“Crawl!” Tiffany yells. So I crawl on the hardwood floor of her dance studio. “Crawl like you have no legs and you haven’t eaten for two weeks and there’s a single apple in the middle of the room and another man with no legs is also crawling toward the apple. You want to crawl faster, but you cannot, because you are maimed. Desperation flows out of your face like sweat! You are so afraid you will not get to the apple before the other legless man! He will not share the apple with—no, no, no. Stop! You’re doing it all wrong! Jesus Christ, Pat! We only have four weeks left!”
“Jeanie,” I hear my father say. He is in the kitchen eating his breakfast. I am on the basement stairs listening. “Why does Pat close his eyes and hum every time I mention the Eagles? Is he going crazy again? Should I be concerned?”
“What’s this I hear about you missing the Saints game?” Jake says through the telephone when I call him back sometime after 11:00 p.m. He has called two nights in a row, and the note my mother left for me on my pillow read Call your brother back no matter how late. IMPORTANT. “Don’t you want to see what Baskett does this week? Why are you humming?”
“When you are a dancer, you are allowed to put your hands anywhere on your partner’s body, Pat. It’s not sexual. So when you do this first lift, yes, your hands will be cradling my ass and crotch. Why are you pacing? Pat, it’s not sexual—it’s modern dance.”
See me pumping iron: bench press, leg lifts, sit-ups on the Stomach Master 6000, bike riding, knuckle push-ups, curls—the works.
“I’m Okay, Pat. I’m f**king fine. You’re going to drop me a few times while we’re learning the lifts, but it’s not because you’re not strong enough. You need to center your palm directly at the base of my crotch. If you need me to get more specific, I will. Here. I’ll show you. Put out your hand.”
“Your mother tells me you will not discuss Eagles football with your—why are you humming?” Cliff asks. “I did not mention that certain saxophonist’s name. What’s this all about?”
“I never thought I would say this, but maybe you should consider taking a break from your dance training and watch the game with Jake and your dad,” my mother says. “You know I hate football, but you and your father seemed to be making a connection, and Jake and you are just getting back to being brotherly again. Pat, please stop humming.”
“For the second lift you need to look up at me, Pat. Especially just before I go into the flip. You don’t have to look at my crotch, but you have to be ready to push up so I’ll get more height. If you don’t give me a push when I bend my knees, I won’t be able to complete the flip and will probably crack my head open on the floor.”
“I know you can hear me through the humming, Pat. Look at you!” my father says. “Curled up in your bed, humming like a child. Birds lose by a field goal in New Orleans, and your boy Baskett had zero catches. Zilch. Don’t think your dancing through the game didn’t affect the outcome.”
“You look like a retarded snake! You are supposed to crawl with your arms—not slither or wiggle or whatever the f**k you are doing down there. Here. Watch me.”
In anticipation of our big performance, I’m running a little faster with Tiffany every day. We push ourselves, and when we get to the park, we sprint the last mile to her house and get really sweaty. I always beat Tiffany, because I am a man, yes, but also because I am an excellent runner.
“What’s Tiffany holding over you?” Ronnie says. We are in my parents’ basement. I have already spotted him as he benched one wimpy sixty-pound rep, and now he is taking a break. This is a surprise visit disguised to look like a prework lifting session. “I told you to protect yourself. I’m telling you, Pat, you don’t know what that woman is capable of. My sister-in-law is capable of anything. Anything!”
“You’re making the sun with your arms. In the center of the stage, you represent the sun. And when you make the huge circle with your arms, it has to be slow and deliberate—just like the sun. The dance is one day’s worth of sun. You are going to rise and set all onstage—to the flow of our song. Understand?”
“I want you to talk to Tiffany and tell her it’s important for you to watch the Eagles game with your father,” Mom says. “Please stop humming, Pat. Please, just stop humming!”
“The second lift is the hardest by far, as it requires you to go from a squatting position to a standing position with me standing on your hands, which will be just above your shoulders. Do you think you’re strong enough to do this, because we can do something else if you are too weak, but let’s try it now and we’ll just see.”
“Why is this dance competition so important to you?” Cliff asks me. I look up at the sun painted on the ceiling of his office and smile. “What?” he says.
“The dancing lets me be that,” I say, and point up.
Cliff’s eyes follow my finger. “It lets you be the sun?”
“Yes,” I say, and smile again at Cliff, because I really like being the sun, exactly what allows clouds to have a silver lining. Also, being the sun is what will provide me with the opportunity to write letters to Nikki.
“Please stop humming into the phone, Pat. I’m on your side here. I understand wanting to learn an art for a woman. Don’t you remember my playing the piano for you? But the difference is that Caitlin would never ask me to miss an Eagles game, because she knows it’s more than just football to me. I can hear you f**king humming through the phone, Pat, but I’m just going to keep talking, all right? You’re acting crazy, you know. And if the Eagles lose tomorrow against the Buccaneers, Dad is going to think you cursed the Birds.”