Selin's Dance

It was my sixteenth summer when I decided it was time for me to fall in love. I was studying at a boarding school at the time and had returned a few weeks before to spend the summer at my parents’ home, where I’d spent my childhood. For quite some time, I’d entertained myself in classes imagining long, hot days reading in the grass. No exams, no assignments, nothing to think about… just me and the great blue sky. My first few days passed as I’d hoped, but I quickly grew bored. I had all the means for my own happiness – books, paints, journals – but I was living under the unfortunate burden of endless time. I picked up novels not out of curiosity, but with a silent hope that they’d eat several hours from the day and bring me closer to the moment I could cover myself with a blanket and fall asleep. 

It was on one such day, when I’d again determined that any desire to entertain myself with literature had, quite simply, disappeared, that I lay motionless in an armchair and decided I needed a more novel and exciting form of amusement. I mulled the problem over for some time, then came to the conclusion that I needed to find a boy and make him love me so that I might have something to daydream about next time I lay there. 

The next day, I brushed my long, brown hair out of my face and clipped it up, admiring my smooth, pale forehead and my gentle gray eyes. I picked out a white linen dress and set off through the heat to the center of my little town, looking instinctively into the passing cars for any familiar faces. Finding none, I continued my swaying walk along the road, checking occasionally that my dress swayed correctly along with me. 

I took great pleasure in imagining what wonderful things must be going through the heads of those people driving by. What a face… what a figure… oh… if only my granddaughter dressed like that… Each time I caught an eye wandering in my direction, I turned away politely, but secretly took it as a confirmation of my fantasies. It was just as pleasant as it would be to hear the words spoken out loud. 

Once I reached the gray cement buildings of the town center, I went into the café where I’d rotted away many a tedious afternoon over the years. I ordered a cappuccino and picked a little round table in a corner by the window. Here, I thought, I could see everyone and they could see me when they inevitably glanced towards the window. I could even be approached, if I seemed interesting enough. For this, I’d brought Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot,” both to keep myself company and to signal to others that I was a lady of high culture. 

I scanned the café every few minutes, as if taking a break from the long and heavy words, and imagined what I must look like from a few tables down: a neat, attractive girl, choosing to spend her summer day reading alone in a coffee shop. The beauty of it was that anyone who saw me would really think I was ambitious and intelligent, picking up such a volume at my young age. Only an idiot with no better use of their time would spend all day pretending to read a book to look smart, I thought. 

It suddenly occurred to me – that was exactly what I was doing. So I hurriedly brushed the thought away and began to read with great interest about the young prince on the train. 

The day passed without progress, as did the next three. The shop owner, who must have gotten quite used to my presence, was the only person to approach me, and even then he did so only to inform me that the café was closing in a few minutes and I should clear out. Out of habit, I continued looking at the faces of passersby and car drivers. On those days when I had to accept defeat I’d berate myself for my vanity and force myself to look away, at the birds flying above me, if only to show others on the street that I appreciated the quiet miracle of nature. 

On the fourth day, my luck changed. As I looked up from my open book and unfinished cup of coffee, I observed a young man enter the café and place an order at the bar. He was tall, slender, and quite well dressed with dark hair. As he turned away from the café owner, I quickly lowered my head towards my book, then glanced up when I heard his footsteps growing near. Our eyes met for a moment, then I swung my gaze towards the seat he was approaching, as if introducing myself to my new neighbor and giving him permission to occupy the seat across from me. I took a sip from my cup and continued reading. Dostoevsky was describing an execution. No, there was nothing sensational about death, it seemed. And what about love? My new neighbor had bright blue eyes and plump pink lips and there was, perhaps, something undeniably mouselike, almost childish about him.

Oh yes, I thought. Without a doubt this boy had never felt a woman’s touch. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pull out a textbook and begin dutifully taking notes. 

After about half an hour, I decided I was hungry. I closed my book, stretched out my arms before me as if waking from a deep slumber, then gently lifted myself from my seat, chin high and stepping softly. As I neared the bar, I reached up and unclipped my hair, feeling it tumble down my back. I ordered something small to eat. Neck taut and shoulders back, I turned towards my seat, towards the blue eyes I already knew would be fixed on me. I held his gaze for a few moments, and he didn’t look away. 

I’ve seen you, his eyes seemed to say. I’ve seen you and I want you to know that I’ve seen you. 

I sat back in my seat, opened my book, and continued to read. When my eyes darted over the page to look at him again, he was hunched back over his textbook. I imagined he was thinking of me and smiled. 

