Fiction Fix Sixteen

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himself walking in the cemetery. “Maybe,” he mumbled.<br />

“No,” Desirée said, stopping her barefoot dance. “No, not ‘maybe.’ Yes. Yes, yes, yes!<br />

You have to do it, baby. You just have to. It’s so amazing! Remember that day?” She tapped<br />

the photo on the fridge. “You were freaked out at first. Then we got there, and you felt it?<br />

Remember? You could feel that way again.” Desirée opened the fridge. “To be surrounded<br />

by all that death and to be standing there…so alive! You’ll feel the whole world. I know<br />

it’s in you. You just have to let it out, baby.” She took a slice of cheese from the fridge.<br />

“Want some?”<br />

It was Jacob, the Irish ex-pat “corporate mystic,” who suggested Desirée walk through<br />

cemeteries barefoot. He started this whole thing. Desirée mentioned him one night as she<br />

and Gil sat on their front porch enjoying the warmer weather.<br />

“We’ve got this new guy at work, Jacob,” Desirée said as she stood and threw her<br />

arms wide. “Yeah, the bosses brought him in from Ireland – can you imagine? Ireland.<br />

Huh. Anyway, he’s some sort of motivational guru who does these workshops on how to<br />

be more spiritual at work. Crazy, isn’t it?”<br />

Gil laughed and watched his girlfriend reach her arms up toward the porch ceiling.<br />

She was on her tiptoes but was still too short to touch. She wobbled there for a long time.<br />

“I mean, it just seems weird because a company doesn’t seem like the type of place<br />

where spirituality should matter. Now, you know me – I’m all about spirit and emotion.”<br />

Desirée turned back toward Gil, a strand of her hair curling around her softening eyes.<br />

“And passion. Yeah, you know about that, huh?” She laughed and shook her behind. Gil<br />

raised an eyebrow, blushed, and watched as she shook, twirled, then shook again.<br />

Desirée sat next to him, throwing her leg over Gil’s lap. He enjoyed the warmth of<br />

her thigh. “Jacob had us take our shoes off today. Can you believe it? Right there in the office<br />

– in the big conference room. I’m always kicking my shoes off under my desk anyway,<br />

so it was no big deal to me, but the others – you should have seen their faces!”<br />

“What did he have you do then?”<br />

“Oh, man, it was wild! He had us stand there with our shoes off, and then he says,<br />

‘Close your eyes now’ with that Irish accent, you know?” Gil did not know, hadn’t met<br />

Jacob, but Desirée’s attempt at an Irish accent was cute. Awful, but cute.<br />

“‘Relax your eyes,’ he told us. ‘Let your breathing slow down. Pay attention to your<br />

body. Your brow. Relax it. Let it fall. Now your fingers. Relax them. Now your feet. Pay attention<br />

to the here and now. Pay attention to what your feet are telling you. They are your<br />

most direct connection to the world.’”<br />

Gil studied Desirée’s face. She had closed her eyes. Her Irish accent was already getting<br />

better. “And, damn, if I didn’t feel it,” she whispered.<br />

<strong>Fiction</strong> <strong>Fix</strong> 67

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