Walking home from Calawa’s on Sunday, Risenga was worried. At the same time, she was happier than she’d been in ages. She had a hot new dancing partner, and the buzz between them and the way she and Vukosi agreed on so many things promised more than just a dancing partnership.

The worry was where, and how, they were going to get the regulation outfit for Vukosi to wear in Bushbuckridge. She and her friends had been discussing it all afternoon while Ntsumi did Risenga’s hair in a twist-out.

Shoes weren’t such a problem. There were people in the villages who owned what they called ‘church shoes’, which would be fine. Someone would wear the same size as Vukosi.

“Heita, Risenga!” It was Mburi. “How are you?”

Risenga looked at her. Not so long ago, she’d have ignored Mburi – or else raged and spat because of what she’d done. Now she didn’t care, but that didn’t mean she was ready to become best friends forever with this girl.

“I’m fine,” she said in a sarcastic sing-song sort of voice because she knew Mburi didn’t really care how she was.

“Listen sisi, I’ve been thinking.” Mburi started walking along beside her. “Now Dzinga is dancing with me, you don’t need your purple dress and shoes any more. Can I have them for the competition?”

Risenga stopped walking.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that!” Then she laughed, looking down at the shorter, curvier girl. “Do you think my dress would fit you? It would need serious shortening, for a start–”

“Calawa’s mother sews so–”

“And anyway, I need it for the competition,” Risenga went on.

“But … you haven’t got a partner,” Mburi protested uncertainly.

“Except that I have.” Risenga couldn’t hold back a wide smile. “And is he ever hot! In every way. We’re going to set that dance floor on fire.”

“I don’t believe you.” Mburi’s voice had gone flat.

“Come to class and see for yourself. Eish, I forgot!” Risenga slapped her forehead theatrically. “Auntie Wheels said you think you and Dzinga are too good to need her classes.”

She didn’t hang around to see Mburi’s reaction, but it looked like she’d got to her in some way, because when she arrived for Monday evening class with Auntie Wheels, Mburi and Dzinga were there, standing next to Vukosi.

Risenga was a bit late, but nothing had started yet because Auntie must still be inside the house.

Dzinga looked away when he saw Risenga.

Yes, so you should feel guilty, she thought.

Mburi was talking to Vukosi, and when she heard her own name, Risenga tuned in.

“… Risenga. You should be careful around her. She has a reputation. Her father is this compulsive gambler; he even stole from his own mother to support his habit, and the shock killed the old lady. Then her brother, he got this girl pregnant and just took off, wouldn’t take responsibility. And don’t ask me about her sister with her sugar daddy …”

Risenga’s face was burning, and her heart breaking all over again. Gogo had been ill anyway, but it was true, the shock of Pa stealing her savings had hastened her death, and dear God, she missed her so.

She forced herself out of the swamp of sadness to hear Vukosi saying to Mburi, “You’re telling me a whole lot of things other people have done, not Risenga.”

“Her family…”

“We’re not our relatives.”

Risenga felt like something had just lifted her off the ground, so that she was floating. Vukosi got it, unlike so many other people. He wasn’t judging her by her family.

She strode forward.

“Thank you for keeping my partner entertained with such sensational true-life stories, Mburi,” she said with her widest smile, then turned to Vukosi. “I’m late, my bad. Pastor Marule was at the house and … I know I should have kept my mouth shut, but he was having a go at Ma for going out with her head uncovered, and – I couldn’t stand it. She looked lovely, with her hair all soft and shiny from washing … We got in a big fight. He thinks I’m a major sinner–”

She broke off when she saw Mburi was listening, her eyes glistening with a sort of greedy curiosity.

“Me, I think he’s the sinner, the way he’s screwing the last few rand out of people who’ve got hardly anything there in Moremela, and I suppose in Leroro too,” Vukosi said, very serious. But then he smiled. “Hey girl, we don’t need to wait for Auntie. Let’s dance.”

This was one of the things they shared. They could lose themselves, get away from their problems dancing together, even without music.

When Auntie came outside, it was clear she was in her most critical mood. No one escaped.

“Is that a bunch of bananas resting on your partner’s shoulder, Miss Mburi? Because it doesn’t look like a hand … Vukosi, this isn’t freestyle. Less show-off display, more grace … Dzinga, no-one told me you’d died; it’s lucky I’m not afraid of zombies … Risenga, do you call those head-snaps? You look like you’re trying to get a mosquito out of your ear.”

Vukosi clearly enjoyed her sharp tongue, and of course she and Dzinga were used to her, Risenga reflected. It was Mburi who couldn’t take it, her lower lip out like a doorstep.

Eventually, when Auntie called her ‘a plank of wood’, Mburi stood still.

“Come, Dzinga baby, we don’t need this ugly old witch telling us what to do.” Her voice was high. “She’s jealous because we’re young and beautiful and she’s stuck in that wheelchair and can never dance.”

She went stomping away, her weave and her bum both bouncing with the force of her indignation. Auntie cackled with laughter. Risenga swallowed a giggle, and glanced at Dzinga. For a moment he stood there helplessly, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Then he went after Mburi.

“What’s the betting he’ll come crawling to you any day now, begging you to take him back as your partner?” Vukosi murmured to Risenga.

“And I’ll say … ‘Forget it, Dzinga’,” she said under the music, so Auntie couldn’t hear.

“Because you have a fine new partner now.” The soft fire in Vukosi’s eyes burned higher, and she leaned in towards him, breathing his breath.

“Too close,” Auntie shouted.

“It takes you away, doesn’t it?” Vukosi spoke into her ear. “The dancing.”

Oh yes, he so got it. Got her. She felt his understanding like she felt the sun when she came out of some cold place in winter.

“Or lifts me out,” she said. “Out of my life. It’s my real life, I accept it, but sometimes … I just need to get away.”

“It’s always been an escape for me too,” Vukosi said.

That was it, she thought. Dancing took her away from the greyness and grind of daily life. It was beauty, colour and music and movement, her only escape.

She couldn’t lose it.

***

Tell us what you think: Is needing an escape from the dullness of daily life the same thing as running away from reality? Is it healthy?