by Vera Quinn
If it didn't go well, they wouldn't have a lot of time to adjust. Marie fervently hoped and prayed that everything went well the first time. If it didn't, she wasn't sure she'd still have the career she wanted, the one she'd worked so hard for. When it came right down to it, she had nothing else that had piqued her interest over her short life. Nothing that enthralled her the way ballet had.
Giving it up had put her in so deep of a depression she could admit to herself that she almost hadn't climbed out of it. Finding it again had given her a new will to live, a new lease on life, so to speak. If those hopes were dashed, she wasn't sure what she would do. Where she'd fit in after this.
When the lights came up that night on stage, Marie stood in the wings, hands clammy, fine tremors working their way through her. Dress rehearsal had been a bit rocky, but she hoped it was simply because they'd never used the equipment before. They'd evened things out as they'd gone along, so she prayed tonight's performance would start off better and only go up from there.
“You ready?”
Glancing towards Julian, she nodded, her face pale. “As I'll ever be.”
Making her way to the center of the stage, she dropped into her first pose, holding it as the music began. As it swelled, she could hear the crowd cheering. For her. For her new re-debut. It bolstered her confidence, encouraging her. She could do this. She'd worked so hard, dedicated her life to this. Losing her calf didn't have to mean losing her love of the dance.
The first act went by in a blur. Marie couldn't remember most of it, she was so focused on making sure her steps and pirouettes were in time with the music, were executed as flawlessly as she could perform them. Julian was a godsend, steadying her as a partner should, providing the stable influence a premier danseur gave to his prima ballerina.
When she faltered, she smiled bigger, moving into the next step before she let the doubts crowd in. The audience didn't know the routine, didn't know the poses. They'd never know that certain steps were fumbled slightly, all they'd remember is the performance as a whole. She was the perfectionist who would analyze everything later, overthinking it and figuring out how to do better next time. As the lights dimmed, Julian lifted her, his hand slipping to her calf out of sight of the audience.
This was it. The moment she'd worried over, panicked about. As he let her slide back down his lean body to stand on her feet, she was careful not to wobble on the foot that was now mostly unbolted. A flurry of movement surrounded them, the other dancers fluttering about, creating what looked like a group of butterflies in flight. A rebirth.
In the midst of the pandemonium, two broke from the crowd, carefully attaching the rigging to the harnesses she and Julian had worn under their garments. With all the activity on stage, they were mostly hidden, so the audience wouldn't see the set-up, just as she hoped they didn't see Julian preparing her leg for what they were going to do.
The music broke, then swelled to a crescendo. At the same time, the dancers moved to the edges of the stage, arms upraised. Closing her eyes, Marie felt herself become weightless, letting her body go lax so she didn't appear stiff and jerky. Smiling at Julian opposite her, she let the stage crew direct her with the wires, and simply danced. For the first time since her accident, she could go on pointe, technically, as the bolt Julian had loosened allowed her foot to be vertical to the floor once she was lifted. It was a magical moment, realizing that there was a way for her to still perform the way she used to. That she wasn't broken.
A few feet above the stage, they danced above their 'family' of butterflies, the movements they made echoed by the dancers beneath them. The costumes were a riot of color, making the entire thing a complete spectacle, and Marie adored it. Leaning forward, she took Julian's hand, one leg rising behind her as she went almost horizontal, an affect only possible with the wires keeping gravity at bay. As he spun her, she switched legs, her tulle skirts shifting with the movement. They had to repeat each movement twice, once forward, once backward, to untangle the wires, but it simply served to make the dance look more intricate to the audience.
Marie felt weightless, invincible. When Julian moved to the side, she let out a small breath, squaring her shoulders. Gripping the wires where they'd added padding once they'd ascertained where her arms would reach, she began her solo, holding herself afloat with her grip on the wires themselves, enabling her to keep herself steady while also performing the pirouettes, entrechats, and chaînés she'd chosen.
As she released the wires, she leaned forward, allowing Julian, who'd moved forward, to sweep her into his arms. Meeting his gaze, she saw the pride and joy in his that surely matched the look in her own. They'd done it. They'd performed a new production by themselves, and she'd danced it all.
The Grand pas de deux was the dance for two, the last one of the night before the curtain would fall. The wires gently lowered them back to the floor, Marie's nerves starting as the troupe surrounded them once more. Julian bent, re-securing the bolt to her foot before he stood, taking her hand. Then? She danced her heart out, as if she'd never get another chance to do this again. If this was her last time on the stage, she wanted to make a memory to outlast all others.
As she moved, she felt her worries fall away. Her fears, gone. She felt reborn, as if the pain and hurt that had followed her since the last time she'd been on this stage had dissipated, leaving her lighter than air and with a new appreciation for life and all it entailed. She'd been through so much, and it all culminated in this moment, on stage with the man she loved, doing the thing she loved most in this world... dancing. As her troupe welled up around them, Marie found herself laughing out loud, head thrown back in glee. She was home.
