Kylie The elevator doors opened. A lone passenger, a woman holding a small purse, came out and turned down the hallway to the right. Kylie had grown up in this neighborhood on the island. It was technically an island, but from this apartment house, you could see no water, nor did most of the tenants ever get to see the ocean or bay that surrounded them. It would be two hours and a half, and two bus transfers, to get to what was called Engel's Beach. A few teenagers ventured there, but most folks had no time for such frippery. The neighborhood was a cliché -working class, small ethnic groceries, package stores and a coffee shop or two. A dry cleaner barely eked out a living, since most people here washed their own clothes and their clothes were not the kind to be dry cleaned. Kylie's parents, more particularly her mother, wanted more for their only daughter, than this neighborhood had to offer. Her father worked all night in a bakery and slept during the day. Her mother, a nervous type, began taking Kylie to talent agencies, dance classes and children's contests when Kylie was barely in kindergarten. If you chanced to talked to this woman, usually on her way to some children's audition with Kylie, she would engage in lively conversation full of hope, dreams on the verge of being fulfilled, the big break just waiting for her darling daughter. The husband basically served as the provider, paying the rent, the food, and the fees for the daughter's classes. The tenants of the apartment house, most of them long time occupants, watched through the years as Kylie and her mother would hurriedly rush to some appointment. They were skeptical about her comings and goings – especially since she put on airs of being better than they. Kylie was not a particularly attractive child, with a pale skin and stringy looking hair (they called it dirty blond). Her face was plain, except for two saucer sized eyes that seemed to be staring into some distant point. And no one could deny that she was graceful, often doing dance moves on the banisters and stairs of the building. So when she turned fifteen, it was a surprise to the tenants, that Kylie began wearing skimpy clothes, displaying pouting lips covered with bright red lipstick, and starting to "hang out" as they called it . When people came home from work in the evenings, they would find her by the mailboxes downstairs, or by the laundry room, or more often, just on a stair landing, just doing nothing. But everyone noticed that Kylie had suddenly grown up. And they knew nothing good would come of it. Of course, they knew about Jake. He was a few years older than Kylie. He had dropped out of school in tenth grade and was working for a deli as delivery boy. He had no car, but had enough money to go to pizza parlors and even a night club or two on Saturday nights. Jake was easy going and friendly. His parents, first generation Americans, were from Southern Europe and Jake had an olive complexion and black, straight hair that always seemed to casually fall on his forehead. Kylie loved Jake. She had always loved him, but didn't really know what was happening until her hormones finally gave way and she became what her mother called "impossible." Tenants would now hear the mother scream at the daughter at different times of the day. It was always about how hard she worked to give Kylie a good life, and now she was throwing it away by refusing to go to dance classes, to school, anywhere but hang around the stairs and lobby of the building, hoping to catch a glance of Jake. But a determined mother is a force to be reckoned with. It wasn't long before she had convinced her husband to move to another neighborhood, not too distant, but far enough so Kylie could not see Jake. The mother had talked the husband into taking that night job at the bakery and pretty much wore the pants in the house. The husband was an easy going man who was just glad that he didn't have to live alone and didn't have to cook or clean for himself. Kylie went through severe depression, which her mother handled by screaming at her more loudly. Finally Kylie gave in to her mother's demands and became docile, not wearing lipstick any more, and her clothes became plain, almost dowdy. Her shoulders slumped, except when she was in a dance class. There, through the depths of her pain, she found something to hang on to, she could not name it. Perhaps it was hope. As her muscles began the familiar movements, slowly, life seemed to ebb back into the unfortunate teenager. The new neighborhood was cleaner, quieter and the people seemed to have more interesting things to do and places to go. Kylie's father spent an extra half hour on his commute to the job, but otherwise their household remained as before. The apartment was smaller, but didn't have the dark corners and musty smell of the old one. They somehow fit their furniture into the smaller spaces and it was hard to move around in the apartment. Kylie was now old enough to go to dance classes by herself and the local stsdio in the strip mall had some talented youths whom Kylie admired. On their coffee breaks, some of the students would go to David's Café, a new place that had fancy muffins and flavored coffee. Several students tried to make friends with Kylie, but it was Alfonse that broke through the wall she had built for herself. Alfonse was the height of grace. He was the star of this dance studio and had done a solo exhibition downtown. Downtown was a place that everyone dreamed of. It was the height of success. Most of the people, even in this somewhat middle class neighborhood, didn't think they would ever get to the downtown level of life. But Alfonse was the exception. His talent for dance was matched by his smooth personality and ready smile. It wasns't long before Alfonse and Kylie became a "number." That's what they called it when two people were dating. Kylie's mother was as anxious for Kylie to get serious with Alfonse, as she was against her longing for Jake. Alfonae's energy poured into Kylie's heart and finally she felt that her parents could be proud of her. Alfonse had swept her into the heady world of dance performances, first in the suburbs, then in the venerated Coliseum downtown. Alfonse had pulled her out of the bevy of dancers and she danced a duet with him. Kylie's mother sat in the first row. The father was at work and missed this special evening. Time took its course. Kylie and Alfonse were married in an outdoor ceremony in an elegant home on the southern shore of the island. Yellow and white striped tents canopied brightly dressed guests, most of them dancers and their families The guests commented on the radiant bride and her mother and this time her father, too, hovered around the couple with obvious pride. After a honeymoon in Tahiti, the couple settled in what can only be called an upscale neighborhood. The apartment, of course, was tiny. Each square foot was precious in this area. Alfonse now owned his own dance company and they would tour the country. I saw Kylie a few years later. An old friend was in town and asked me to meet him in that hotel lobby for a drink. Kylie was curled up on the couch of a world class hotel downtown with Alfonse curled up next to her. They looked like a lovely Fragonard painting. Kylie looked up and recognized me. We exchanged a few pleasantries and I left to meet my friend at the bar. I had been a tenant in her old building when Kylie and her family moved out. I continued living in that old building and saw Jake, who lived with his parents down the hall from me. He never married, but I would see him with local women going out on weekends. According to the grapevine in the building, Kylie's mother had told someone that she would not be a grandmother because Kylie, a dancer, did not want to change her body. Bearing a child would finish her as a dancer. It seemed to make sense and the mother seemed to accept that without any regret. After all, her daughter had grown up to be a success. She even paid for a tropical cruise for her parents. As I saw the handsome couple on the elegant sofa in that hotel, I thought they looked like the perfect couple. On the long ride on the bus back home, it suddenly dawned on me. Kylie's eyes had looked flat, as if there was nothing behind them. As I looked at the glass of the bus window, against the dark night and city lights moving quickly past me, those eyes kept haunting me. Finally it was my stop. I wearily trudged the steps up to the sixth floor. At my age, I decided not to take the elevator so that my legs would remain strong. I was short of breath as I reached the sixth floor landing. I turned to the right, hoping soon to open the door of my apartment and find the comfort of my couch. As I passed the elevator, the door opened. There she was. She wore a plain sweatshirt and jogging pants and a little bag on the side. Embarrassed and disoriented, I smiled a quick "Hello again," and disappeared into my apartment. I turned on the TV and propped up my old, comfortable pillows. But my eyes kept wandering to the open window with the distant city lights glowing in the sky, so it was hard to see the stars. Suddenly something clicked in my mind. The woman that came out of the elevator = what was it about her? Why, it was her eyes. They sparkled.
Copyright © 2007 Liilia Morrison |