Swing Out of the Blue, page 41
Dani froze. Mature, he had labelled his brother, like an adult, but Kyle wasn’t, and he was dangerous. Dani saw no empathy, no remorse. Everything Kyle had said to Green was an act.
What did that mean? Did it mean Kyle couldn’t overcome his cartoonish conception of good and evil, so that it would be tragically unfair to treat him like an adult? Or should Kyle be locked away because his twisted sense of fairness made him a threat to everybody? What was justice, anyway?
“They deserved punishment,” Dani said carefully. “I mean, they were assholes. They deserved something. Death is just so ... final.”
“They weren’t going to face any punishment at all. They were winning.”
“They were kids, though. What’s a youth sentence in vigilante justice?”
“Dani, I had to.” Kyle’s voice had changed to desperation and pleading mixed with the anger. “When justice is dying, when attempted murder gets a slap on the wrist, when people shrug off violence and humiliation, someone has to step up. Someone has to sacrifice. That’s what heroes do. That’s what martyrs—”
Suddenly, Dani understood.
Dani couldn’t let Kyle see tears, so without thinking, Dani did what he had been trained to do his entire life. He replaced his pain with fury and prepared to fight. His heart raced. His breath grew shallow. Then he pretended to relax into a cocky stance. “What the fuck did Zack say to you that night?”
Because Dani understood. Kyle never intended to survive his attack. He had planned to turn his gun on himself, like those other school shooters had, but Zack had talked him down somehow. Now Kyle was facing life in prison, and he had to believe he was a martyr, because otherwise, how could he face true justice? Kyle hadn’t even been convicted yet, and already he was imprisoned, a hostage to his pride.
“You know what?” Dani said, “Don’t answer. That’s between you and Zack. Just take some advice from your big brother, okay?”
Kyle nodded.
“The youth system will give you resources you can learn from,” Dani said. “We all want justice, but no one really knows how to find it. So, keep your convictions, but don’t let them stop you from learning. Like this psych assessment? You don’t have to plead ‘not criminally responsible’, but nobody kills people if everything’s okay inside. So, do the assessments. Get counselling. Take it seriously. Learn as much as you can. Not because you’re wrong. Just because ... there’s so much to learn. Does that make sense?”
Kyle hesitated, but he nodded. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Dani said, “but you can face it. You’re strong. Stronger than you ever imagined.”
“That,” Kyle replied, “is what Zack said to me that night.”
The brothers made their way outside to where Kyle’s parents were waiting. They offered Dani a ride back to campus, but he declined. He needed time to think.
It was a forty-five-minute walk from Green’s office to Dani’s residence. By the time Dani reached it, his anger had abated, but his fear hadn’t. That was okay. He knew what he had to do.
He opened his computer and found the website of the Mental Health Alliance on Campus. A few clicks took him to an external referral service with an online inquiry form. In the box for other information, he typed: “For anger management.”
Dani hesitated. Then he gathered his courage and submitted the form before he could change his mind.
As Dani lay on his bed, he felt, for the first time in recent memory, a sense of peace. None of this was his fault, but he was beginning to see how much he still had to learn.
It was time to become a good influence.
Monday, March 28
Andrew
Andy and Dani sat by the fireplace as dancers filtered into Wallace Hall. Heavy tables and chairs were stacked nearby, and the hook to open the windows rested against the wood-panelled wall. Those objects had been barricades and weapons once, but they weren’t anymore. In such subtle ways, KISS was beginning to heal.
Four years in the Queen’s music department had taught Andy Liu two things: symbols mattered, and everything was a symbol. That was why Andy had insisted that KISS’s first dance since the shooting be held here. To Andy, Wallace Hall still symbolized joy and comfort, but for KISS, it threatened fear and disruption. Andy needed to reclaim the space for all of them.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Dani asked. “They’re still pretty raw.”
“Tragedy doesn’t heal on its own,” Andy said. “It festers.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Trust me.”