“Come on, in you go! Eliza, don't hit Stacy with your slippers. Stacy, behave.” Her exasperated tone belied her happiness. When the curtain had fallen, Marie had walked off stage feeling elated... she'd done what she'd set out to do and proven she could perform just as well now as she could before.
The theatre had been a blessing. They were happy to work around her disability for shows where it could be managed. The audience for her shows was still thriving. Her career was as good as it ever had been. Even more now, if she really thought about it. People came out of curiosity and interest, to see if she could actually still dance like she used to, to gawk at the spectacle of a woman with a prosthetic performing a ballet. Really, she didn't care what brought them to the seats, as long as they left satisfied and wanting to come back. That made it all worth it.
She'd discovered she had another talent; one she'd never expected. A friend had needed a substitute teacher for a class one day and asked Marie to fill in. She'd agreed but had no idea how she'd manage it. To her surprise, she adored teaching the little ballerinas. They were mostly uncoordinated tiny messes, but she loved it.
With discipline and training, they'd one day be stars, dancing on the very stage she danced on. They soaked up knowledge and tips like a sponge, and none of them minded her leg after some initial curiosity. They reminded her a lot of herself in many ways, how eager they were to learn, how excited the smallest steps made them once they mastered them. She'd taken on a class a week after that, and thrived.
“Our special guest today is our premier danseur and my partner, Julian DeFoe. Benji, he's here to help with some of your training today, so you will get a chance to ask any questions you have, okay?”
The little boy was a year or two older than the girls, and the only male in the class. She'd noticed him starting to withdraw slightly, and wondered if he was getting teased outside of class for his interests. Desperate to give him a good role model to look up to, she'd asked Julian to stop by when he could, to show the boy that male ballet dancers existed, and did very well for themselves.
After class, she slung her bag over her shoulder, allowing Julian to wrap his arm around her shoulder as they headed for his car. As she'd hoped, Benji had blossomed when given personal attention from a male that he wanted to one day emulate and had thrown himself into the t
raining Julian had suggested for him with sheer determination.
“You did good with him today, babe. I really think this will help him... I worry that he's getting teased or bullied at home or at school. Maybe seeing you doing well will help him know that men do dance, and are a necessary part of a dance troupe. He'll realize he belongs here just as much as the girls.”
He nodded as he fumbled for his keys. “I agree. I'll try to come by a few more times when I can, maybe ask a few of the other guys to stop by. It might help him to see that, yeah, a dance troupe requires all of us to put on a performance. We're the anchors for the women, the shows can't go on without us.”
Sliding into the car once he got it unlocked, she rubbed at her leg where the Velcro attached, noticing his attention being drawn to it. “Don't worry, there's nothing wrong. The weather change just has it aching a bit. It'll be fine. Besides, we're going to the appointment today, remember? He'll check it over before switching things out, so if there's anything wrong, he'll make a note of it first.”
Julian made a noncommittal noise as he pulled out of the parking space and merged into traffic to head to the prosthetist's office. She could tell he didn't quite believe her, but he always worried about her, and she figured he always would. She loved that about him.
Once they got to the office, he refused to let her go in alone, deciding she needed boyfriend moral support. As the old prosthesis was removed and the new one secured, Marie let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd waited so long for this. Now all she had to do was stand.
Reaching for his hand, needing that support after all, she stood on slightly wobbly legs. After a few moments to get her bearings, she took a few steps, fingers tensing in his as she tried to get used to the new feeling and weight. Turning to face him, she bit her lip, closing her eyes as she pressed the button secured to the belt at her waist.
Opening them, her face split into a wide grin as she went up on her tiptoes, the other foot following once the button was hit. It was everything she expected, and then some. For the first time since her accident and diagnosis, Marie felt the pressure on her toes, the elongation in her spine as she went on pointe, the wireless remote enabling the new prosthetic foot to point as well.
After all the pain, heartache, and despair, she had clawed her way through to the other side. She'd found herself again, reclaimed her love of dancing, and learned things about herself she hadn't known. She was stronger than she thought she was. She was a damn survivor. If she could face this? She could face anything.
“Julian? What do you think about a little one with stars in their eyes, the perfect blend of you and me? I think I'd like a mini-me or mini-you one day.”
About the Author
Mandi resides in Ohio, where she shares her workspace with an ornery bassle pup. She's an avid reader and blogger, who adores music. Whenever there is a concert in town, you can bet she's taking the night off and cheering on her favorite bands. She can easily be bribed with peanut butter M&Ms, gemstones, hot lead singers, and gargoyles.
Visit her site here-
mandikonesni.com
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The Sufferers’ Land
Victoria Perkins
The Sufferers’ Land
The padlock was surprisingly rust-free, but even the newest lock could only withstand so much pounding with a sledgehammer.
Despite her petite frame, Halia Wright was much stronger than she looked. If she hadn’t been, she never would’ve made it through the last couple months. The trials she’d faced since leaving her family had been scarier and more painful than she’d imagined anything could be. She doubted she’d ever tell anyone the extent of what had happened to her, the time she’d been held captive by spider demons in particular. She might mention the strange, winged warriors who’d rescued her though. Their story was too good to keep to herself.
