Dancing solo requires your own motion. You follow your own lead. Isn’t that what Phillip was saying? Isn’t that why Jesse wanted to shuffle-step all over Lonny’s face? Others had got there first, the heel-step, heel-step, toe-step down. And what about me? Lil’ Sis, Rooms, a place they all came to in their pain? What about Lady? And Missy? Where was I leading myself? I hate walls. I hate ceilings and heavy window moldings. I hate panes of glass all covered with metal gates to keep the burglars out and hold you hostage inside. I want to be in the air. Make a space out of movement. A space I can even break if I want. But give me one good arabesque or five o’clock extension—which is only frozen flight, isn’t it?—or one honest leap into a man’s waiting arms, and I find out too late that the ground is clay or the man is not strong or willing enough to take my weight.

I took the subway. I descended underground. Occasional flashes of light from local stations. Darkness everywhere on the express. Motion. Screeching movement. Bodies frozen on seats or with arms tangled in the metal grips for anchor, for something to hold on to, for anything, really, to stop the steady rush of darkness and fear. I had come out of the subway then with the address of the pier on a tongue of envelope. I had climbed the broken stairs. I had found Jesse and brought him back. But he didn’t come back to me. And I didn’t come back to Phillip, like I promised.

Jesse stayed in my rooms until the space was nothing but pain. The pain of his remembering the dance that killed Metro and sent him to me. And what am I left with? Two rooms that feel empty. A drug criminal for a brother. A handsome man needing refuge. I thought I could get higher than that if I danced well. What magical space can music and quick feet or stretched muscles of leg and torso create now? I took the leap anyway. I dragged Jesse with me to Rikers Island. But neither Jesse nor Phillip knew I was heading their way, that my one long leap before the final curtain was a lunge-two-three into their waiting arms. But their arms were weak, their thighs bent in grand plié. And I fell right to the ground.

Lonny

Lonny