An Impossible Distance to Fall

by Miriam McNamara

  She stumbled out of the pose and over to the mirror, turning her back to the vanity. The tattoo. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten it. An arc of birds was dark blue against her skin, flaking a little. She traced the lines she could reach with a finger. She scratched at them with a fingernail but they didn’t budge.

  She unwound the ribbons and discarded the shoes in a corner. She shoved the tutu back in the closet.

  She chose a pale pink dress, flat shoes, simple gold drop earrings and a thin gold chain necklace, a few gold bangles. She rouged her cheeks and painted her lips a pale pink color. She wasn’t any good at styling her own hair. She attempted to mimic what Mom had always done, winding up her hair and shoving hairpins through it, but failed miserably. She settled for brushing it and pulling it over one shoulder, and putting a clasp in it so that it stayed. It looked nice, curling over her shoulder. When she and David were married, she would insist on a maid that could help her with it. Insist on it.

  She turned her back to the mirror and was relieved that no hint of ink showed. In the half-light she was a colorless, shadow version of herself, but otherwise she looked just like the old Birdie Williams, like nothing had changed.

  She walked out the front door looking her best. Everything felt right, despite the big empty house behind her that wasn’t hers anymore. Someday—maybe soon—she would have a house of her own, and it would be even better than this one.

  Birdie felt calm as she drove over to the Cove Theatre. She looked terribly modern, driving and all. She was back on track, heading in the direction she’d always been supposed to go.

  It hadn’t begun raining, but the wind had died down. The clouds hung low and dark in the still, hot air, holding everything back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  BIRDIE POKED HER HEAD AROUND THE CURTAIN, INTO THE WINGS OF THE stage at the Cove Theater. She’d only performed here a few times since it opened. It was dim and cool, a relief from the heat outside. Girls sat around mirrors in dressing rooms, or stretched on portable bars, but the backstage area was still mostly empty.

  Izzy barreled toward her, bangs slicked back into a tight ballerina’s bun, cheeks chalky with powder and lips rouged red, wearing a darling robe with an Oriental print. “Birdie!” she squealed, hugging her. It was just how Izzy would have greeted her before. Birdie inhaled Izzy’s familiar scent—Shalimar—and squeezed her familiar angles, sagging with relief. Izzy kissed her cheek, and Birdie felt the lipstick leave a mark as she pulled away. “I’m so thrilled you’re back! Oh my gosh, did you do your own hair?” She touched Birdie’s hair, palm just skimming her cheek.

  Birdie lifted her hand to the spot that Izzy had brushed. “Yes, I—”

  “Oh, don’t worry a bit about it! You can hardly tell.”

  Birdie felt a flash of annoyance as Izzy turned away and led her to a skinny, mirrored side room with chairs lined up in front of the mirrors. “Tell me everything.” Izzy shrugged out of her robe. Birdie watched the lean muscles play over her bare shoulder blades through the mirror. Izzy leaned down and pulled pink tights up over her long legs, and Birdie swallowed.

  She knew now that what she felt for Izzy wasn’t friendship. The surging lift and ache in her chest had a different name, whether or not she ever said it.

  But she could never say it.

  “Well, David asked me to marry him.”

  “And of course you said yes!” Izzy was beaming when she turned around, an arm over her chest as she reached for her costume.

  “Of course.” Birdie averted her eyes as she settled onto a chair.

  “Ugh, how romantic!”

  “It is romantic,” Birdie reminded herself. “Everything’s going to be just like we’d hoped. Well, I won’t be going to Finch’s, but—I’m sure I’ll move into the city, to be with David while he gets through school.”

  Izzy squealed. “Ugh, I can’t wait, I’m dying for class to start already! I was worried about who would be my roommate when you weren’t going anymore, but Hope is going, so everything is working out perfectly.” Izzy picked up her tutu and shook it out. She stepped into the leg holes and wiggled the royal-blue leotard onto her torso.

  “We haven’t worked out the whole situation yet,” said Birdie. “When we’re getting married, where we’ll live, that sort of thing. But I’m sure it’ll work out perfectly. Me and David, you and Monty, just like we planned.”