An hour or two passed – I couldn’t tell – and my neighbor suddenly slammed his textbook shut and put it in his bag. So he was leaving. I couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed that I hadn’t used up more of his attention. I could’ve walked to the bathroom, for example, and once again met those blue eyes as I walked back. But, no matter, I thought to myself. I’d had enough of my fun for today and soon enough another boy would come by for a cup of coffee and sit across from me. 

I became aware of the boy’s continued presence. I glanced at him again and saw that he was standing next to his table with his shoulders bunched together under his chin. He was scribbling something in his notebook. Well, I thought, here we go. I sensed it was time for me to look away and turned back to “The Idiot,” listening as his footsteps neared my table. 

“This is for you” he said. 

When I looked up he was leaning towards me, offering me the slip of paper he’d ripped from his notebook. I looked at the paper, then his blue eyes that were looking, I thought, rather pleadingly into mine. I took the paper and watched him turn away and hurry through the door, out of sight. I closed my book and unfolded the paper. 

I like your taste in books. Call me. Followed by a ten-digit number. 

I smiled, packed up my things, and started my walk home. The afternoon sun was soft and golden, and as I walked I thought about how my hair must be glistening gloriously and how when I looked every few moments to my right, the sun shone into my eyes and turned their gray into a cool and pale green. I didn’t bother looking into the cars because that boy from the café had solidified my certainty that any passerby would be unable to look at anything besides me. 

That night I couldn’t sleep. I lay with my head at the base of the bed so that I could look out of the window. The hours went by and I watched the constant brown sky with unwavering interest, breathing the sour night air and playing the day over in my mind. I imagined myself spinning, growing larger and larger before the boy as he craned his neck further and further back to avoid losing sight of me, eyes wide and smiling, mouth slightly open in awe.

That’s how he’ll fall in love with me, I thought, and forced myself to fall asleep so that it could be tomorrow morning and I could call the boy from the café. 

II. 

I slept a long time, then lay in bed another hour feeling that the boy already loved me. I felt a gnawing in my stomach, as if an animal had crawled inside and was running circles without pause, speeding up each time I imagined the blue eyes staring at me, their owner coming up to me to give me his little note. Every once in a while I’d remember that I should get up to call him, but I wasn’t ready to leave my daydreams just yet so I brushed the thought away and let my lungs fill with air until I felt I might burst from emotion. 

Once I’d grown tired of imagining yesterday’s events from every angle (I’d even imagined what the older man sitting a few tables away from us must have thought when the boy approached me), I decided I was ready for new material. I took a deep breath, dialed the number, and called. 

“Hello?” His voice said. 

“Hi. This is the girl from the coffee shop… the one with good taste in books.” 

“Oh! Hi! I wasn’t expecting you to call, actually.” 

This caught me by surprise. Had he changed his mind? “What do you mean?” 

“Honestly, I thought I’d made a big mistake when I left the café, because when I gave you my phone number you looked at me so… angrily… it didn’t look like you wanted me to talk to you at all…” 

He was laughing, but his words hurt. I hated reminders that my daydreams could be faulty. To cover any trace of self-doubt, I laughed as well, and said something about how my face always looked a little stern when relaxed. 

“I just didn’t expect you to come up to me,” I explained. 

“In that case, I’m glad you called,” he said. It sounded like he was smiling. “By the way, what’s your name?” 

“Selin,” I answered. “And yours?” 

“Milos. It’s good to meet you.” 

The next day, we met outside the same coffee shop. I had taken special care in getting ready and as I approached the café, I thought about the people in their cars, how they’d watch me walking alone, admiring how my pale blue dress complimented my eyes. They’d see me confidently approach the boy waiting for me. Now that is a woman, they would think. That boy must be hopelessly in love… and then they’d drive away with the memory of the blue figure in the distance. This

thought entertained me so much that I felt a little sad to find that the boy had wasted no time entering the café without me, to wait inside, where our only audience was the ever-present shop owner and an old couple in the back corner. 

I entered and slowly approached the table where he sat, looking out of the window and listening to music through big headphones. When he noticed me, he sprang out of his seat and ripped the headphones off of his head. I noticed that the wire had wound itself around his ear, but he didn’t try to fix it. 

