84 Ribbons: A Dancer's Journey

by Paddy Eger

  Marta wiped the new tears from her face. “You’re too much. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll come down, go for a ride, and get breakfast with me. I’m starving.”

  She laughed. “You’re crazy. Give me a few minutes. I need a shower and clean clothes.”

  Marta rubbed her hair dry, ran a comb through it, and grabbed the first clothes her fingers touched. Did they match? Who cared? Nothing mattered anymore when she got down to it; except perhaps being with Steve.

  Marta snagged two biscuits and two apples off the kitchen work table before she walked to Steve’s car.

  “Let’s go to The Rims, okay?” Steve said.

  “Sounds good.”

  They sat on the boulders, snacked, and watched sunlight skim the ridges to the east. A hot day looked to be on its way, the kind that made Marta nostalgic for the cool mornings back home.

  Steve sat with his arm on the back of the boulder where Marta sat. He made no attempt to touch her. He gazed straight ahead with no emotion showing on his face. She sensed he didn’t see the scenery.

  She admired his profile. He gave off a comfortable manner, impetuous at times, but comfortable all the same. “Thanks for being there this morning.”

  “Where else would I be? I care about you. I know we’ve had a couple of rough spots, but I care; probably too much.”

  Marta half smiled and wiped her eyes. “It’s been hard. I’ve been all mixed up. I didn’t know how to be half of a couple.”

  Steve faced her and captured her hands. “Believe me, I know. I saw you struggle against my pushing. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lose you. Lynne told me you’ve been taking the same pills as Bartley. But you’ve stopped, right?”

  “They’re only to help me stay trim and to boost my energy.”

  “But Marta, you’ve stopped, haven’t you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Marta? Tell me.”

  “I plan to. Now that I’m not part of the company, I don’t need them as much.”

  Steve shook his head; his hands tightened on hers. She pulled her hands free and tucked them under her bottom. An energy-charged silence hung between them.

  “What are your plans, Miss Fluff?”

  “Go home to Bremerton and figure out what to do with my life.”

  “Why can’t you stay here and figure it out?”

  That was a good question. Why couldn’t she stay? She could find a job, pay off her doctor bills, and see Steve most every day. Could she be around Lynne, always talking about practices and performances? No. That would be torture.

  “Marta? Why can’t you stay?”

  “There’s not much left in Billings for me.”

  “Not even me?”

  Marta shrugged. “I want there to be us, but you’re busy starting a career and I’m…I don’t know who I am. That’s why I need to go home.”

  “You know how I feel about you, and now you’re leaving?”

  “Don’t put it all on me. If I did stay, when would I see you?”

  “As often as I could get away.”

  “If you are realistic, how often is that?

  He hesitated. “I can’t be certain. But... You might be right to leave. I want you to do what you need to help you recover.”

  They sat in silence watching the city below come to life. As the sun rose higher, it heated the air to a near stifling temperature. Steve stood and reached out his hand to Marta. “I’m still hungry. Will you go to breakfast with me?”

  “Of course,” she said as she accepted his hand.

  They sat at a small table in The Granary. Marta kept her head down and pushed her scrambled eggs around on her plate. She nibbled on the toast but avoided the hash browns. Sitting here with Steve was harder than she expected. This might be their last meal together. She sighed and forked up a bite of her eggs.

  “Eat. You might feel better.”

  Marta hesitated, swallowed, then pointed her fork at Steve. “I am eating.” She laid the fork on the table. “These last two days have destroyed my appetite. I feel like I’m in mourning again, like when Bartley died. I can’t really explain it.”

  Steve looked at her and nodded. He shoved his plate away and leaned his hands on the table as if he was waiting for her to continue.

  Marta watched his eyes. He looked at her but said nothing. She fidgeted and bit off a small corner of toast. “I’m sorry.” Tears slid down her face. She ignored them. “I can’t handle anything right now. I need to get back and call my mom.”

  Steve gave her a brief nod, picked up the check, and followed her toward the exit. While he paid, she stepped out into the sunshine and looked at the traffic and the people walking along the sidewalk. She’d miss Billings and Steve and Lynne and Mrs. B., but not the heat. So much had happened in such a short time. Now it felt like she’d imagined all of it. Maybe she had.

  On the boarding house porch, Steve took her hand loosely and rubbed his fingers across her knuckles. “I’m sorry things haven’t gone as you’d hoped. If going home is what you need to do, I understand. Know that you’ll always own a piece of my heart, Miss Fluff.” He kissed her cheek and left.

  Marta sat on the porch swing and let the waves of tears inside surge through her. There were no easy answers; something or someone had to change.

  When she returned to her room, she alternately sat on the bed and paced. The pills kept coming up lately, first with Lynne and then with Steve. Was taking one or two a day, or maybe three a day, too many? Hardly. Plenty of people did that. Even Bartley’s mom had taken them, and she was fine.