  “Ugh, Monty,” Izzy said dismissively, adjusting her straps. “He’s been driving me crazy lately. Maybe I’ll trade him in for a cute Columbia boy.” She gave Birdie a coy smile as she turned her back. “Here, help me lace up the back.”

  Izzy’s flippancy usually delighted Birdie, but this time it shook her. “I thought you wanted to marry Monty.” She pulled the lacing tight.

  “Oh, probably I will. But nothing’s set in stone!” Izzy said over her shoulder. “Who knows how I’ll feel once I get out of here.”

  Birdie looped the laces, pressing them into Izzy’s skin as she knotted them again. “Yes, but Monty will ask you to marry him, and we’ll have perfect babies, and summer homes in the Hamptons—remember?”

  Izzy turned and gave her a funny look. “Of course I remember.”

  Silence settled over them. Birdie could hear the tinkling of piano keys as a musician warmed up. Izzy leaned into the mirror, checking her makeup as Birdie watched unhappily. She hadn’t minded the idea of getting married too much, even if it was sooner than later. It was just that she had always pictured Izzy there as well, doing the same things, making everything fun.

  “I’m so happy, anyway, about you and David,” said Izzy suddenly. “That’s really the best way it could work out, right? I mean, considering everything.”

  “It really is,” said Birdie.

  “It’s not going to be so different from how it was before.” Izzy stood imperially, surveying her reflection. “I’m so relieved. Ugh, I hated what happened with the bank. It was like—all of a sudden, you were someone different than I thought. I didn’t know how to think of you. But now—I feel like I know you again. Like you’re still the same old Birdie. Mostly, anyway.”

  “Of course I’m still the same,” Birdie scoffed, with just the right mixture of dismissal and playfulness. Pretending she was the same seemed to be working, anyway. She’d settle into it eventually.

  “Birdie Williams!”

  Birdie turned to see Mikhail run-walking across the backstage area, flapping his hand at her. “Is it true? Could it be? You’re here for the rehearsal?”

  Birdie flushed. “Oh, no. I heard—you took me out of the numbers, and of course you should have!” She hated disappointing Mikhail so much. Meeting his high expectations and receiving his praise had always buoyed her up no matter what else was happening, even after the bank had failed.

  He swept in and embraced her. “You gave us all a turn, young lady,” he said in her ear, then pulled back. “Now it’s too late for you to be in the group numbers—I changed all the blocking, and it would just confuse everyone—but I really must insist that you do your solo. Come on, you know all the steps. Birdie Williams hasn’t forgotten a single step I ever taught her, her whole life. I know that for a fact.”

  Birdie’s stomach turned. The tattoo. “I don’t have my shoes—my outfit—”

  “It’s only a dress rehearsal, my dear! You know half the girls will have forgotten to bring everything. I’ll let the light and music people know we’re adding it in, and we’ll give it a go. Oh dear, better go tell them now, give them half a chance not to mess the whole thing up!” With that he swept back across the backstage and disappeared through the curtain. She could hear him exclaiming to the pianists.

  Birdie looked at Izzy. Izzy’s eyes widened, and Birdie giggled despite her nerves, and then they were laughing together. It made Birdie feel like everything was going to work out fine.

  Birdie watched girls from school and dance class enter the backstage area with hair pulled tight and lips painted. Some of them smiled when they
made eye contact with Birdie. Others looked away. A few little girls whose classes she’d helped with called her name and waved excitedly, and she waved back. Then Izzy announced to practically everyone that Birdie was engaged to David, and everyone warmed up to her instantly. She got hugs and hand-clasps from practically everyone.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  She closed her eyes and went through the steps of her solo in her mind. Izzy had pulled Birdie’s hair back into a bun to get it out of her way. She’d have to dance in her dress, with bare feet, but at least no one would see the tattoo. She’d be in costume for the actual show, so she’d have to figure something out. Pancake makeup would probably do the trick. Between makeup and clothing, she could keep it hidden for the rest of her life.

