"A moment is what you make of it, nothing more nothing less." Elijah Lee Ce Raphil Mabtali
Chapter 5: Let's Dance
I’ve practiced walking in heels before, I've played in heels for longer than I’ve worn my newly acquired extra two inches of high fashion attached to what felt like my feet. I wasn’t going to fall like Papa had said I would.
By the way, “Papa, what happened to my plastic pink heels during etiquette?” I asked.
Getting caught up in my imagination. ‘Focus Adena, something is coming. I could feel it.’ To be more specific I could see it, from a mile away walking across the hallway's wooden floorboards.
I was exaggerating about the east wings' length; my heels were starting the long game, and I was trying to delude myself into thinking practice made perfect.
“What heels?... it’s best if you forget what happened to those,” he replied after a minute of silence, leaving me to wonder in brow raised confusion. He hadn’t spared me an extra glance absorbed into fixing my hair.
Seeing each other eye to eye, Father had taken it upon himself to answer my unresolved curiosity, “You fell.” I could see Father smirk under his growing beard, which made my face turn red in embarrassment.
“I did?” I asked in disbelief.
“You did.” Father admonished.
“All in the past.” Papa replied.
Papa and Father had finally finished touching up my ensemble of black dress, red bow, and Satin black heel combo. I have to say that I loved the stitching design on the dress, it made me feel like a flower. A black rose to be exact, thorns to boot.
We exited my room, but I couldn't help but look back at my bedroom door for some semblance of comfort. I thought about knocking on the door for good luck. Maybe the door had some magical power to save a girl in need.
Letting out a sigh, I looked up to Papa who had something to say.
"Hand in hand Eden,” his saying gave me courage, but it didn’t change that ‘something’ in the foreground putting me off... I could feel it, there was a cause for concern.
Grabbing Papa’s hand and looking at Father who was wearing a black tuxedo to no one's surprise, not even my own. I could see his eyes stare down at me as white flecks blew over my face like a breeze on a hot day.
“My love we’re so proud of you” Father started as he got down on one knee. I almost started crying, catching the water in my eyes before they started streaming. “Dada” came a whisper that seemed like it came from my chest. It sure did feel like it, noticing the pull that almost caused my train to derail.
I gathered my thoughts and looked him deep into his eyes which were almost eye level with my own if he wasn't so tall. “Me and Papa would like to give you two gifts, one from each of us.” Forcing myself not to cry I was speechless when he pulled an accessory out of his pocket. My eyes were watering seeing Father's gift. Papa watching Father get down on one knee had placed his hand on my head gently so that he wouldn't mess up my hair.
Papa with a smirk said to me, “Don't cry”, and I didn't, which made me wonder probably not for the first time, if Papa’s voice was magic.
Father was a man of incredible wealth. I've mentioned his wealth a million times at this point but that didn't take away from the oval-shaped necklace he had in his hand with a brilliant shine. I'd never seen something so… breathtaking.
I was keeping my cool just fine seeing my dad's familiar muscular arms reach for my neck but the weird feeling that was in the air wasn't helping me out much with my anxiety. Father unfurled his meaty hand from around the jewel that was now closer to my face so that I could see it. The necklace had given me goosebumps.
Examining the ruby on the necklace made my skin crawl.
“Pretty,” came the usual voice, a somewhat chilling whisper in the back of my mind.
The Jewel was heavy, enormous for the frail-looking chain, almost like it belonged in a locket for no one in the world to see. The specks on the Gem were Crimson. I don't ever recall something being so red, it made my dress bow look like a cheap imitation of the color. At least the specks from the gem were warm, and a bit moist. 'Never felt moist specks before.'
The chain itself holding the ruby was what half of the fuss was about; it looked like Hermand had taken the necklace and smeared it all over his gray fog.
After Father clipped the necklace around my neck, I looked into his eyes nervously and gave him a “Thank you,” holding back a nervous swallow. If there wasn't enough pressure wearing the thing, I’d have to worry about keeping track of it.
Father saw the worry in my eyes, so he asked me, “Was something wrong?" Not of my own volition I replied with a simple “No," unintentionally lowering my head in disappointment with a smidge of shame. But Father lifted my chin with his right hand and told me “Aww, cheer up then,” letting out a laugh in his deep baritone voice.
We walked through the hallway hand in hand. A girl in her two dads dressed entirely to impress. Papa had a look on his face that said he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment. But maybe I was mistaken. It started to hit me then, the realization I had a few minutes ago, 'If both of my parents are at my side, and we're all looking in the same direction. Why are there so many white specks coming from the Staircase?'
To my Incognizance which'd most definitely grown over the years, Papa was deciding to get his payback from two days ago for trying to sneak out of the house without first asking for permission. I didn't notice the sly smile plastered on his face either.
As we slowly walked, I started hearing the chatter of many voices that didn't belong to me or the two beside me. With each step towards the staircase, the white specks grew larger and more compact.
