Dance Amy, Dance

I found Seth in the forest clearing where we used to hang out. He was dancing. Dancing as if the forest floor were his studio, as if the rustle of the trees was the very music he moved to. Moments like this were becoming few and far in between, and I was loath to disturb the peace he found in the few chances he got. He could hardly find peace these days. It had been seven months since Seth had learned that he had AIDS. Seven long months. Seven hard months. At first he asked the doctors to repeat what they had said. He was in denial. I knew it; the doctors knew it; he knew it. The undisguised pain in his eyes was nearly unbearable. He knew that even with treatments he wouldn’t live much longer. He knew that he would be weak. He would be unable to dance, unable to let himself go to the music, unable to live.

I did not want to bother him in his solitude now, so I sat down quietly and watched him. I watched him be in his own world where he wasn’t suffering, where he wasn’t dying. I sat and watched him move his lithe body to some silent beat. Seeing him like this made me nostalgic. The first time I had met him came to my mind. Like a little movie in my head, I replayed it.

The high school dance studio was still fresh in my memory. I could still smell the teacher’s perfume, so thick in the room that you choked on it. That first year I didn’t know anybody; I stayed separated from the second and third year students. I felt awkward and alone. During warm up exercises, a boy came rushing in. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, offering no excuse. The teacher just nodded and pointed him toward the spot next to me.

Over the time spent in that class we got to know each other well. We became brother and sister. We remained inseparable through college and even rented a flat together. We were happy. We each had our own lives, yet always stayed together. I think we became even closer that day he was diagnosed. But I could tell that his strength was slowly leaving him. He wouldn’t dance for weeks. It was heartbreaking to see a true, talented dancer give up the one thing he loved most in the world.

I was worried when at first he refused treatments. He looked empty, nothing but a shell of the Seth I had once known. He would hardly eat or go outside. He was getting sick so often that fever and vomiting became daily occurrences. I often wonder how he felt those weeks, how he dealt with It in his mind. He lived through suffering, he lived through pain, but he lived.

These thoughts brought tears to my eyes as Seth pulled me out of my reverie by stopping. He stood, staring off into nothingness. The slight breeze had grown cold and I was shocked to see the sun so close to the horizon. My eyes drifted from the orange star to Seth. My brother in all but blood, why do you have to suffer? How can fate be so cruel? I knew that there cannot be an answer.

I was staring at Seth. With a jolt I realized he had been staring back for a while now. We didn’t say anything. We didn’t have to. Slowly, almost lethargically, he walked towards me. His bottle-green eyes stared down into my soul as he outstretched his hand. I smiled weakly and allowed myself to be drawn up. He smiled back, a warmer and bigger smile than I had seen on his face in months.

He drew me over to the middle of the clearing. He must have seen the question in my eyes because he spoke softly to me.

“Dance Amy, dance.”

And as if the dam had broken we let ourselves go. We let ourselves go to the music in the wind and the trees. We let ourselves go to the beat in our minds, in our hearts, in our very souls. We danced and danced well into the night, finally finding peace.

The next day, Seth died. I mourned his death, possibly more than I would ever mourn any death. And after that all I could dream about was my once brother. And do you know what he says to me in my dreams? Do you know what he whispers to me every night?

“Dance Amy,” he said, “dance.”