As she stepped inside the abandoned building, she noticed that the one-time medical center was eerily clean. Not in a still-inhabited sort of way, but the debris appeared to be from natural neglect rather than vandals or looters. It gave Halia hope that what she was looking for might still be here. If it wasn’t, she didn’t know what she’d do next. This was her last lead and she needed answers. She needed to know what had been done to her mother. What had been done to all of them.
What had made her into…this.
TWENTY-SIX YEARS AGO
Caley Mason had spent more than enough time in hospitals, thank you very much, and the idea of missing the US Gymnastics Championships was too much, even if she wasn’t competing. Anyway, she didn’t see the point of being bedridden. The chemo hadn’t worked and now they said the only way to save her life was to amputate her leg. Didn’t they realize that her Olympic dream was what kept her fighting? She didn’t even remember her parents or the car crash that had taken them both. If she hadn’t gone to a free gymnastics summer camp as a kid and caught the eye of Nathan Sewell, she would’ve had no one at all.
She tightened the hood of her sweatshirt and stepped outside into the brisk August air. There’d been a special on the news yesterday that had shown how the weather had shifted over the last ten years from all of the chemicals and bioengineered waste being pumped into the oceans and air. Caley hadn’t wanted to watch it, but her obnoxious roommate, Millicent Fullbody, had insisted. Just because Millicent could remember when there’d been more than a week or two when the temperature had gotten above eighty in this part of the country didn’t mean Caley needed to hear how it’d all gotten that way. She’d taken environmental science in junior high, just like everybody else.
Caley could’ve complained about it since it had been her turn to choose what they watched, but she’d needed Millicent in a good mood to help her sneak out tonight and humoring the old bat had gone a long way to help. Millicent had been thrilled at the idea of having the room to herself and had been more than happy to cover for Caley if anyone wasn’t fooled by the pillows under the sheets. Besides, it wasn’t as if Caley could actually get in trouble for leaving. Sure, she was still technically a minor, but the foster mom at her latest group home had thirteen other kids to look after. She wasn’t going to freak out if Caley decided to go see her coach and her teammates compete.
It wasn’t like Caley could make things worse, right?
She’d only gone a block before a taxi pulled up next to her and she sank into the back seat gratefully. She hated how winded she was already, but she wasn’t going to be too proud to take a cab just because she didn’t like her physical abilities being limited. Her teammates had rallied around her through this whole ordeal, even after it’d become obvious she wouldn’t be able to compete. Sure, they hadn’t been able to visit a lot, but she knew the work and dedication it took to be the best in the world and she never would’ve asked them to compromise that just so she wouldn’t have to be bored. They’d sent her letters and cards every week and those had kept her going.
When she arrived at the stadium, she paid the cabbie and hoped she’d have enough for a ride back. She didn’t have a ticket for the event, but she’d been here enough that security knew her. Better than that, they knew what she was going through. None of them would be heartless enough to deny her entrance.
Sure enough, Mickey didn’t even hesitate to wave her through, and he even held the door for her. Her leg was aching by the time she reached the closest empty seat she could find. It wasn’t the same as being on the floor, but at least she could cheer and let them know she was here, wishing them all the best…and wishing she was the one out there instead.
The smell hit her harder than she’d realized it would. Chemo screwed with the senses, made things not taste or smell right, but this was exactly like she’d remembered, even if she wasn’t the same. She gave her wig a self-conscious pat. She didn’t wear one often, but she felt more like herself with hair than she did
with any of the covers she usually used to hide what the chemo had taken from her. She’d picked a color as close to her natural honey brown shade as she could find, even if it wasn’t the best quality.
“Caley!”
She turned her head at the sound of her name, smiling as Elena waved at her. Elena had always been number two while Caley had been on the team, but the competition between the two, while fierce, had been healthy. In fact, when Caley had first been diagnosed, Elena had been the first one to encourage her to fight.
One by one, as each of the others finished a warm-up, they turned and waved at her. The greetings were brief, but Caley knew what it meant for them to take even those few seconds to acknowledge her. In their own way, they were saying that she was still a part of the team. If she couldn’t bring home a gold, she could at least be part of the team who got a gold medal winner to the Olympics.
Halfway through the competition, someone sat down next to her.
“Caley Mason, right?”
She didn’t bother hiding her surprise as she turned toward the voice. The guy was a couple years older than her and looked vaguely familiar. Brown hair and light green eyes. A nice smile.
“I’m Greyson Enver.” The smile widened as he held out a hand.
“Nice to meet you, but I’m not interested in your phone number or a drink or whatever else you’re selling.” She deliberately looked back at her friends.
“Youngest ever US and World Champion.” He spoke as if she hadn’t said a word. “You were the shoo-in for the US Olympic team and favorite for an all-around gold. And then, six months ago, you were diagnosed with osteosarcoma.”