“Hi!” he said, then collapsed back into his seat and gestured for me to sit across. Up close, the childishness of his face was utterly inescapable. The skin was far too smooth – clearly it had never sprouted a single hair – and I had to fight a strong urge to reach out and smear some balm over his hopelessly chapped lips, perhaps slicking his hair back a little while I was at it. After his first ungraceful moments, Milos behaved so confidently that I found myself struggling to keep up with the conversation. I did my best to remember what he said so that I could weave the interpretation of my life best suited to his interests, all the while berating myself for being unable to come up with a question more interesting than “and you?”. I almost jumped out of my seat with excitement when I finally produced one. 

“You said you liked my book. Have you read ‘The

Idiot’?” 

He smiled, showing all of his teeth. 

“No… actually, I don’t read much, but I’ve heard of Dostoevsky and well… I had to say something to get your attention.” He looked proud that he had manufactured such a way to approach a pretty girl, and with that, the topic was closed. 

By the time our cups were empty, Milos had told me that he was a student at a university several hours away and that he hadn’t yet decided what he would study or who he wanted to become. In response, I told him a long, complicated story about my family’s generations of suffering and how I would become a journalist to avenge their past. 

“I’m always trying to find stories to write about… even here! I haven’t gotten anything yet but I hope to in the coming days…” 

Milos, looking thoroughly impressed, proposed that we take a walk in the park nearby, but once we exited the coffee shop, my despair at my new companion returned with a fury. The boy didn’t walk, but rather bounced along on his toes beside me. In fact, the more excited he became about our conversation, the higher he bounced, and the more I wanted to press down on his shoulders to force him to walk steadily. I averted my eyes from the cars, ashamed that I, a pretty girl, was presumably interested in this leprechaun. At the park, I quickly remedied this issue by suggesting we sit by a tree. 

We lay next to each other in the grass and talked softly, watching the clouds peeking occasionally between the branches. How good it was to be off the streets where, from a distance, we could once again be a young, attractive couple falling in love. 

Milos reached out and ripped a long strand of grass from the ground, then turned to me and waved it before my eyes, gently touching my nose. 

“It tickles!” I laughed, then reached for the blade myself, so that I could weave it between my fingers and draw attention to my small and dainty hands. I moved slowly, watching the tip tremble before my eyes until I felt his cold hand under mine. I stopped and turned to Milos. He was lying, motionless, and staring at me with such adoration in his eyes that they appeared to be glowing. 

You’re beautiful, they seemed to say. You’re wonderful. 

I couldn’t bear looking at them so I turned away, closed my eyes, and thought about the hand beneath my fingers and how perfectly everything had turned out. The only thing I needed now was for him to kiss me. I waited until, as if on cue, his voice broke the silence.

“Selin… can I kiss you?” 

I whipped my head towards him and, without opening my eyes, I felt his wet mouth on mine, sucking my lips into a warm and empty void. 

III. 

When I woke up the next day, I did not want to see Milos. The events that had seemed so wonderful before had rotted overnight into the single image of the boy’s whiskers up close. I hadn’t enjoyed kissing them at all. So, when Milos inevitably called, I poured a cup of coffee and went out onto my front porch to escape the incessant ringing. Not even an hour had passed before I spotted his long figure bumbling hastily towards my house. I looked up at the colorful flowers hanging over my porch, as if daydreaming. 

“I knew I’d find you here!” said Milos, stopping at the bottom of the steps. 

I let my mouth hang open for a moment, pretending to be surprised. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“I called you several times and you didn’t pick up, so I figured you must be on your porch and couldn’t hear the phone. You said last night you spend a lot of time here.” 

You idiot, I told myself. I couldn’t help warming up a little to Milos again. It was charming that he had wanted to see me

so much that he'd walked all the way out here with no guarantee of actually finding me. I agreed to accompany him on a walk. When we rounded the corner, he stepped in front of me, put both hands on my shoulders, and, after a moment of frightened hesitation, leaned in to kiss me. Satisfied that I still liked him, he pulled away and, this time with greater confidence, took my hand in his. I looked nervously at the cars passing by. 

“You ok?” he asked. 

“Yes… just people can see…” then I waved my hand as if to say nevermind. “I get nervous… in public…” 

He smiled and squeezed my hand. That’s ok. 

We walked to the park and sat on a bench in the shade. Before us, a stream of water gently trickled over the rocks, glistening yellow in the hot July sun. Milos took my hand in both of his and, looking at the water, started to speak. 

“Actually, Selin, I really wanted to see you today to talk about something.” 

I looked at him questioningly, and he continued. 

