June, Reimagined (26)
“Don’t forget your powerful rendition of ‘Your Body Is a Wonderland,’ played on the recorder.”
“John Mayer did every man a favor when he wrote that song.”
“Please tell me you don’t still make the constipation face when you dance.” June vividly recalled Matt with his freshman-year homecoming date, Vanessa, who, while Matt was wildly convulsing to the tune of “Come on Eileen,” asked if he was having a seizure and whether she should put a spoon in his mouth.
“Yes. It’s awful and completely uncontrollable. Dancing just makes me clench.”
“That’s not healthy, Matty. You’re not supposed to hold it in. You’ll get a butt cut.”
“Butt cut.” Matt laughed. “Is that a medical term?”
“Yes,” June said with authority. “It’s in the textbooks with wiener and hoo-ha.”
“Don’t forget tatas, funbags, and my personal favorite, lunchables.”
“My gyno always asks how my jubblies and vajayjay are doing.”
“Well, she’s a good, professional doctor. She cares about you.”
June giggled as the warm feeling she always got when she talked to Matt spread across her chest and down her legs—like she had curled up under the world’s most perfect, fuzzy blanket. “Why in the world would you sign up for a dance class? Are you looking to commit GPA suicide?”
“Do you know how important flexibility is as we age?”
“This is about your health,” June summarized doubtfully. She knew Matt better than that.
“It’s all very medical. Yesterday I saw a girl put her leg behind her fucking head. While she was standing. I think it’s my job as a student of the arts and sciences to conduct a thorough examination into the correlation between dance and . . . what was the technical word you used for it? My wiener.”
“Now the truth comes out.” June set down her sandwich and brushed crumbs from her hands. “How did you even get into this class?”
“Turns out guys don’t really take dance class because most of us are fucking idiots, so they’re always in need of guys to hold up the girls and twirl them and stuff.”
“You mean lifts and turns.”
“I told the professor I have really great upper-body strength from working construction all summer.”
“Construction?” June balked. “You were traffic control for the City of Sunningdale. You stood in the street for six hours a day flipping a STOP/SLOW sign.”
“On a construction site,” Matt emphasized.
“This sounds a lot like the time you got a job at Twin Peaks.”
“That was a great résumé builder.”
June smiled. “You had to threaten to sue the owner to get the job.”
“It’s illegal to discriminate in hiring based on gender, even if your restaurant is called Twin Peaks and all the servers happen to be women who are required to wear crop tops and tiny jean shorts.”
“You looked ridiculous in that uniform,” June said.
“That owner underestimated me. I’m not afraid to make a fool of myself in pursuit of a goal. And I have great fucking legs. You should see them in my dance onesie.”
“Leotard, Matty. Dancers wear leotards. You better know the lingo if you’re taking the class.”
“Whatever. It’s all dirty laundry on my bedroom floor.”
“I thought you were into the girl at the library,” June stated.
“I was, and now I’m not.”
“What happened?”
“She was a fan of Beckett. I mean, I’m a fucking snob, but I draw the line at Beckett.”
“You know I have no idea who or what you’re talking about, right?”
“Of course,” Matt said.
June pictured him in his flannel pajama pants, worn-out Cincinnati Reds T-shirt, a cup of black coffee in his hands, sitting on the pull-out sofa in his apartment, the Today Show muted in the background, the morning overcast as it often is in the winter in Columbus. The scene was as familiar as her own bedroom back home, and June felt as though she were practically sitting next to her best friend.
“OK,” Matt said. “Confession time.”
“I’m still reeling from the Dawson’s Creek revelation. I can’t believe you cried over Joey and Pacey,” June said.
“This from the girl who had a crush on Danny from New Kids on the Block. Have some self-respect.”
June giggled, jumped down from the counter, and went to the fridge. She grabbed a lemon soda, took off the label that claimed it as Angus’s, and poured herself a glass.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating.” June took another bite of the sandwich. “I needed a little something before my run.”
“You’re running again? When did that start?”
“Probably around the time you signed up for dance class.”
“Why are you running?”
“You say that like running is a bad thing, Matty. It is actually good for my health.”
“I know,” Matt said.
“But . . .” June could hear hesitancy in his voice.
“You’re just telling me now,” he qualified.
“You just told me about the dance class.”