"Mm."

"Haha. That is so cute."

"Hm?"

I lowered my chicken wing down and looked over at the smiling, happy lady next to me on my bed. The small TV in front of us was on low, good for our older ears. She seemed thoughtful, and I realized she wasn't eating.

"I've never seen you get dirty before like this. You were always so particular about using a knife and fork. Even when we were eating pizza." Cha Cha started beaming at me, and still though she had come over nearly every day this week, I was staring at every bit of her face. Drinking her in, just in case I never saw her again. Or maybe I was imagining her, and I wanted to make sure she wasn't an illusion, trying to find spots on her face that I wouldn't have been able to remember. So far, I was zero for one billion in ratio for this, this being indeed the real Cha Cha winning by far and away. This fact was incredible to me.

"How am I supposed to eat it?" I asked, my hands feeling a bit slimy due to the sauces of the buffalo wings I'd eaten already.

"No, you're right," she giggled.

"Oh, okay," I smiled in relief, "I never get to eat stuff like this, so I don't know."

"You don't?"

"Hm?" I'd taken another bite, so I looked over at her again.

"Do you not eat stuff like this anymore?" She seemed a little panicked.

At that moment, the TV panned over the audience of The Tonight Show and the color change lit up my darkened bedroom, her face. I was completely mystified that I was actually seeing her there. A little part of my brain whispered to me that it was an illusion, that I had to be coming down with some form of Dementia. Or maybe I was in a coma from that day I had fallen in the kitchen. Because there was no way...but this chicken in my mouth tasted real. Does chicken taste real in a dream?

"...I'm sorry, what?" I asked, realizing I'd forgotten her question while thinking, the sudden brightness distracting me too much.

"Oh, I asked if you still liked take out food? Is it too heavy for you? Is that why you don't eat stuff like this anymore?"

"No, I like it," I said, trying to assure her. I wanted her to smile again.

Relief filled me as she did just that. "Good," she smiled. But she still didn't take a chicken wing of her own. It made me wonder. Why wasn't she eating if she was so concerned about me eating?

"Don't you want some?" I asked, nudging the foam take out box between us towards her leg on the bed.

"I shouldn't," she said, looking thoughtful again.

"Why not?"

She smiled again, a small one, a knowing one. "Because I have to keep my figure for dance. I can't eat stuff like that."

"But it's chicken, it's good for you," I said encouragingly, nudging the box even closer. She started laughing. My head tilted. "What?"

"That's so 1950's thinking," she chuckled, her shoulders bouncing.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just because it's chicken doesn't mean it's good for you!"

"What? Really?" My eyes were wide, thinking about my own figure.

"Well, but..." she was eyeing the box like a kid eyeing a cookie jar, at the glistening orangey brown chicken laid on their bed of crinkly wax paper.

"Hmm?"

"I guess a few can't hurt, can they? In the grand scheme of things."

"Oh, definitely. Eat!"

She giggled anew and finally took one in her elegant hand. Her face turned towards the TV at Jay Leno still giving his monologue as she took a bite, a ravenous one by the looks of it. I bit my own wing, but slower, smaller. I wanted her to be able to eat as many as she wanted, so maybe if I ate less of them she could have more.

We watched the TV for a while, various guests appearing on the show and delighting us. She was eating a lot more of the chicken than she let on she would. This made me more happy than any guest on The Tonight Show could. Soon, I went to reach for another wing and found my fingers scratch against bare wax paper. After fiddling around in there for a couple of seconds, touching all four walls, I peered down.

It was all gone. Every last one. A warm feeling bloomed in my heart.

Kissy, popping noises next to me made me blink and I looked over. Cha Cha was sucking on her fingers, getting every last bit of the buffalo sauce. It tickled me and made me beam.

"Do you need a napkin?" I asked, searching for the white paper bag the wings had come in up the bed.

"Si, gracias," she said sweetly.

I grabbed the bag and it was surprisingly loud against the quiet of the TV. It made me realize just how low the TV was. A small blush rose to my cheeks. What if she wanted the TV to be louder? I hadn't even asked. Trying to look casual, I took the stack of napkins out of the bag and offered them to her. "Do you want the TV to be louder? I could turn it up," I said, trying to find the button in the darkness with my eyes. Darkness. Oh...what if she wanted it to be brighter in here?

"I'm fine," she replied like a merry wind chime.

"Okay," I breathed.

She took a few of the napkins and began wiping her mouth and her hands with them. I did the same.

"Mm, you know," she said, but quieter.

"Hm?" I was all ears.

"If I'd done that before...like when I knew you before...would you have made me eat?"

"Huh?" What a weird question.

"Nothing."

I was confused. What had she meant? "No, what do you mean?"

"Um...if I wasn't eating and we were eating together, would you have made me eat?"

"Of course. But why wouldn't you have eaten?"

She was quiet at this, looking down at her napkin. Her eyes looked distant. Her pretty brown eyes. "Um...because I used to not eat a lot."