“You see… I’m a university student… as you know… and my campus is quite far from here… I’m going to leave in a month and, well, you’ll be here… I just don’t know how it's possible for this to continue… in the long run…” 

I kept looking at the water but, at that moment, all I wanted to do was cry. I hated myself for the thoughts I’d had this morning and, remembering his blue eyes that had stared so adoringly into mine, my eyes began to water. I didn’t want Milos to see me cry, so I let myself sink down and leaned my head gently on his shoulder. 

“Oh… Selin…” he said, putting his arm around me. “You have no idea how much I like you… really… I think you’re one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met…” 

He leaned down and kissed me again, then wrapped his arms around me and kissed my cheek. 

“I wish it could be different,” he whispered, and I felt my heart break in two. 

“I’ll wait for you…” I whispered back. 

“What’s that?” 

“I said I’ll wait for you,” I repeated, louder. 

“But… we’ll rarely see each other…” 

“It’s ok… we will call each other when you’re away… I’ll call you every day… it’ll be just like we’re together… here… and we’ll be together whenever you’re back home…” 

He held me in silence for a few minutes, then leaned his forehead against mine and kissed me, and this time, all I felt was the sweet glory of victory.

IV. 

A few weeks later, we were sitting on the same bench in the park, watching the water trickle by our feet. We’d spent nearly all of our time like this. In the mornings, he’d pick me up from my porch and then we’d walk together until nighttime, when he’d bring me home to my worried parents. 

Soft music wafted from a nearby restaurant, and Milos suddenly jumped up and held out his hands. 

“Do you dance, Selin?” 

I brushed his hands away and laughed. “No… no…” 

He got down on his knees before me and put his hands on my waist. 

“Why, Selin…” he pleaded, laughing. “Why don’t you dance?”

“I love to dance, actually…” I said. “But only in my head. Some music makes me feel like I’m floating… like an invisible string coming from my chest is pulling me up… up… and my soul… I swear my soul is dancing wildly everywhere and I can’t stop it.” 

In the distance, a hawk swooped down into the trees. 

“But real dancing… real dancing is not the same… because I dread the moment my feet hit the ground and I remember that I’m real. That I’m forever trapped in my own body… and that I’ll never be as free as I imagine I could be…” 

When I looked back down at Milos, he was no longer smiling, only gazing at me with wide eyes. 

“I love you…” he whispered, and I didn’t know what to respond so I told him I loved him too and somewhere in the depths of my mind a string broke and my body collapsed on the floor with a thud. 

Milos pulled me up with him, then wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. 

“Come,” he said. “There’s a place I want to show you.” He led me by my hand along the stream and soon we approached a white cement bridge, guarded on either side by large, dark bushes that covered the opening almost completely. Milos let go of my hand, grabbed a few branches, and pulled them back, revealing a narrow entryway. He smiled and nodded enthusiastically. 

“Go! I’ll come in right after you.” 

I climbed in and looked around. The place was like a smooth, gray cave, whose endless darkness was periodically interrupted by long rays of sunlight streaming in through gaps in the foliage outside. Large rocks were strewn about here and there and the river trickled merrily down the middle, made entirely inaudible by the constant thundering of cars up above.

Milos took my waist and led me forward, then sat me down on a large, flat rock. He kissed me until I felt its cold surface pressing up against my back, then his hands moving under my dress, on my bare stomach. 

“May I?” he whispered. 

I could barely see his face. 

“No… no… I’ve never…” 

“It’s ok! Me neither.” He kissed me again. “That’s why I want to do everything with you! Because I love you… I love you, Selin!” His eager eyes seemed to glow, and I thought to myself that he looked rather like the Cheshire Cat grinning at me in the darkness. “I don’t know…” 

Milos kissed me and his hands climbed further. 

So this was love, I thought to myself. This was his love. Poor boy… he thought he’d won me but I was repulsed by him… I didn’t want his love… 

“I love you… I love you…” came his voice between kisses. And yet, I couldn’t refuse his love because then he’d discover that I was far more cruel than he… that while he’d been waiting to conquer my body I’d been slowly conquering his soul. My goal was complete adoration, verging on subservient obsession. Even this… this… was part of my plan… It was evidence of my success. Once that thought went through my head, I began to feel lighter, because if this was all part of my plan then, really, I wasn’t giving him anything at all, and he could go on loving me and I could go on being loved and loving no one but myself. I settled down and smiled at him and felt him cover me with kisses. 

. . .