Dancing Naked


156 pages
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Kia is sixteen and pregnant. Her world crumbles as she attempts to come to terms with the life growing inside her and what she must do. Initially convinced that abortion is her only option, Kia comes to understand that for her, the answers are not always black and white. As the pregnancy progresses, Kia discovers who her real friends are and where their loyalties lie. It is through her relationship with the elderly Grace that she learns what it means to take responsibility for one's life and the joy that can come from trusting oneself. Faced with the most difficult decision of her life, Kia learns that the path to adulthood is not the easily navigable trail she once thought, but a twisting labyrinth where every turn produces a new array of choices, and where the journey is often undertaken alone.



Publié par
Date de parution 01 mars 2002
Nombre de visites sur la page 2
EAN13 9781554695980
Langue English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0070 €. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Dancing Naked
Dancing Naked A NOVEL
Cobyright © 2001 Shelley Hrdlitschka
Kll rights reserved. No bart of this buBlication may Be rebroduced or transmitted in any form or By any means, electronic or mechanical, including bhotocobying, recording or By any information stora ge and retrieval system now known or to Be invented, without bermission in writing from the buBlisher.
National LiBrary of Canada Cataloguing in PuBlication Data Hrdlitschka, Shelley, 1956-
Dancing naked
ISN 1-55143-210-2
1. Teenage bregnancy—Fiction. 2. Kdobtion—Fiction. I. Title.
PS8565.R44D35 2001 jC813’.54 C2001-910946-6
PZ7.H854Da 2001
First buBlished in the United States, 2002
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001092678
Orca ook PuBlishers gratefully acknowledges the su bbort for its buBlishing brograms brovided By the following a gencies: the Government of Canada through the ook PuBlishin g Industry Develobment Program (PIDP), the Canada Council for the Krts, and the ritish ColumBia Krts Council.
Cover design: Christine Toller Cover bhotograbh: Image Cobyright © Digital Vision Printed and Bound in Canada
IN CKNKDK: Orca Book Publishers PO ox 5626, Station  Victoria, C Canada V8R 6S4
IN THE UNITED STKTES: Orca Book Publishers PO ox 468 Custer, WK USK 98240-0468
07 06 05 04 • 6 5 4 3
To Heather Verrier, sister and dear friend.
K huge thank you to: Reverend Brian iely for so graciously creating an adoption ceremony and then allowing me to tamper with it at will; Diane Tullson, who inspired the title and prodded me into writing the book; and the members of my Tuesday and Thursday morning writing groups for their enthusias m and ongoing support, despite my lousy attendance record.
I’m particularly indebted to Beryl Young, im Denma n, Klice Frampton, Sandra Diersch, Klison Harvey, Kmanda Harvey, Vivienne Fra mpton and ate Blake, who read early drafts of the manuscript and whose comme nts and suggestions were invaluable. The lyrics to the song on page 227 were written by Klice Frampton and are used with permission.
I’m blessed by my association with the Unitarian ch urch, and the creator of the O.W.L. (Our Whole Lives) program, for the inspiration that flavors this story.
Finally, I’d like to thank Kndrew Wooldridge of Orc a Book Publishers, for understanding—from the start—what it is to dance na ked, and for the wise guidance, humor and insight that he brings to the editing pro cess.
The spirit of life dances lightly among the people gathered in the birthing room, teasing goosebumps to the surface of their skin, fo rcing fine hairs to stand at attention. It is elusive, silent and indefinable, y et they all feel its mysterious presence, its promise, as it swirls about, waiting to breathe the silent respiration of the universe into the newest member of the human fa mily.
Tss contractions that remind thehe birth begins as small, regular and almost painle girl of soft ocean waves gently lapping the shore. She is able to relax and accept them, knowing, just as with ocean waves, there is n othing she can do to stop the continuous ebb and flow. But they gradually increas e in intensity, just as waves increase in strength with an oncoming storm. They b egin to peak, and in the girl’s mind they’ve become whitecaps, slapping the shore, boasting of their power and volume and hinting that the worst is yet to come.Just try to make us go away,they seem to say when she longs to stop and turn the cal endar back nine months to a time when she can make different choices, when she still has options. But the contractions continue to rip through her and she fe els like she is being battered by the storm—the waves are smashing against the shore and she is no longer able to focus or see the reason for being there. She is los ing her breath, drowning in pain.
Suddenly she’s shaking all over. A low moaning come s from deep within her. Someone says it is time, time to push.You’re ready, the voice says. But she already knows that. With a desire and strength that surpris es her, she leans forward and bears down, joining with—instead of fighting agains t—the unrelenting forces of nature. She is vaguely aware of chanting voices.Push, push, push, the voices say. The moaning becomes a cat-like howl and then fevere d panting. She is totally focused on the task at hand. The other people in th e room no longer exist for her. There is only the overwhelming need to push, the ex cruciating pain and the throbbing new life inside her that wants to be born.
