Home

Her heels click against the tile floor. She follows in his footsteps at lightning speed. Through white, cement bricked hallways and around dimly lit corners. Past other bodies all dressed in black, murmuring into closely fit headsets. She glances up at a digital clock on the wall as she speeds past. 1:29:06. 05. 04… Its electric red numbers ticking down with each click of her heels on the tile. The man she follows turns his head and murmurs a few words to her over his shoulder. A white ‘x’ marked on the floor... Lights set to catch within 3 meters of that... A pitcher of water and a glass set on a table to her left, like she asked… She nods, and he turns back. Still speeding down the hallway, dodging bodies with carts and cables rushing past.

Finally, she sees it at the end of the hallway. A black door framed in silver. A matching handle and bold, thick writing scrawled across it. The man ahead of her comes to a stop. He turns and looks her straight in the eye. His hand clasped around the sturdy doorknob. “Ready?” he inquires. His question genuine, his voice full of real concern. She smiles, easily and nods. A tingle tickles the bottoms of her feet. He holds her eye for a moment longer. But she doesn't break his gaze. Her eyes crinkle at the edges. Her smile remains relaxed, but firm. One second longer. Then he nods, turns the knob and pushes the door open. Leaving his arm extended, his hand open, inviting her through the entryway. She nods back, then breezes past him. The sleeve of her blousy, magenta silk shirt just brushing his fingers as she moves by.

Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the dark surroundings. But she doesn't lose her step. Her heels, now muffled, keep pace against a black, wooden floor. Thick, black curtains hang down all around her, draped from far above her head. She sticks to the wall, using it as her guide to the front. Making sure not to get lost in the maze of draping, black fabric. It's quieter here. Less bodies. Less commotion. But she's not alone. Soon she's joined by another figure, all dressed in black. Headset propped over her head. A clipboard perched in her hands. She recognizes this one. Or so she thinks. Long, cascading red hair falls past her shoulders. A wiry frame so slender and agile that she moves with almost silence next to her. She smiles. The smile is returned. A few words exchanged. The white ‘x’…the pitcher of water… oh, and it's a full house tonight.

She feels the familiar tingle at the bottoms of her feet, start to travel up her legs, to her thighs. She nods and smiles again, this time briefly flashing a row ivory teeth. The nod is returned. And then she's left alone. The silent dance of bodies and cables and clipboards continues on behind her. But her eyes now find a new target, as her feet come to rest on a patch of wooden floor between 2 long, black pieces of fabric.

She interlinks her hands in front of her hips. Her feet part, weight leaning gently into her right hip. She stares out the vast emptiness in front of her. It’s brightly lit. A white ‘x’ at the centre. A pitcher of water and a crystal clear glass waiting on a small table off to the side. There's a microphone stand on the right, just feet from the white ‘x’. It's cables snaking back and around, across the floor, until they disappear underneath the folds of the thick, black curtains. She feels a smile on her lips. Across her heart. Deep within her belly. Her weight sinks deeper into her right hip. Her feet rest down into the floor. The familiar tingle traces its way up her spine and across her shoulders. She stares out at the empty space. Home.

She imagines it all for a moment. The warmth of the lights. The sound of hands, many hands, pressing together. The sets of eyes following her footsteps as she makes her way to the white ‘x'. It's like a warm hug. Familiar. Comfortable. And full of love. Chosen love. Reciprocal love...

Her head drops down. She closes her eyes. She takes a deep, slow breath in and out. The images flash behind her eyelids. A kitchen, with two bodies. The dance of navigating a small space. A drawer opened. A fridge closed. A faucet turned on. Hand to a mug. The coffee poured. A swift pass before one body exits. Missing each other by inches. But careful not to touch. Silent. Never making eye contact. Both always in a rush. She sees the corner of a couch, lined with plush throw pillows. Their velvet, tufted surfaces flecked with tears. A voice mumbles in the background. Hands fiddle with the corners of the pillows, caressing and tugging and pulling at the seams. Over and over again.

She feels the hot sting of those same tears behind her eyelids now. Her fists rush to her eyes, pressing into the blackness. Colours dance in the dark as they press deeper. The tears subside. She drops her hands, arms swing down by her sides. She opens her eyes.

But she's not alone. Black sneakers line up next to her heels on the wooden floor. She looks up into that pale face framed with long, red hair. She smiles. But only with her lips. The creases at the edges of her eyes remain tight, determined to keep back any lingering tears. The pale face framed by the long red hair pauses for a moment. Mouth stuck, lips parted. Halfway between a smile and a question. Then a decision is made. The lips meet. And the smile is returned.

She's handed a thin, white card marked with lines. Black handwriting scrawled across its face. She gazes down at it for a moment. Eyes moving from left to right, left to right, and back again. She looks up and nods. Her eyes move back to the empty space. She clasps her hands in front of her once again, the card held tightly between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. She takes another deep breath. Eyes now fixed on the white ‘x’ marked on the centre of the space. She hears numbers echo in her ears, counting down... 5, 4, 3, 2... A delicate hand lightly taps the top of her left shoulder. She inhales and nods. She can feel the pair of bright green eyes staring into the back of her head. But she doesn't look back.

She releases the clasp of her hands, shakes her arms and rolls her shoulders back. Once. Twice. Her feet begin to move. Heels click against the wooden floor. Walls of folding black fabric give way to a cavernous, open space. The warm light tickles her face. A wave of hands, and whistles, and shouts greet her ears. She raises her right hand and looks out at the vibrating blackness before her. The tingle in her spine gives way to a full-body buzz as she feels the energy pulsing back at her. She stops at the white ‘x.’ Feet framing it on either side. Hand reaches for the microphone just a few feet to her right. She draws it to her lips. And takes a breath. She can feel the anticipation in the room. Inside herself. She speaks, “Hello! I'm Justina Alvarez. And I'm here to tell you everything...”