Little Tart
On my tenth birthday my mother invites our whole family over to dinner. Grandmother, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, all bring bon-bon colored gifts that look like treats I ache to devour.
Before we eat, the kids play freeze tag out front. We ignore the carpet of pine needles that bites at our heels.
After dinner we do cake, open presents. I unwrap the soundtrack toAladdin, Lisa Frank stickers, colored pencils for school. I squeal while opening a Western Stampin’ Barbie, marvel at her turquoise ten-gallon hat and jacket, finger silver fringe on sleeves, boots that stamp tiny trails made from B’s.
While my mother cleans up, my cousins and I head to my room where we plan a performance for the adults, a ritual we conjure every time family gets together. I grab my new cassette; press fast-forward a dozen times.
Click stop at the right spot.
We delegate roles, practice moves, pull outfits from squeaking drawers, my cousins wrap their heads in towel turbans, I choose the red camisole and underwear set I got for Christmas. In a troop we march downstairs, declare that the show will soon begin, take our places, cassette set up, towel draped around my middle awaiting reveal.
Music slinks from plastic speakers, rising like white smoke into the air. Warm adult smiles nourish small egos while cymbals pave melodic roads.
I wait for vocals to trill, for song’s climbing crest to release, for words that claim Arabian Nights, are like Arabian days. On cue, I release my grip, grind hips to loping beat, fuzzy legs against tepid air, channeling that particular brand of Disney sex.
I let my camisole’s thin straps fall softly like first snow. When the song ends my mother’s face fades to frown, the others shift, turn quiet eyes toward the ground.
I pick up my discarded towel, avoid disapproving eyes until breakfast the next day,
when my step father brings up my little dance, calls me a little tart.
Then he laughs.
Carlie Blume is a Vancouver born writer of poetry and fiction. Her work has appeared in The Maynard: a poetry journal, LooseLips Magazine, BAD DOG Review, Pulp Mag, and Guest poetry journal. She is currently working on a novel. You can find her on Twitter @carlie_blume