In the span of ten steps, Papa decided to debrief me by asking a series of questions that I didn't answer on my own. I don't know who gave a reply, but it wasn’t me.
“Eve, did you relieve yourself before showering?” Papa asks.
"Yes,” my lips move.
“Do you recall our talk during breakfast about greeting people at the door?”
"Yes,” I replied again.
“Can you smile for me?” He asked, and I replied with an answer that I was now tired of giving.
“Yes,” I said for the last time on our little walk down the hallway.
Never did I get ambushed and bombarded with questions like this before. “Welcome, to the world for the third time, my little love chins up,” Papa said while Father watched the two of us in leisure and enjoyment having the audacity to not bud in but kiss my cheek.
As soon as we turned the corner to the staircase of white, I was already smiling wide. My body had taken on a will of its own.
“Let the dance begin!" Papa shouted as I was blinded by the white fast light.
“Smile for the camera," Father chimed, making his presence known.
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Awkward is a party of uninvited guests. Posh laughs and the occasional clinking glass from another who jests, and for a minute you pray it all ends so that you can go home. But you are home, there's a dissonance, an unfamiliarity of so many new faces showing up at your doorstep.
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So, I smile and hope my eyes follow suit... like me and Papa have practiced.
"I have faith in you." Papa has faith in me, so I try to find faith in myself. Father has to make the rounds so I can't borrow any of his courage. This was a night of keeping my feet, ears, and eyes on the ground.
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Chapter 5: Let's Dance (Part II)
The night was young. And I was angry at Papa, too scared to voice my complaints to my unholy guardian angel while people watched.
I had to remind myself to blink now and then from the immense dry eye, brought on by a waiting room full of cameras and flashing lights. I was unable to show any sense of dissatisfaction because Papa had already spoken the magic words.
“Let the dance begin,” Those words had a deep history. It was a line said with pride by my Papa. An on switch for me. A commandment, to put it simply. Not wanting to recall the blood, sweat, and tears shed while attending Elijah Lee Ce Raphil's class on etiquette, I willingly surrendered myself to the specks in the room.
The stupidest idea of the night on my behalf. The white was all over me; it looked and felt like a team of painters decided to throw buckets of paint at me in a fit of rage. Bottomless buckets of paint. “Keep calm” I repeated three times thinking of Dorothy clicking her heels. It was easier said than done since I was drowning in anxiety. Everyone looked like they were having a good time except me. Trying to grasp reality I grabbed some finger food off of the tray that was offered to me by a woman I almost mistook for Paula, fortunately having my eyes momentarily focused on her torso allowed me some time to breathe.
“The pattern is off” Ignoring all the white in the room I thought of the words “Let the dance begin.”
“Begin!” the inner voice chanted with encouragement. I smiled taking in the words of what sounded like assistance not caring if they belonged to me or anyone else for the commands Magic was renewed.
I raised my head in confidence and grace and told the random woman in front of me serving what tasted like cake “Thank you miss, you're doing a wonderful job” She smiled back at me complimenting my dress and returning the thanks.
Trying my best to find my parents in the colorful and assorted crowd of people, I decided to walk near the dance floor.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and all my lovely partners on the beautiful outer lines and in-between.” We listened only hearing the occasional plate or glass move as he spoke.
“First and foremost, I would like to thank all of you, the guests, sponsors, and business associates for your attendance here on this glorious day, or shall I say evening.” Words fell out of his mouth like the sweetest velvet wine.
“We all know that the past few years have been a trial for many of us, an even harder trial for those without loved ones to get them through the cold nights, so I'd like to dedicate a song to the future, your future, more specifically my future.” He laughed something deep dark so sensual into the metal microphone.
Everyone in the room fell silent.
Whispers then went flying rampant like a wave across the room in silver specks as the previous dancers of the ballroom fled the floor to the sidelines and tables all waiting for the two who should be sharing an honored dance.
“Can I invite my darling daughter and valiant husband Adousa Mabtali to the dance floor?” Papa said applying pressure to the mansion atmosphere.
I was scared out of my mind.
Eyes were everywhere glowing in white moving the specks in droves like a group of lighthouses ashore waiting for one ship to return from sea.
The eyes fell on me in pairs “One person, two people, ten people, then thirty more." I was in shock. Completely overwhelmed by white flecks that enveloped me like a flame seeking out a moth instead of vice versa.
All the eyes in the room stood in wait beckoning me to the dance floor.
‘How many eyes are here?’ In my defense, when I was at the top of the stairs, I wasn't alone. The white specks had flooded in from my front. No one besides my two supporting knights was at my sides and not a soul lay behind. This was nothing but what you could describe as good old sensory overload.
“Move, move, move, move, Move, Move, Move, Move, move!!!” whispers coming in droves. Whispers failing to act as any semblance of ‘support.’