Dani tried to look stern, but Andy merely narrowed his gaze and Dani started laughing. “Fine.” Dani kissed him. “I trust you. You nervous?”
“A little,” Andy admitted. He shouldn’t be. KISS was Andy’s club, and music had been his passion since childhood. Andy’s father was a rock ’n’ roll aficionado with a fondness for singing out of key to the vintage turntable that was his prized possession. His mother played the piano semi-professionally and the flute and clarinet recreationally. Andy himself had been enrolled in piano lessons since he was three, and he’d spent the last four years studying music theory and history. Andy felt music viscerally, and DJ’ing, which was nothing more nor less than structuring an emotional experience through song, was almost intuitive.
Tonight wouldn’t be a normal DJ set, though.
“Forget about me,” Andy said. He felt bad worrying about a dance club when Dani was suffering. “Any news?”
“This just in: Easter gets really fucking awkward when your brother may be going to prison for life and your stepmom hates you.”
“You didn’t have to go.”
“Kyle needs me.”
“You need to take care of yourself,” Andy said.
“It’s hard when I’m losing family and friends and everybody—”
“You don’t have to lose me. It’s only California. We can make it work.” Andy tried not to take Dani’s reluctance personally. He could only imagine what Dani had been through these last ten days. “I’ll visit,” Andy said, “and we have phones and video-chats and texts. You can visit me, too, and—”
“That’ll be pleasant, telling American border guards I’m visiting my boyfriend.”
“California’s different,” Andy said. “It’s basically another Canada, only hotter and with less drinking water. There’s a great swing dance scene in San Francisco. They’ve got the trolley cars, and Coitus Tower, and the Golden Gate Bridge, and Alca—what?” he finally asked. Dani was looking amused. “Was I too loud again?”
“How loud is too loud?” Dani stroked his chin philosophically. “If a tree falls in a forest, and nobody around can hear it because it’s drowned out by Andy Liu’s voice, does it—”
“You think you’re so clever.”
“Also,” Dani said, “it’s Coit Tower, not Coitus, but we know where your mind is.”
“Damn right.” Andy pushed Dani lightly, and when Dani made to push him back, Andy caught him by the arm and kissed him. Dani could make fun of Andy all he wanted. Andy knew who he was and how they felt about each other. That was what mattered.
Andy stood, and he and Dani walked together toward the gathered dancers, who formed a circle around them. Dani squeezed Andy’s hand reassuringly before joining the others, leaving Andy alone in the centre. “Welcome,” Andy said, “to the Kingston Swing Syndicate.”
Three dozen students surrounded him, but only a fraction would meet his gaze. Andy felt unusually nervous. “Thank you for being here. Returning to this space takes courage, but I don’t believe in shying away from fear. I believe in facing it. I believe in naming it.” With difficulty, Andy forced himself to pause before continuing. He was never comfortable with silence. “Ten days ago, one of our own tried to murder people in this room.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Andy had promised the dancers a meaningful response to the tragedy, and they had come. They trusted him. Now he had to deliver.
“Tonight won’t be a regular beginner lesson. Instead, we’re going to focus on what really matters. KISS isn’t about swing-outs or triple-steps. It’s about using music and movement to connect with each other and with ourselves.”
Andy wanted to say more, but he held himself back against every instinct he had. “Please take two steps backward.” They did. “Now turn around.” There was some consternation, but the students obeyed. “Look straight ahead. Nobody’s watching you dance, but in your peripheral vision, you’ll catch glimpses of your immediate neighbours, so you’ll know you’re not alone.”
From the circle, Dani flashed a wrap it up gesture. It grated, even though Andy had asked for the help. He was always being told to stop talking. “I’m going to play a song. Whatever you hear, whatever you feel, express it in your movement. Forget about moves or steps. Listen. Feel. Dance.”