  Bartley had been different. She skipped meals and took handfuls during the day. Marta only took them when she needed them, at first to boost her energy and then later to help control her weight while she wore the cast. Sometimes she did skip meals, but that was because Mrs. B.’s food was so rich. Since she started preparing for the audition, she’d only taken them when she became too tired to keep practicing. Plus, they didn’t give her the jitters anymore. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Or did it mean she’d become dependent on them?

  Marta stopped pacing and picked up a photo of Bartley. She traced her smile and remembered how much she’d admired Bartley’s grace, her dancing style, and her thinness. When did Bartley’s use of the pills get out of control? Was she dependent on them last Christmas, or did the pressure of moving and dancing in San Francisco make the difference? Did it matter when?

  Marta stopped in front of her mirror and stared at the pale face looking back at her. Was she addicted to the diet pills like Bartley? No. She could stop whenever she didn’t need them. Now that the audition was over, did she still need them? She resumed pacing. Her body trembled like she was freezing and her hands began to shake. What was happening to her?

  She looked around her room, seeing nothing in particular. Suddenly, she opened drawers and rummaged through the pockets of her coats and sweaters, gathering pills, creating a small pile on her dresser. The small white ovals looked like polished aspirin waiting to soothe a headache or backache. Could she throw them away? Should she? Marta resumed her pacing. Each time she passed the dresser, she looked at the pills.

  She gathered them up, set them in her sink, and turned on the warm water. Slowly they dissolved and disappeared down the drain. Instead of relief, Marta felt a hollowness in her chest, an emptiness, a loss. She exhaled a long, slow breath as the warm water continued to circle in the sink. As she turned off the water, she knew her next step.

  Marta stretched the phone cord into her room and sat on her bed. While she waited for the call to go through, she relived her scrambled emotions. When she heard, “I’ll accept the charges,” she straightened.

  “Mom,” she said, steadying her voice, “I’m coming home.”

  33
/>   “You’ve made up your mind then?” Mrs. B. said.

  “I have. It’s hard to leave, but it’s time.” Marta sat with Mrs. B. in her private rooms drinking a cup of hot tea.

  “You know you’re welcome to stay here. I‘ve enjoyed your company. You’re like a daughter.”

  “I can’t stay, Mrs. B. I need to go home and figure things out.”

  Mrs. B. nodded. “I understand. It’s important to move forward, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve never considered being anything but a dancer. Now I need to find some way to support myself.”

  “You liked working with the little girls, didn’t you? Perhaps you can teach ballet.”

  “Maybe. Once I mend. Or maybe I can get a job baking at McGavin’s or start a sewing business.”

  They sat in silence, the only sound an occasional sip or cups resting back on their saucers. Marta took her final swallow, put her cup on the tray, and stood. “Thank you for the tea and everything else. I don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”

  Mrs. B. stood and put her arms around Marta. “The pleasure has been mine, believe me.”

  Marta sat in her darkened room, listing all the things she’d miss: the rocking chair, the tall sash windows, the warm blast of heat when it finally reached her floor vent on cold mornings. But most of all, she’d miss time spent with Mrs. B. in the kitchen.

  When she turned on her bedside lamp, the true nature of the room surprised her. She ran her hand over the scars on the rocker and the bed frame. She touched the spider cracks in the glass in the tall window facing the street. How had she not noticed them when she moved in? Perhaps this being her first place alone colored her view of the room. It had been comfy. It had looked fresh and crisp. Now, seeing its ordinariness made it easier to leave.

  The following morning Marta called her mom with details. “You’re sure it’s okay if I stay with you until I can find work and set aside money to find my own place?”

  “Of course, dear. When you left, the house became too quiet. I’ll be glad you’ll be here when I get up in the morning. And don’t worry, your room is ready for you to come back and clean it.”

  Marta laughed. “Thanks a lot, Mom.“

  Lynne called later that night. “So it’s for sure? You don’t want to stay with me? We could terrorize Madame.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I knew you’d say that. I’d probably do the same thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Marta, you aren’t the only one who misses home. I know I don’t say it, but I miss my family, more now since Bartley died.”

  The phone line remained quiet for long seconds. “But, hey, Marta, we’ll have a big party at my place. We can celebrate your escaping Billings.”

  “No, Lynne. It’s…I don’t want a party. I want get on the train and leave.”

  “But, Marta—”

  “No, Lynne. Please?”

  “Okay,” Lynne said. ”Whatever you want.”

  “That’s what I want. Come over tomorrow afternoon. I have a few things to leave with you.”

  Marta arranged three boxes on her bed: one for home, one for Lynne, and one for giveaways. After sorting for an hour, she sat in the rocker going through her pointe shoe ribbon box. The satin ribbons felt silky as they dropped through her fingers. Should she count them, toss them, or keep them? She removed the last of the diet pills she’d hidden in the box, put them in her purse, and set the ribbon box next to her going home pile. She could always change her mind later.

  When Lynne arrived, her aunt and the little girls came in as well with smiles and giggles.

  “What’s this?” Marta said. “It’s not a dance day.”

  “We decided to have a little party in your honor,” Mrs. Meadows said. “And the girls have something for you.”