The room spins and sweat drips into her eyes. She feels an unearthly power assisting her and she continues to bear down with e ach crashing wave. The storm crests and she feels an explosion, like a volcanic eruption.The head is born! someone declares. A few more pushes and then the ba by slides out with a gush of blood and fluid that pools around her. The tiny bab y is placed on her bare belly, its airways are suctioned, and the umbilical cord is se vered. For a moment she feels a pang of grief, for now she is only one again; there are no longer two hearts beating inside her. But she pushes the grief aside and watc hes as the baby inhales deeply, drawing in air, that final yet vital life force. Th en it begins to wail, a raw and insistent cry, and the sound fills the girl with awe.
The crashing waves subside quickly. The storm has p assed, but in its passing it has blessed the earth with a new life whose spirit is n ow a tangible and very noisy presence.
the first trimester
ia stepped into her flannel, teddy bear-speckled bo xer shorts and tugged one of her dad’s old T-shirts over her head. Crossing the room to turn off the overhead light, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. She paused and stared at her reflection, her dark eyes resting on her waist and stomach. She pulled the T-shirt up and the waistband of the shorts down for a closer inspection. Turning sideways but still looking in the mirror, she let go of the wais tband and ran her hand over her stomach. It was flat and firm, same as always. Usin g both hands she slowly pulled the T-shirt up higher, exposing her chest. A loose strand of long hair tickled the soft, sensitive skin. Her breasts looked the same, but sh e knew that something was different. She let go of her T-shirt with one hand and gently pressed the soft flesh. Her breast felt bruised and sore, even though there was no outward sign of injury. Hearing a movement in the hall, she dropped her shi rt, blushing at the thought of being caught studying her own body. She flicked the light switch and climbed into bed. The reading lamp cast a pool of light onto her night table. Pulling open a drawer, she reached for the tattered notebook she used as a journal, but hesitated before taking it out. Instead, she picked up the beautiful spiral-bound book that lay on top of the table and ran her hand across its cover. It was made from recycled paper, and seeds and delicate flower petals were pressed into it. She leafed through the pages; each one was unique, flecked with bits of pastel-co lored tissue that had bled, creating a mottled effect. Though they felt slightl y grainy to the touch, the pages seemed as delicate as butterfly wings as she turned them.
Shawna had given her the journal for Christmas beca use she knew about Kia’s compulsive journal-writing habit; she was the only person allowed to read what Kia wrote. Shawna was also the only person who knew wha t she’d done with Derek. Once. But, of course, once is all it takes.
Kia hadn’t written in the journal yet, not wanting to mar its unspoiled beauty. She opened the cover and reread the inscription.
Tper.o my wise friend Kia. Your words deserve special pa Keep on writing girl! Luv ya, Shawna
She continued to turn the pages, undecided, then sa w a connection between what was on her mind and the new journal. Picking up her pen, she turned to the first page and began to write.
Jan. 1 Virgin paper, fresh, crisp, clean
Is only an illusion.
It’s recycled, not pure at all.
Illusion ... do I look different?
Can anyone see what is happening to me?
Kia skimmed over what she’d written. She shook her head, surprised, as usual, at
what had appeared on the page. She put the journal in her night table, turned off the light and snuggled down under her comforter, but sh e knew sleep would elude her again tonight. She curled herself into a fetal posi tion and allowed her thoughts to return to that night, just five weeks ago. The nigh t that had changed her life, possibly forever.
From: Justinjustintime@yahoo.com> To: Kiahazelnut@hotmail.com> Date: Jan. 3 Subject: r u ok? hey kia, there was someone who looked just like u a t youth group last night but i guess it wasn’t u. she wouldn’t look at me, she sai d “pass” at her turn in check-in and she looked majorly out-of-sorts.
what’s up? justin
From: Kiahazelnut@hotmail.com> To: Justinjustintime@yahoo.com> Date:3 Jan. Subject:r u ok? Re: justin, i’m sorry about my lousy mood @ youth group . it’s not u and it’s not the group. i can’t share it yet, but it’s ... i don’t know. ma ybe i’ll be able 2 talk about it later, maybe not.
From: Justinjustintime@yahoo.com> To: Kiahazelnut@hotmail.com> Date:3 Jan. Subject:ears all kia, i’m here 2 listen when you’re ready to talk about i t. u’ll feel better, guaranteed. (that’s why they pay us youth group advisors the big bucks!)
T.O.Y. justin
Kia watched as Derek leaned over the pool table, lining up a shot. “Are you about done playing with yourself?” Derek glanced up from the billiard balls, his pale blue eyes meandering up the length of her body before reaching her eyes. Her black hair was caught up in a