Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS…
Dance Like No One's Watching
By Manda
Her legs flew, up-down, up-down
One, two three…
It was easier to forget so many things when she danced. When she had the time to dance, moving the furniture in the living room to make way for too many unsteady turns, too many tumbles and falls from years of getting progressively rusty. It wasn't the same, anymore- no more dancing for men, slack jawed, hands holding out rustling, sweaty ten dollar bills.
She could think about the times she'd read to Lindsey at bedtime, in the days when independence hadn't yet set in and the baby fat still made her cheeks round and pink.
Mary had a little lamb, whose fleece was white as-
Her face, the day she'd discovered she was pregnant. Lindsey would become the pride and joy of her life, although at the time, with Eddie out of work and drunk consistently, she couldn't quite imagine the joy. It was evident the day Lindsey met the world, squalling with all the ferocity her mother used when fighting with her husband, that she'd never accept anything less than the best in her life, and Catherine was determined to follow through. Red faced, tinted purple, the newborn baby had the long legs of a dancer and the startling blue eyes of a Willows.
Legs were flying faster now, her back arching and head high as a series of pirouettes and tour jete's sent her reeling across the living room, clear of all obstacles, stereo blaring Ani DiFranco through wall mounted speakers.
When had it been…The first time she'd heard Ani DiFranco had been so long ago, during the first doctor's appointment scheduled for her pregnancy. Waiting room speakers filtered the tune through a room filled with rubber plants and month-old copies of Vogue. She remembered the tiger fish in its tank, flowing easily with the rhythm of the song, and remembered vaguely that it brought a smile to her face. She could dance as well as that fish- perhaps even better- but it was all in the past as long as the baby survived in her stomach.
The music changed and so did she, curling wrists and twisting hands, hair loose from its ponytail, waves of honey blowing across her eyes and into her mouth. Eddie had marveled at her long hair when she'd danced, limbering up for long nights of undulating her body for the men she didn't know. When she'd been in labor, she possessed vague recollections of his hands tenderly smoothing hair away from her face, whispering encouraging words as she'd pushed as hard as she possibly could. The sensation remained, the feel of a warm hand against her sweaty brow, lingering at her hairline, never going away.
Those were the memories she'd rather experience while dancing to Ani, or Chopin, or Mahler- letting the calm waves of music wash away all the soreness, all the pain she could ever recall.
As the final song on the mixed CD faded into the evening, Catherine Willows folded her body to the floor, a lone figure in black bra and underwear, sinking like a ship on the soft, aqua blue carpeting. She stretched out her arm, laying her head beside it, curls of honey pouring over the tanned skin, exhausted.
Every now and again, she figured, she just had to dance away her thoughts.
Had to dance like no one was watching.
~End