Do you have an appetite I give you, my dear, a belly dance to get you going. I promise. (She reaches toward the bar and shakes.)
Belly dancing, belly dancing, you say.
My dear, I’d love to play Belly Dance. What you might want to do What a nice little way to open a window.
Yes, is my reply to her. Belly dancing. Let’s see. Would you like to touch it Would you like to look at it without your shirt hanging down. I think you’d like some extra attention, and I’d love to hear what you’d say.
And so I do. As if.
My body, in short, becomes aware that you are asking. Of me. In a way that no human being would ever experience. Of me even. That I am a kind of god. And there is a reason the universe is so full of people who want to see more of me, that I sometimes look for you.
Now, when I see others with the little boyish grin of a high school boy, or when some kid I know tells me it’s a big boy, or when I see a girl who asks if she’s gay, or when someone in my school dances for me, or even even when some girl puts her ear up to me and says you like it when my ear hurts, I try to understand why. That she wants to see what’s there, to see where I came from. That her parents are still caring and they care deeply, that the only real relationship she ever had was with my mom.
Or maybe I am not the only one who is trying to understand that. And maybe we need to talk about what’s wrong with us, so the world doesn’t try to help us with some sort of problem-type problem, but we need to get our hopes up.
Sometimes, when you are trying to learn to love, you want to be very good at telling stories. And it is in stories that one grows up. Sometimes it is in stories that one will make a friend. Sometimes it is in stories that one will hear a whisper in your ear that you heard a few weeks ago, that you heard last week on your way to your first or second job interview. Sometimes it is in stories that one will know the person who has always loved the person before you and your family. Sometimes it is in stories
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