He started, because of the tragedy, with blues music. Wallace Hall became trance-like rhythms and progressions of minor chords. Here and there, for embellishment and emotion, a flattened “blue” note played where most genres would resolve. The dancers started shy—none were blues dancers, and Andy himself had only scratched the dance’s surface—but as the music’s repetition calmed them, they opened up. They twisted with the rhythm and writhed with the blue notes, pouring their pain into the dance.
As the first song faded, Andy tried to remind himself that the dancers’ pain was part of the plan. They had to feel it to move past it.
Listen. Let the music do the talking.
“Stay where you are. Face outside the circle. Let’s try another.”
This song was up-tempo blues. The dancers used more space with the faster music, and they seemed larger to Andy, as though they could fill the room to overflowing. Andy hoped they could feel it, too.
Andy’s gaze settled on Rhea. She had shuffled to the beat of the first song, but her motions were stunted, as though she was folding in on herself. Now Rhea’s posture showed fresh determination. She lifted her chin and spread her arms to embrace the music.
As the second song ended, Rhea swooped into a bow that became a collapse, the music draining through her. She rose again, however, head high, hands on hips. Throughout Wallace Hall, Andy could see the emotion in the dancers’ movements, lingering even after the song ended. It was working. It might be working.
“Please turn around,” Andy said. The dancers faced the centre of the circle. More of them would meet his gaze now. “How did that feel?”
No one answered at first. He glanced at Dani, who subtly held up a hand: keep waiting. Finally, Zack said, “It’s—it’s cool to be alone and together at the same time.”
“Was the dancing more comfortable the second time?” A handful of dancers nodded. Just as the rustle was dying down, Sophia said, “Yes!” very loudly and sparked nervous laughter. “I think we’re ready,” Andy said. “We’re going to do the same thing but facing each other. No physical contact, but make eye contact. Take that beautiful dancing and share it.” Andy queued the next tune on his laptop. “This will be our last blues song today,” he said. “I think you’ll see why.”
He had chosen Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good.” The trombone underpinned the piece, commanding and powerful, blasting notes along a minor scale that ever descended. The trumpet played in counterbalance, dragging behind the beat. The piano was a steady rhythm of ringing chords. Violins soared then retreated. Rising above them, Simone’s soulful voice transcended the blues rhythms, highlighting the contrast between the music’s darkness and the lyrics’ hope.
Andy watched the dancers wrestle with the contradictions. Some embraced either sadness or joy. Others flipped between the moods, their movements disjointed but striking. A few interacted with other dancers, helping their friends find hope amid the tragedy. Andy couldn’t help smiling at Zack and Sophia. Though Zack was gripping a cane and moving gingerly, they danced together the entire song, locking eyes and responding to each other with cascading movements and rhythms. Andy had seen them happy before, but they had never looked so calm.
“Does anyone want to share,” Andy asked, “about that experience?”
The silence took longer to break this time. Finally, Ahmed said, “The lyrics were ... interesting.”
“What,” Dani said sarcastically, “you’re not ‘Feeling Good’ yet?”
“I thought it was brilliant,” Sophia said. Of course she would get it. She felt music as deeply as Andy did. “Pain doesn’t just go away, but it doesn’t have to. We can work through it.”
“You weren’t there, Sophie,” Ahmed argued. “We were all terrified, and I was worried about Fatima and Iftin ... but when I said interesting, I really meant interesting, not bad. I love the song. I feel its power. The lyrics just don’t fit, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
“What did you feel dancing to it?” Andy asked.
“Whatever it was,” Ahmed said, “I think I let it out. Wait, was anyone watching me?”
There was mild laughter. Most of the dancers were focused on themselves. Tima, though, put an arm around her partner. “You looked like you cared. That’s a good thing, even if it hurts sometimes.” The smattering of applause startled her, but she smiled.
“I was here that night,” a younger boy said. “I wasn’t scared then. I couldn’t believe anything would happen at Queen’s, and KISS seemed really well organized.” Andy noticed Rhea’s blush. “Somehow, between social media and last Monday’s dance being cancelled, I got scared after the fact, so being here again—dancing with all of you—it helps.”
