Hula Girl

It had been a long night, and I couldn’t wait to dance. Once the engine started and the sun streamed through the window to rest upon my breast, I sprang into action. My hips swayed and my arms swung up and down. I loved curves and bumps because they made me wiggle even more.

I remembered the day I was chosen, standing with many other hula girls on the shelf in a gift shop. Some had little plastic pink skirts, with matching bikini tops; others wore green skirts and coordinating tube tops. Some of us wore flowers in our hair, or leis around our necks, or holding ukeleles. My skirt was yellow and little brown coconuts covered my chest. All of us had long black hair with a permanent pink smile upon our faces.

None of us could dance unless we were picked up. That was when we wiggled our best moves. I was thrilled I was chosen over all the others, and the man had a clean, kind face. His smile could melt any girl’s heart. I was sure the others were very envious of me. He placed me face forward on the dashboard of his automobile so I could be bathed in sunlight as I danced to the movement on the road.

I couldn’t see his family, but I could hear how much they liked me.

“She’s cute.”

“Can I play with her?”

“Watch her jiggle!”

“She reminds me of our honeymoon in Hawaii.”

The appreciation made me want to bust out my best moves.

An added benefit was the music. When the music was on, my joy was complete. I tried to move to the beat, but sometimes I got carried away. Stops were great; especially sudden ones. My whole upper torso leapt forward, then bounced back. I got a whole-body workout.

My gaze was always forward and the only time I saw my owner or his family was when they walked past my window, but I could tell they were a busy group.

“Dad, I got practice after school.”

“Honey, we need to pick up groceries.”

“I forgot my homework. We gotta go back.”

“How long do we have to stay at your parents' house?”

“I gotta pee!”

Then, there were the pets. One barked so much I couldn’t hear the music. One tried to eat me, but my owner saved me from the jaws of death. I did lose a piece of my skirt, but I still had my modesty.

“Mom! Buster threw up on me.”

“Bad dog, bad!”

“Why can’t Buster behave like Muffy?”

“Do I have to pick up his poop?”

“Such a good boy.”

It sounded to me people love and hate their pets.

I also got to ride along on road trips and watch the scenery go by as I boogied.

“Are we there yet?”

“Mom! Randy touched me.”

“I forgot my pillow. We gotta go back.”

“Shit, I got a flat tire.”

“Watch your mouth around the kids.”

“Yeah, Dad.”

“Mom! Randy’s being an asshole!”

Sometimes, the music I danced to changed. Often many times during one trip, but I didn’t mind. I hula danced to it all. I didn’t know much about the passage of time, but I could tell the family was growing up fast. I think a son, Randy, was driving the car.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!”

“Turn right. Your other right.”

“Slow down.”

“Speed up.”

“Don’t hit that parked car!”

I never danced so much. Eventually, things calmed down, and I could tell Randy was driving because of his choice in music. There was a lot of screaming and anger in the songs like someone stubbed their toe and got hit in the groin at the same time. I danced to it anyways. Then, I heard a young girl’s voice.

“Thank you for the pretty wrist corsage. It smells so good.”

“You smell better.”

“Flirt.”

“After dinner, wanna go for a ride before the prom?”

“Sure.”

I was happy about it. Any excuse to dance. The ride didn’t last long before the engine cut off, and my dancing ended. Sounds of what seemed to me to be fish out of water sucking for air. Then, there was so much shuffling around, I swayed to the rhythm.

Later, when the auto returned to the garage, I heard the door open and…

“It’s about time you got home. We were worried about you.”

“Gawd, can’t I have any freedom around here?”

“Let me smell your breath. You better not have been drinking.”

“Mom, no! Lay off!”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah. I’m going to bed.”

“Good night. I love you.”

“Night.”

Day after day, I continued my grooving and moving. Life was complete, until a cold chill fell upon me. Not from the weather, but because of the family. Conversations stilted. Back talk from the children. The loss of Buster.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“You always think of yourself.”

“Mom, Dad, please stop fighting.”

“I’ll take the bus home from school.”

“Don’t wait up for me, I’m working late.”

“The house payment is overdue.”

“I won’t be home for supper. I’m spending the night at Dustin’s.”

My times out became erratic. I sat for days it seemed. The stops, harder. Near misses from other cars. The music ended. Swearing at other drivers. My dress was dusty. My coconuts peeling. My luxurious black hair faded.

“I will not let you go.”

“I hate you!”

“Mom! Dad!”

“This is it. I filed for divorce.”

“You’re hurting the kids.”

“No. You are!”

Silence. I sat in the dark, cold, confused. What happened to the family? Why the turmoil? Didn’t my dancing bring them joy? Finally, the engine rumbled into life. The sun returned to warm my breast. My hula moves began again. There was no music; no conversation. I swung my arms and hips to the movement of the vehicle. My glee returned until a big bump sent me flying from the dashboard. The blue of the sky, brief before a massive splash. I floated on the surface of water until pinned against the roof.

I danced no more.