friends. No one as close as we were though.” She pauses to eat more ice cream before it drips down her hand. “In the school cafeteria, there was the black section. We wanted to eat together, so after a long while and plenty of debate, we convinced our friends to split a table at the edge of the black section. Her friends sat at one end, and mine sat at the other with Shirlene and me in the middle.” Hattie shakes her head. “It wasn’t easy, but we were determined.”
“I admire your tenacity.”
For several minutes we sit quietly eating our custard and looking at the scenery.
“Did you know that I was Shirlene’s maid-of-honor?” Hattie finishes her custard and pops the tip of the cone into her mouth.
“No, I didn’t, but Stan said you had a story to tell.”
She dabs her mouth with the napkin. “Shirlene’s parents accepted me, but only up to a point. They didn’t want me in the wedding because their friends didn’t approve. Shirlene cried for days. Stan, who had just returned from the war, was worried she’d call off the wedding.
“They already had their wedding license, so about three days before the big date, Shirlene and Stan came to my house in the dark of night and told me to get in the car. They were eloping, so I could be her maid-of-honor. It still brings tears to my eyes that both of them cared that much about me. Stan was a good man. I miss him.”
“Yes, he was. I miss him, too.” I pat her wrist.
“Anyway, Shirlene had always planned on a formal wedding. I knew it was a big sacrifice for her to elope. After we got through the initial excitement of sneaking out of my house, I found out they had no plan. We were sitting in Stan’s father’s car at one o’clock in the morning with no idea of how to elope. Then I thought of my pastor. Luckily, he suffered from insomnia. He was willing to perform the ceremony right in his living room. His wife, who didn’t mind being woken for such an exciting event, and I were the witnesses.”
“That’s one of the best stories I’ve ever heard.”
“Shirlene’s parents didn’t feel that way. I don’t know which topic was the hotter in Shirlene’s household, the atomic bombs that were just dropped or the bomb shell she dropped on them by eloping.” Hattie laughs. “The only way Shirlene could get her parents to forgive her and let me back in their house was to go through with the scheduled wedding, too.”
“That explains the photograph on their piano.” I lift the visor on the stroller. The baby is still sound asleep.
“Yes. That was taken in the Haddon Heights Methodist Church a few days later. It tickles me that they always celebrated their anniversary on the date they were married in my pastor’s living room in Lawnside.”
