Teach the Ghosts to Dance

An Introduction

Hello?

Hmmmm

Is someone there?

Hmmmm

Estela’s breathing quickened, hair standing to attention, and her heart dropped down into her chest. Who are you?

I’ve been called so many names.

Which name do you call yourself?

A good question, but you would not understand my answer. 

How shall I address you?

Shall you address me?

Why are you here if not to converse?

I’ve little use for conversation.

Then what have you come for?

Hmmmm

You must think there is something I can do for you.

Hmmmm

She released an exasperated breath. What brought you to me? 

I am drawn where there are stories and open doors.

And you found them both here?

Hmmmm

Are you an ancestor?

No.

Are you a demon?

Demon, a strange word with many meanings.

Would you call yourself a spirit?

If I needed to.

What do you prefer to call yourself?

A good question, but you would not understand my answer. 

I am tired already. Please tell me what you want.

I want to be known again.

But you don’t want to converse?

Conversation is an unwieldy method of familiarity.

What other method would you prefer?

A rush of cold blood began at her fingertips and flashed through her veins, up her arms, before exiting above her shoulder blades.

What the hell was that? She clenched her fists and then wrung her hands to warm them. Her shoulders rolled up and back trying to find normalcy again. Was that you?

Hmmmm

I do not like that. Don’t do it again unless I ask.

You did ask.

She gave an exasperated sigh. In her chest and between her eyebrows, she sensed laughter. It’s not funny.

Not to you.

Angry breath flared from her nostrils. You want to be known by me?

By many.

And your method of making yourself known involves an invasion of my body?

She felt the laugh again. She inhaled deeply, counted to three and exhaled the same way.  Her left eyebrow raised suspiciously as if mirroring the poker face of an opponent in a standoff. The cold blood returned, but only to her fingertips and immediately retreated. She repeated the slow inhale and exhalation for five beats this time. A cold touch of her right index only. What are you doing? She wiggled her fingers and wrung her wrist. 

Showing you. What are you doing?

Shielding.

Why?

She simply shook her head. They said demons can’t read minds. 

I’m not reading your mind. 

I’m not talking. 

Not with your mouth. Do you not feel as though you are conversing?

I do. It feels the same. 

It feels the same because it is the same. 

You didn’t deny being a demon.

I did not. Demons have many definitions. 

Estela lifted her right hand, palm faced outward like a signal to stop. Shifting the hand from waist height to align with her chin and center, she brought her left hand to join. She moved her hands slowly apart, like automatic doors opening. She repeated that motion several times over, faster and faster. She mimed the formation of a cube around her body, above her head, to each side, behind and beneath, as if she were sitting in a box. When finished, she held the left palm to the front “wall,” and reached her right hand beyond it, palm upturned, like an invitation. 

The feeling of cold connection gripped her right hand with more intensity than before, but stopped just above the wrist, just outside the box she had constructed. 

Good. Why so cold?

Estela sensed a focus and noticed a warmth in the center of her palm only, not quite radiating to her cold, tingly fingertips. You’re not making it cold on purpose?

No.

Interesting. Maybe just the body’s reaction. Why do you want to be known? Are you not as famous as you think you should be?

I am very famous in some places. 

But you’re not famous here?

Here, they reduce what I am and give blame for many things I am not. 

So you want to clear the record?

Hmmmm

And you came to me specifically because the door was open?

Hmmmm

How would I make you known? To whom would I tell the story?

A question worthy of a quest.

Can I trust you?

Many don’t.

You are not a good negotiator.

It is not a skill I have needed to practice.

You will not touch me or make yourself felt or known in my body without my awareness and permission.

Will you give your permission?

Only if you clearly agree. 

I agree not to make myself known to you without permission or invitation.

Until I say otherwise, you will not even speak to me without permission. 

I will not speak to you without permission.

I need something to call you, a name. 

May I tell you when we meet next?

Am I going to regret this?

I do not believe you will regret this.