  Lucy handed Marta a shoe box. “These are for you. Open them now.”

  Marta peeked inside. The box held a pile of cards. A laugh spread from her heart to her lips. One by one she looked at every card decorated with an assortment of little girl drawings: dancers, hearts, rainbows, sunshine, houses with smoking chimneys, flowers, horses, and cats. Each card said they’d miss her and hoped she’d be able to dance soon.

  “Thanks, ladies. I’ll keep these forever.” Marta pressed them to her chest and allowed herself to cry.

  “Will you come back for our recital?” Brenda asked.

  “Not this year. Maybe next year.”

  “Where will be practice and learn to dance?” Carmen said.

  “Mrs. B. might let you come here until you find another place. She loves to listen to your dance music playing.”

  Mrs. Meadows returned from her car carrying a pink cake with a ballerina on the top. “The girls picked this out for you.”

  “You’re the ballerina on the top,” Tracy said.

  They took the cake to the basement to eat. Each girl danced for Marta, making up ideas on the spot. Lynne led them through their group dance, then their solos. All the while Marta smiled, feeling joy spread through her body.

  After the little girls left, Marta took Lynne up to her room. She’d packed everything except her photos. Now she watched Lynne sift through the box intended for her use.

  “Good grief!” Lynne said. “What did you leave me, all your dirty laundry?”

  Marta laughed. “No, I left you the solo costumes for the little girls and plenty of odds and ends. Keep looking. You’ll see.”

  Lynne pawed through the box, then dumped it on the floor. “You left a lot. You know I can’t sew. How can I finish the costumes?”

  “All you need to do is hem the sleeves and bottom edges and put on snaps and you’ll be set,” Marta said. “You can figure out a headpiece if you want.”

  “I guess I can handle that.” Lynne held up a sweater. “Hey, isn’t this mine? How did you get this?”

  “You gave it to me after Christmas when you got a new one.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Don’t you want it? You can wear it and think of me.”

  Marta took back the sweater.

  They sat on the bed talking until Lynne checked the clock. “I’ve got to go. Got a late date tonight. Met him at the bookstore. He thinks I’m wonderful, especially since I told him I was a soloist. I might be next year; what’s a little lie, huh?”

  Marta shook her head. “You’re so funny. He’s lucky to know you regardless of whether you solo or not.” Marta reached for Lynne’s hands. “I’ll miss all your crazy dating stories.”

  “I’ll call you and bore you with them.” Lynne piled things back into the box. “Oh! I have the latest on Madame and Herbert.” Lynne sat down on the bed and leaned in close to Marta as if they might be overheard. “His wife is leaving him. And, get this, he’s moving to New York. His company bought a plant back east that makes parts for his ah, that whatchamacallit, so he’s out of here.”

  “Who’s going to head up the patrons?”

  Lynne cleared her throat as if to make a speech. “His wife. Diana had the money all this time. Isn’t that a hoot? Her grandmother was Arinna Darvinilla, the ballerina.

  “More news. There’s a rumor that the Intermountain Ballet Company will start a ballet school in the near future. Diana insisted the new ballet academy be named for her grandmother. Madame had a fit. She thought it would be named for her. Who’d want to a member of the Cosper Ballet Academy?”

  Marta closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to feel sorry for Madame. What had happened to her to make her sour? It must have been very serious and heartbreaking.

  Lynne stood and hoisted the box. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m cooking for you, so get a bottle of Pepto and be ready at six thirty. And this time it’s not a TV dinner. I’m fixing food that doesn’t come in an aluminum tray!
”

  “Lynne?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not a party. I want you to have a good reason to leave town, and my cooking should do that.”

  Late Wednesday morning, Marta entered the ballet company building through the front door. Karl sat in his usual place with the morning paper spread across his ample middle.

  “Hi, Karl.”

  “Miss Marta. Nice to see you again. Ready to start dancing again, huh?”

  “No, I’m leaving. My ankle hasn’t healed enough for me to dance. Could I go up and see Damien?”

  “Go on up. He’s in all day now that rehearsals are winding down.”

  Karl stood and moved his chair aside. “Miss Marta? I’m sorry about your ankle. I have somethin’ for you.” He fumbled around in his desk, then handed her a photo. The inscription said, ”Best Wishes, Maria Tallchief.”

  “Miss Tallchief danced here once. I managed the backstage crew. Such a beautiful dancer.”

  Marta looked at the photo. “I can’t take this, Karl. It’s yours.”

  “Naw. I’m retiring next spring. You take it. You’ve been a nice gal. I want you to have it.”

  “Thanks. May I give you a hug, Karl?”

  Karl came out of his little room and the two hugged. “You be careful with that ankle, Marta. I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll try, Karl. I’ll miss you. Thanks for the photo.”

  Marta climbed the stairs and knocked on the office door. She heard, “Come in,” and entered the room.

  “Marta!” Damien stood, came around his desk, and greeted her with a hug.

  “I wanted to thank you for helping me prepare for the audition.”

  ”My pleasure. You tried your best. Be proud of that. What are you going to do now?”