Born in the Valley

The piece was a dance performance. Sort of. It was a depiction of a human condition, one that every human being eventually faced.

An excellent depiction as far as Keith could tell.

He just had no idea why people would choose to watch other people act out the process of dying. It wasn’t something he wanted to put himself through.

But Martha was riveted. Her whole body leaned toward the monitor, almost as though she was going to jump on that stage with those writhing, painfully weak bodies. Eyes drawn to the slim neck exposed by her short black hair, Keith wondered why Martha was still single. Her husband had left more than two years before, and other than a few dates with the architect who’d done some work at Montford, Martha’s love life had been nonexistent.

As far as Keith knew, anyway.

And he couldn’t understand that. Not only was she slim and sexy and down-to-earth, the woman had a way of making a guy feel she honestly enjoyed his company. He wondered if she had anything planned for the weekend ahead; if so, he hoped it would involve something for her and not just for the four kids she was raising alone.

“What?”

She’d caught him staring.

“Nothing.” Jaw set, Keith turned back to the screen.

Keith made it a priority to support student initiatives as often as he could. Part of the MUTV mission was to give the students running the new digital cable station opportunities to recommend and even develop programming. His television motion-picture students had been the driving force behind Keith’s initial idea for the Montford University television station. Unlike many college and university stations, MUTV was not an education-access station.

They were in control of their own programming.

But this particular piece…

Bodies in nude-colored body things, showing the most godawful suffering…

“I think we’re going to have to give this one a miss,” he said.

“No!” Martha’s head spun toward him. “This is what we’re all about, Keith! We have to do it! This is absolutely the best thing we’ve seen in the six months we’ve been here!”

“We’re about positive educational experiences,” he reminded her. “Our programming enriches peoples’ lives in positive ways.”

It didn’t matter if they were showing actual college classes, university sports or a full-length feature film, the goal was the same.

“And it doesn’t get any more uplifting than this,” she insisted. Her brown eyes were turned to the screen again.

Keith stared at her. “It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen! Those people are dying of AIDS!”

The depictions were real—performed by people suffering from the deadly virus.

“They’re alive, Keith.” Martha’s tone was low, but carried so much conviction Keith had to take another look at the screen.

“Think of the hours of rehearsal they put in here. Listen to the documentary. Hear the laughter. The love these people have grown to share. That’s what living is all about. No matter what,” she continued softly, slowly, “life isn’t over until it’s over.”

Okay. He supposed that was true.

So how come all he’d seen was dying people writhing on the floor?

“You can’t just watch something like this with your analytical mind, Keith. You have to see it, feel it, with your heart.”

A young bald man was making motions, as though he was grooming himself, but kept getting interrupted by an imaginary sore on his hand that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“It’s horrible,” Keith said, wishing he had the guts to get up and leave.

“Look at the expression on his face.” Martha’s voice was soothing. A balm amidst the tragedy seeming to engulf the small room they used for viewing.

Keith looked.

“He’s alive. That sore or whatever it is isn’t stopping him. He’s still doing what he set out to do. Still accomplishing things.”

“Still living,” Keith said slowly, relaxing slightly as his focus changed, seeing, instead of the tragedy, the determination in the performer’s eyes.

And the deep-seated satisfaction as he completed his task.

“Victory,” Martha said.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

Keith had the most bizarre urge to hug her.

HUGGING HERSELF, Bonnie stared at the water at her feet, remembering Mike Diamond’s letter. Still, the flood seeping into her tennis shoes could easily pass for nothing more than bad luck. Toilets broke. Seals gave way. Curious children conducted flushability experiments with assorted toys and other nonbiodegradable items. The insurance form was already mentally half-written.

“I can help you.” She heard Shane’s thick, deep voice behind her. She hadn’t noticed the slushing of his tennis shoes in the inch-deep water pouring out into the hallway.

He was carrying a mop in one hand, pulling a wringer and bucket with the other.

“The toilet exploded.”

He nodded, started to mop. And then to wring.

Bonnie glanced back at the tile floor in the private teachers’ bathroom. With the wallpaper and area rug, the matching curtains and towels, wastebasket and soap dispenser on the sink, the wood cabinet in which the sink sat—the one she’d saved two months to buy—the place looked like home. Or it had. That cabinet wasn’t going to escape unscathed. She could already see the wood at the bottom starting to warp.

Another insurance form to fill out.

“I turned the water off,” she told Shane. And that was all she’d done. Except feel relieved that her husband had picked up their daughter a couple of hours before. She hadn’t even called Keith yet to tell him about this latest disaster, let alone phoned a plumber. Six o’clock on Friday night wasn’t a good time to get someone in, and it wasn’t as if this was a real emergency.

With one easy flick of the wrist, Shane pulled the lever to bring the rollers down over the mop and release the dirty water into the bucket beneath.

“Can you pick up that rug?” he asked, speaking slowly.

Bonnie hurried to do as he’d asked. The little rug was heavy with water. She dropped it into the sink and then got out of Shane’s way.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, touched that in spite of his limited capabilities, he was such a good friend. “Accidents happen.”

“But you just had a fire.”

“Yeah, maybe someone’s trying to tell me something,” she said wearily, trying to smile.