  She pictured wearing her pretty tutu and pointe shoes. She would stretch on the bar, chalk her toes, and check her reflection a thousand times. She went through the choreography in her head once, then again, as girls chatted and giggled around her. She remembered every step. She’d chosen the culminating piece from The Rite of Spring for her solo. She’d picked it because Mikhail thought it would challenge her, but also because it was terribly controversial and hopefully it would shock some people, particularly Mom, and because that pleased Izzy. The song was about a pagan ritual where a girl, chosen as a sacrificial victim, dances herself to death.

  When she opened her eyes again the lights were dimming as the girls quieted. She peeked out through the wings. As the music came on, the curtain lifted to reveal a parade of the littlest girls. Birdie grinned at the unsure look on their faces as they pointed their toes and wandered around in tiny, confused circles with flowers in their hair. Birdie couldn’t remember her first dance recital, but Dad used to love to talk about it. Birdie had apparently ignored all the choreography and decided to do her own dance out in front of the other girls, smiling broadly at the audience. I knew then you were going to be a star, he’d say proudly.

  The groups of girls got older, their dance numbers more polished. Birdie’s chest tightened as her solo got closer. It was supposed to be her biggest performance yet—but that was hardly true now. She’d danced on the wing of a flying airplane. These girls had no idea what it was like for a crowd to cheer for you.

  They had no idea what it was like to fail in front of everyone, to just fall apart.

  She watched Hope and Izzy and the others take the stage and begin the piece that she was supposed to be a part of. She could feel the movement in her body. Her brain sent every signal. It was impossible that her arm wasn’t extending, right where Izzy’s arm was. It was impossible that her back wasn’t arching elegantly. She knew exactly what movement every girl was going to do before it happened. She knew exactly how to move so that she would have fit right in with them, blending in perfectly, seamlessly.

  The tightness in her chest turned into an ache as her cohorts filed offstage and the first notes of the next song struck up. A spotlight came on, and Birdie walked to the center of the stage, pointing her toes, arms held above her head, leading with her chest. Her muscles tensed as she took her pose.

  The first mournful notes sounded and she pulsed to life. She was sad, a coerced victim, but as the power of the rite gradually overcame her she would become joyous and powerful, even though the dance meant her death.

  The soft music gained energy, notes swirling and tangling. Birdie took control of every corner of the stage, filling the room with her presence. Elongated, stretching poses contrasted with quick, energetic movement. Her breath came faster as she executed each sequence perfectly. She was performing well—but something didn’t feel right. She couldn’t quite connect to the power and energy of the piece though she was trying with all her might.

  The music became more frantic and she took great leaping pirouettes and jetés, spinning and spinning as the music spun. She hit every mark. She nailed every step—but she began to understand the wrongness in her body. She was supposed to put her foot there, and so she did. She was supposed to spin, so she did. She couldn’t connect to the music because her movement wasn’t coming from the music. It was just a pretty sequence of steps she’d learned.

  The music became more and more frenzied until she collapsed to the ground at the end, just like she was supposed to. She pressed her forehead against the chalky floor as the stage went black, arms outstretched over her head, and squeezed her eyes shut as she gasped for breath. A smattering of clapping broke the silence, and Mikhail’s chirping voice exclaimed, but she didn’t want to look up. She didn’t want to force a proud smile or curtsy. She’d done everything right, but it felt all wrong.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  DAVID BENT DOWN TO THE CAR WINDOW, ANGEL FACE GLOWING IN THE gas porch light. “I thought you’d never come!” he whispered. He opened her door, and she looked up at him, confused.

  “I’ll drive,” he explained.

  She slid into the passenger’s seat, feeling edgy as David got behind the wheel. He pulled away from his house without kissing her. “Let’s go to your old place, what do you say?” he asked. “It’ll be fun to creep around in the dark—and we can get some privacy.” He reached over and squeezed her knee, and Birdie felt a tingle of apprehension.