They applauded. It’s working. It’s really working.
“I was also there,” a girl said. She was Rhea’s friend who had learned to dance at the fake birthday celebration and never stopped. “It happened so quickly there wasn’t time to think. Now these songs are forcing us to slow down and process it. So, it hurts, but then you’re dancing, and you’re hearing the music and the lyrics and—”
“I didn’t notice the lyrics,” another boy said. “I was trying to feel the music, and these emotions started hitting me, from shock to disbelief to sadness to—well, I don’t know where it’ll end, but it feels like moving forward. It’s a good feeling, because when that barricade was up”—he pointed vaguely toward the door of Wallace Hall—“I felt really ... trapped.”
“That’s why I liked ‘Feeling Good,’” a fourth-year said. “The music tells you how awful Friday was. My back still hurts from lifting those tables.” There was more laughter. “Obviously no one’s feeling great yet, but there’s hope, too.”
A first-year girl raised her hand hesitantly. “Um, I wasn’t actually here when—when it happened, but I came to the Saturday dance. I didn’t feel like dancing, but I wanted to support KISS, and—and I felt like people were looking past each other. Today, when we were finally dancing together after facing apart for the first two songs, I felt like—like we were beginning to see each other.”
It was exactly what Andy needed to hear. “I couldn’t have said it better. You’re ready. You’ve seen each other. Now it’s time to connect.” The dancers looked at him expectantly. “Find a partner.”
Zack and Sophia connected instantly, and Ahmed and Tima soon joined them. Andy looked for Dani, but he was dancing with the girl who’d spoken last. Dani was leading, Andy realized, taking one for the team. Andy waited until they were all partnered before continuing. “Your task is the same as before. Listen to the music. Whatever you feel, express it in your movement. Only this time, listen to your partner as well. I don’t want the leaders dominating. Both partners should share what they hear in the music. Sound good? Let’s do it.”
For his fourth song, Andy had planned a slow lindy tune. It had a swing feel, but its pacing allowed the dancers to improvise and play. All around him, they were inspiring each other, trading leads, dancing with vision. With the fifth and final song, the progression was complete. Joyous, up-tempo swing forced the dancers to stay in the moment and move together. When it ended, they were panting but smiling. They had done it. They had come through the other side.
“How’s everyone feeling?” Andy asked. The responses were positive, if a little tired. “Well, I’m sorry to have to bring the mood down, but I have an announcement to make.”
The gathering quieted. The dancers re-formed the circle around him. The night wasn’t over. Andy still had to get this right.
“This was my last official act as president of the Kingston Swing Syndicate.” Andy didn’t normally get emotional, but an era was ending, and he could hear his own sorrow. “Classes end this Friday, and since I’m a music theory major, I have seven hundred essays left to write and no exams. By mid-April, I’ll be leaving Kingston. So, I just have to say”—Dani hadn’t given Andy the wrap-it-up signal yet, but he could tell it was coming—“that I’ve never had a greater honour than being your president. Thank you for coming tonight and sharing your thoughts and fears and experiences. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m speechless.” Tears formed unexpectedly as the applause washed over him. Leaving would be harder than Andy had realized, and he still had one thing left to do.
Talk less. Listen. “We have two KISS members to honour tonight,” Andy said. “Normally, lindy hoppers do this with a jam. We put someone in the centre of the circle, and everybody takes a turn dancing with them. But one of our honourees couldn’t be here tonight, and the other doesn’t like performing.
“So, instead, can you please join me in a moment of silence to honour Iftin Haddad, who singlehandedly prevented a far greater tragedy through her courage and selflessness ...” He made himself stop, look around the circle and share their acknowledgments and respect. “... and Zachary Emerson: your next president and the man who saved the Kingston Swing Syndicate.”
Later that night, after the other executive members had left, Andy sat on a table and surveyed the room that had become his home. Dani finished packing the sound system and made his way over, and they sat together, staring at the lamps and the portraits. “It’s hard,” Andy said.