I was starting to feel faint and faint.
“The whispers,” It suddenly stopped only the occasional whisper from the audience watching, not that I could see covered in a snowstorm of flecks. Three voices all in unison spoke, the words of meaning and motion had been invoked.
“Let the dance begin” In whispers of renewal and encouragement new to me but not just the whispers that had called for my movement Papa had used the words to begin the song.
Somehow, I’d ended up at the center of the crowd right at the edge of the dance floor looking down. I could tell that movement had been made just not by me. When overwhelmed at times like this I try to mentally map out my surroundings, so I don't suffocate and have a panic attack like before.
The surroundings weren’t the same as when I first stopped. My location had changed and there was only one other emerging way I could tell left from right. To anyone else in the world, the figure moving in a dancing “one, two steps” toward me would be the scariest, most eerie black humanoid figure in existence if in my perspective.
At that moment the unrecognizable tar person at my front stopped his lunging and reached his hand out bowing expecting me to do the same in return. I smiled teeth and all, the figure in the white storm of specks may have looked like a blank unlined piece of white paper; suddenly conjuring a random sentient Obsidian Black Tar man without the act of a drawer or any given artist, giving life to Lovecraftian Monster.
To anybody else, that's what they would have seen, a monster. But to me the 'monster' in the white snow wasn't a monster it was more than just. The Black obsidian knight without armor, He was my Father.
“Dada,” was the only word that came to mind. I would have to agree with that ominous whisper. I was lucky to be saved as I happily grabbed Father's hand shakingly.
I didn't need a voice of delusion to tell me who my own Father was.
“You're shaking,” He stated.
“I know.” The Iranian dance of tradition had begun. Father had moved close enough for me to actualize his facial features, so I took my chance to look into his dark brown abyssal eyes.
I only had one assignment and I was going to ace it, if it was the last thing I ever did.
We moved and I raised my hand in the correct mirroring position moving along in a circle opposite him. The Dance was perfect for the ballroom. I've practiced hundreds of times here all I had to do was shadow using the appropriate movements as the female counterpart.
We dance opposing one another in an act of opposition, a dance entailing two, swift lunges transitioning into multiple convergences. As my back turned to face the white sea of specks created by the audience watching my every move my mind was forced to counter the pitch black on the other side of the crowd's encirclement. My legs used to ache from the twist that would take place early on in the dance. I’d grown used to the strain on my ankles, after years of practice my calves could handle the force from the repetition of swift kicks high in the air, while Father stomped low.
I hoped to be as good as him at dancing one day. You would be surprised to see someone as buff and burly as Father dance. Papa and I weren’t the only two people who would get to see the sight.
The dance was taxing if you didn't practice to the point of perfection, perhaps that's what made it a worthy tradition. I wonder who came up with the idea, to dedicate so much time and effort into a simple dance.
I would thank the creator or choreographer if it was possible. A tradition that I loved as I did my father. Though we didn't talk much at times he would always move in my stead waiting to catch me. If I fell. When I fell.
As he danced with his back towards me managing a distance it was to the point that I'd forget his presence. And though my eyes weren't on him I could somehow feel him watching, waiting to prop me up for the fall, the anticipated convergence.
أب Father, waiting for me to fail, is what's keeping me on my toes. To fall was disgraceful, and I didn't want to be a disgrace. “Sial Rahan" is a story for another time, a time forgotten.
Right, now there was أبfather in my midst blocking out the white light, and the voice in my head telling me, commanding me to "let the dance Begin."
After two minutes, not breaking a sweat, we took to slow dancing. Papa was used to singing for us even in the native language though he didn't understand the slightest bit of what he was singing about. Turning a traditional dance into an American father-daughter dance. Papa was able to sing in English for the current song choice which was “Better Days” by Goo Goo Dolls sung in a more soulful silk R&B number switching between the two songs seamlessly aside from the obvious cultural barrier.
We slowly danced as I put my head against Father's torso, reveling in what I just accomplished. I was slowly getting used to the snowstorm. My eyes were starting to acclimate to the stormy weather made of overwhelming white flecks. I didn't focus on anything too specific or try to look past the flecks, instead, I just focused on Papa's heartbeat. “How are you doing sweetheart?” Father asked as we danced with all the other guests “I did it” I replied.
“Yes, you did,” he responded. Father was taking the lead as I looked at the tapestry of shades circling us. All wrapped in white flecks holding onto my father's black tuxedo I felt at peace he was the center.
“I wonder if I can be the center one day,” I said, free of worry or care while listening to the sound of Papa's voice in the background. I doubt Father knew what I was talking about, but he responded in a tone mimicking Papa's “Practice makes Perfect’.
"By the way, the diamonds Papa had bought complemented you my love" My eyes widened in surprise and confusion.
"Huh?" I couldn’t have been more puzzled.