A Time to Dance by Padma Venkatraman Read Free Book Online Page A

rail.
    Here, though, I’m all the guard you’ve got.”
    I look at my hand tucked snugly in the crook of his elbow.
    Sense the blond hair of his arm brushing against my skin.
    Indian men don’t invite ladies to hold on to their arms.
    Feeling like the heroine of a Jane Austen novel
    being courted by a British gentleman,
    I giggle.
    But my giddiness at being so near him
    gives way to a spurt of anxiety when Jim says,
    â€œCan you walk alone?
    I need to see how your limb fits.”
    He lets go of my arm. “Trust my leg, kiddo.
    Your leg, I mean.”
    â€œOur leg?” I suggest, surprising myself with my boldness.
    Jim’s eyes twinkle like the sea on a summer’s day.
    â€œAs you wish, ma’am. Our leg.”
    His grin sends warmth rushing up my cheeks.
    I move slow and unsteady around the room,
    feeling the intensity
    of his gaze
    as it travels over every bit of exposed flesh.
    Observes
    my every movement.
    Jim looks
    preoccupied. Assessing.
    I want him to look
    admiringly. Appreciatively.
    I want him to look at me
    the way young men looked at me
    that evening after my dance competition.

STUDYING
GRACE
    â€œI’m going to study,” I announce every evening.
    Ma thinks I mean for my upcoming finals.
    In my bedroom I study my reflection.
    Attention focused on my feet.
    After a million miles
    a trillion minutes
    walked with no thought at all,
    I slow the motion down in my mind:
    flex thigh, bend knee, lift ankle, straighten knee,
    heel down, then the ball of my foot.
    Bring my right foot down light enough
    so it doesn’t thud on the floor.
    Lift high so it doesn’t scrape or drag.
    Match my left foot’s pace precisely.
    I must learn to walk gracefully first,
    if I’m ever going to dance again.

BLUE
DIAMONDS
    My fake leg well hidden under loose salwar trousers,
    I walk to Chandra’s housing development, three roads over.
    Her ma wipes her moist eyes with the edge of her sari
    when she sees me, saying,
    â€œCan’t believe you walked here. On your very own.”
    Chandra rushes over, followed by her pa and two older sisters.
    The five of us chatter for a while,
    just as we used to.
    Her grandmother ambles over,
    grumbles to me about her ailments.
    I’m relieved
    none of them treats me differently.
    Chandra whisks me away for a private chat.
    We sit on the back steps,
    eating the spicy mixture of chickpeas, chili, and coconut
    her mother cooked for us.
    â€œJim’s so different from anyone we know,” I tell Chandra.
    â€œThere’s not one continent on earth he hasn’t traveled to,
as far as I can tell,
    and he knows all about making limbs and about physiotherapy,
    which is pretty exceptional, I think,
    but he never shows off.”
    Chandra raises her eyebrows. “You call your American doc
by name?”
    â€œHe’s not exactly my doctor. It’s like we’re friends.
    He even guesses my thoughts sometimes.”
    â€œSo he’s cute?”
    â€œNot cute.” Cartoon characters are cute. “He’s . . . really manly.
    Tall. Strong. He’d lift me out of the wheelchair easily,
no problem.
    He’s got brilliant blue-diamond eyes—”
    â€œNot cute, only drop-dead gorgeous?” Chandra squeals.
    â€œYoulikehim, youlikehim, youlikehim.”
    â€œAre you crazy?” I say. “He’s probably thirty years old.
    It’s not like that.
    Jim’s really nice. That’s all.”
    â€œDon’t get mad.” Chandra giggles. “I’m only teasing.”
    She pops a chickpea into her mouth. “Just be careful, okay?
    My eldest sister’s been dating a boy on the sly.
    A rich boy and not even our same caste.
    She said she was flirting for the fun of it,
    to pass time until my parents arranged a husband for her.
    Now she’s gone and fallen in love with him.
    You and your doc—it’s a lot different, I know—but
    he’s attractive
    and you’re