An uneasy feeling began growing in my heart. "What do you mean?" I put my hand on her knee, seeing her unchanging distant expression. She was thinking of something. What was she thinking of?

Her hands folded over mine, gently. "I wish I had known you in the 70's," she said simply, saying nothing further.

Guilt washed over me, though I knew that hadn't been her intent. What was she trying to say to me? Not saying? Not eating. What had she meant?

"What happened in the 70's?" I asked. She hadn't removed her hands from mine, and their warmth was soaking into me. But it brought no comfort.

She just shook her head, her eyes still staring at nothing.

"Cha Cha?" I said quietly, staring at her face. The TV went on squawking, completely ignored now. The light from it changed to a bright one, and in the briefly lit up room I saw why her eyes were so distant.

They were full of tears.

"Oh, Cha Cha, what's wrong?" I whispered.

"I never admitted this to anyone before. But I'm glad I get to tell you," she said in a very small voice, ashamed. I wanted to erase all of that shame away, but I didn't speak, just listened. She needed someone to listen and I would do that for her no matter what.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "In the 70's...you know...well actually you don't... um...I was a dancer at The Majesty. But, by then it was called The Her Majesty Club..."

The Her Majesty Club? My eyes went wide, recognizing the name instantly.

She went on, squeezing my hand in the effort. "There was a lot of pressure for us dancers to look really hot. It was kind of an unsaid rule. We were dancers to get good looking people into the club. People wanted to come to our club, because we were there, you know? I just wanted to dance. But the pressure got to me. One day, Thandi said it looked like I was developing kind of puffy cheeks, so I panicked. She didn't mean it in a bad way. You know she'd never say anything bad about me, she's like my sister, but...but..."

I put my other hand on top of hers, showing her I was listening, caring. She looked down at our hands. She shuddered a little bit, and my lip poked out unintentionally in my worry.

"I ended up getting scared of food, especially bad food like that chicken we just ate." Her head hung at this, obvious shame surrounding her. My mouth parted, wanting to say something, anything, but I was quiet because I knew she wanted to say more.

"My dance partner, his name is Tango? He kept wanting to go out to eat and stuff, but I kept saying no. So, one night when I refused, he told me about all of these girls he knew from his dance classes who were Anorexic and Bulimic and he got so frightened. He told me I shouldn't ever be like those girls, that me being fat was absurd, but...I couldn't..."

"Oh, Cha Cha," I whispered, unable to comprehend what I was hearing. I could only stare at this pretty, muscular, slender figure before me who looked to be in perfect health. Peak physical condition. It was hard to imagine that she struggled with any of these sorts of thoughts, she was so beautiful.

"I'm sorry, I..." she blinked hard, stared at the TV, but not really watching. "Um..." she closed her eyes again, for a long time. "Um...if I had known you then...you'd have made me eat, right? You would?"

"Yes, Cha Cha," I said, desperation hinting in my voice, but I didn't care. "Yes, I would have made you eat. I would have noticed, just like Tango."

She sniffled, but didn't move. "Paulie told me about how you intervened after what happened at that club, with the police. When he sold that shit to Miracle? That time... He told me you had a talk with him, tried to help him with his problem. He said you would have definitely tried to help me with my not eating problem. But I couldn't believe him, because I didn't know what to believe anymore. I kind of lost it after Sasha died and my problem got really bad. I wish... I wish you'd have been there...to stop me."

"Oh, honey," I sighed, my eyebrows going upwards at the center. My arms settled around her, hugging her tightly. "I would have cooked for you and I wouldn't have let you leave the table until you'd eaten every single bite. I swear."

She sniffled, and I felt her body trembling a little bit. "What would you have cooked for me?" These words came in bursts, like she was trying to control herself.

"Lasagnas, fettucine alfredo, chicken florentine, anything you wanted."

She coughed, but a small laugh escaped her throat. It gladdened my heart. "That stuff is so heavy," she breathed gently. It sounded like she was relieved.

"The heavier the better for a girl who is not eating," I said, serious as I'd ever been in my life.

"True," she giggled.

"Did you eat enough?"

"Hm?" she asked, looking up at me finally. Her eyes were sparkling in the TV's blue light.

"Tonight. Did you eat enough?"

"Si. I ate a lot. It was really good."

I made a decision on the spot for her, in my love. "I'm going to cook for you tomorrow. What do you want?"

She started giggling anew at this. It made me feel like I was floating in space. "Lasagna sounds good, since you mentioned it."

"What kind?"

"There are different kinds?"

It was my turn to start laughing. "Yes, there are different kinds."

"Hmm...make your favorite one for me, then?"

"Okay."

We didn't talk after that, watching the end of The Tonight Show together. When the show panned over the audience the light brightened again, and I was so glad to see she was dry eyed, a look of contentment on her full, healthy face. It made me so happy I was over the moon.