  She and David had spent plenty of time alone, but they had always been in close proximity of other people—an empty room at a party, the hangar before Dad came out to give them rides in the Jenny, in the back garden while his parents were home. Nobody was anywhere near her big empty house. But David was driving there already, and she didn’t say anything.

  She felt out of sorts after her performance. Mikhail had been even more over-the-top than usual—not only had she remembered every step, he had never seen her dance with such passion and feeling! She should have been delighted to be praised in front of everyone. Instead she kept thinking that there was no way she deserved acclaim for such a rote performance.

  David pulled up in front of the house. It loomed in the darkness, barely visible against the cloud-darkened night sky. Birdie couldn’t remember ever seeing her house with no lights on at night. It looked like a stranger’s house, dark and sad. David shut the car off and turned toward her. He looked like a stranger in the shadows, too. “It feels so good to have everything right between us again.”

  She smiled faintly. “I’m glad you missed me.” The words felt wrong coming out of her mouth, but she was glad. She needed him to be glad.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said. “I’ve got something for you.”

  She took a deep breath. “David—”

  He leaned in and kissed her, and her insides recoiled even though she returned it. With June, she’d felt like all of her nerves were warm and reaching. Kissing her—she remembered how it made her ache—

  She felt herself responding to her heated thoughts and pulled away, ashamed.

  David’s mouth found her ear. “Let’s go to the courthouse tomorrow. We can drive into the city, somewhere they don’t know us.”

  She tried to find his eyes, but in the dark all she saw was a faint glittering. She should say Yes, let’s do it. Let’s go tonight! “You haven’t even told your mother yet.”

  “I’ll tell her after it’s done. That way they can’t stop us.” He drew her across the seat toward him.

  “David, wait—”

  He paused, hand resting on her thigh beneath the edge of her skirt.

  “I need a few days,” she said finally.

  “Friday, then?” he prodded, tugging on her hem.

  “Maybe Friday.”

  “Fine.” He pulled her in again. “I’m fine with that. I guess I just got so excited at the thought of being married to you—” He kissed her again, and she fought the urge to push away. She was just so tired from her long day.

  “You ready to go exploring?” he whispered, smiling.

  Getting out of the car sounded wonderful. She fumbled with the door handle and busted out into the cool air, taking gulping breaths, but she still felt claustrophobic. Her ribs felt ti
ght. She wished she heard the buzzing of a plane engine above her. She wished June was landing in the long grass outside the hangar, here to pick her up and take her flying.

  David took her hand gently, and it felt nice.

  “So, where did you go when you left?” He led her toward the house. “I bet it wasn’t all because I hurt your feelings.”

  “I was trying to find my dad.” She tried to keep her mind blank. She’d never told June about that.

  Why did June keep filling her mind?

  “Why?” he asked as he walked up the steps to the front door, Birdie one step behind. “Isn’t it better if nobody finds him?”

  “I thought if he could just come back and—I don’t know—he could fix things …” It sounded so stupid.

  “My parents say he’s giving your mom money, their money he owes them. That’s how she can buy that house.” David paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back, a serious expression on his face. “All I’m saying is that there are people who will never forgive him.”

  Birdie knew he was right. Dad wouldn’t be able to fix anything. It would just make things worse, now that she was pulling her life back together. She should try pretending he was dead like Mom had. Maybe that would make her feel better about never seeing him again.

  David pushed the front door open and led her into the pitch-dark foyer. “Jeez, it’s creepy in here. So dark,” he whispered.

  Birdie shivered. “I don’t know.” Her feet stalled in the doorway.

  “Come on, let’s check your dad’s study,” David said, a smile in his voice as he tugged her hand. “Maybe there’s a couple of bottles still in the liquor cabinet.”

  “Ugh, David.” She was wound so tight.

  “Oh, come here.” He pulled her into the foyer and hugged her stiff form. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “Here I am, talking about filching his scotch and how people hate him, when you two were so close.”

  Birdie relaxed against David and squeezed her eyes shut, sadness flooding her chest. Happy times she had with Dad flickered in her mind. Flying, dancing, playing, laughing.