by Paddy Eger
“I’ve been just fine! That’s what you want to know isn’t it?” Her knees and her bottom lip trembled, but she straightened and lifted her chin. “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just that you took me by surprise.”
“I know, but I wanted to see you and I was afraid you’d refuse to talk if you knew I was coming.” Steve reached out to touch her fingertips. “Can we talk? Please?”
“Let me get things cleared up with my mom first.” Marta stuck her head out into the waiting area. Her mom was gone. When she turned back toward the studio, she saw a note attached to the door:
Gone home. Don’t get too mad. I meant well.
I haven’t mentioned anyone or anything else.
Talk with Steve, honey.
XOX
Mom
Marta wadded up the note and tossed it toward the wastebasket but missed and bent to retrieve it. She circled like a cat settling in and stared at the floor without seeing the leftover pointe shoes and the jacket tucked under one bench. She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first audition. She felt his eyes follow her as she fussed over the waiting room cushions, then the small magazine table.
When she looked up, Steve stood in the doorway. “Well?”
“Okay. Let’s talk, but not here. Give me a minute to change. We can go to the grill up the street.” Marta walked into the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned against it letting tears stream down her face. Now what? Given how they left things, could she go through another confrontation with Steve even though she thought of him most days and nights?
She changed into her street clothes, then studied her reflection in the small mirror above the sink: pale face, clenched jaw, and messy hair. Did Steve see the tired person she saw staring back at her? The one who’d taken on a recital and maybe a dance studio? Would talking with him complicate her life or help straighten out their relationship? Deep down inside she knew she wanted to know what he was thinking.
They walked side by side to the local grill leaving space between them. The waiter seated them at a small table next to the window. For a weeknight, the grill was crowded. Marta fidgeted with her hair while the waiter took their orders.
“Just a salad, ma’am?”
“Yes, that’s all, thanks,” Marta said.
Steve watched her hand the menu to the waiter. ”How’s your recovery progressing?”
Marta clenched her jaw, thinking about what he left unsaid. “Do you really care, or is this your way of hinting yet not talking about our diet pills argument? Didn’t my mom answer all your questions?”
“Ouch, Marta. That’s an unexpected reaction from you. Can we just eat and get caught up? I’ve only spoken to your mom about you, nothing about what was going on between you and me on a personal level. Yes, I have lots of questions, but I don’t think you want to hear them. Maybe I should leave now so you can go back to all your issues and your anger.”
Marta let his words hang in the air. As he started to leave the table, she grabbed his hand. “Wait. I’m sorry. It’s just that you arrived without warning, and now you expect me to sit here, smile, and carry on a conversation? Give me time to adjust.”
“Time to adjust to what, Marta?”
She held onto Steve’s hand, looking up into his eyes. “Please?”
He stared down at her, then returned to his chair, never taking his eyes from her face. She noticed his usual carefree tone had an edge. Did she see anger or hurt or impatience?
The sounds of plates, glasses, voices, and laughter filled the grill with ample background noise. Their salads arrived. Both ate in silence, watching their plates as if afraid someone might whisk them away if they didn’t keep an eye on their food.
Marta set down her fork and leaned forward. “Look, Steve. I’m glad to see you. It’s just so unexpected. I don’t mean to sound so angry. I’m just tired and a bit taken back. You’ve been checking up on me with my mother. How am I supposed to react? Why didn’t you stay in contact with me? Why my mom?”
Steve looked away, then back at Marta. “The ball was in your court, Marta. You never wrote. You never called.”
“I did call, Steve. The first time your father said you weren’t there. The second time no one answered.”
“Two calls? You called me twice?
“I know that wasn’t much of an effort, but I didn’t know what to say after our blowup at New Year’s, especially when you left me in charge of making the next move. Time got away from me. I got involved in working at the studio, helping two young girls prepare for their auditions, and… I was embarrassed about how we left things. I’m sorry.”
Marta looked up. Steve stared at her. She felt his silence stretch out like the final chords of music when a song ends. Did he care enough about her to forgive her? As his silence continued, she realized that his next comment mattered to her more than she’d anticipated.
A faint smile caught on Steve’s lips. “You matter to me, Marta.” He reached across the table to touch her fingers. “I wanted to find out if there was still something between us. I think there is, but listening to you talk and watching your face, I don’t think you’ve reached any decision yet.”
“You’re right. I don’t know how I feel right now. Numb is probably the best word.” She paused. “I’m flattered you came, and I still care about you, but I‘m trying to restart my life, try new things.”
Steve pulled back his hands. “Who is he?”
Marta looked around the dining room avoiding Steve’s eyes. “A school counselor. He has a young daughter who comes to the dance studio.”
“That didn’t take long. Are you two serious?”
Marta pursed her lips and shrugged. “He’s comfortable; easy to talk to. We never have the frustrating conversations I seem to have with you.”
Steve’s jaw tightened. “Sounds safe. Does he love you?”
She looked away before she answered. “I don’t know. We’re friends, Steve; that’s all but,….”
The waitress arrived with Steve’s main course and refilled their water glasses. Neither spoke for several moments.
Marta watched Steve focus on his meal. Seeing him triggered images of their time together: trips around Billings, bouquets of flowers, his buying her a winter coat, their conversations from the vantage point of The Rims, his coming to believe ballet was more than fluff.
Steve looked up and caught her trace of a smile. He touched Marta’s fingers again. “Have you spoken to Lynne lately? Things are changing at the ballet company.”
“No. She’s been remote…maybe because I’m so slow at writing.”
“Call her, Marta. The last time we spoke she was considering a huge change. Did she tell you the ballet school needs new instructors? I thought maybe you’d want to return to Billings and teach, be with your friends in Billings again.”
Marta pulled her hands free of Steve’s. “No. That portion of my life is closed. I decided when I left last year I’d not return except to visit, and we know how that went. Too many reminders that I’m not dancing yet. Are you saying you’re going to be working in Billings?”
When Steve opened his mouth to answer, Marta held up an open palm. “Stop. Don’t answer. I can’t do this right now. I’m going home. Stay and eat the rest of your dinner. Call me tomorrow if you’re still around. This is too much to think about right now.”
Steve started to protest, then shrugged. A faint smile played in his eyes but didn’t reach his lips. “Okay. I get it. I’ve reappeared and thrown you off kilter. May I drive you home?”
“No. Mom left her car at the studio.”
Steve rose as Marta put on her jacket. She shook her head, warning him away. Picking up her purse, she turned for the door and left without a single backward glance.
She drove to Corbett without knowing how she got there. She parked the car in the driveway, walked into her l
ittle home, and looked around seeing only a blur through the tears that cascaded down her face. She heard sobs, as though from another person, not herself. It was hard to breathe. Holding herself tightly, she let the past and present flow over her like an icy stream. Seeing Steve stirred up so many emotions. Maybe he was still part of her future and not her fading first love. And why did she act so snarly? He’d kept in contact with her mom and he’d come all this way to see her. What was she afraid of?
The phone rang. She let it ring. Nothing felt important right now.
All night when she tried to close her eyes, a strange black and gray fog circled through her and a wild throbbing pulsed in her chest. Marta pushed aside her covers and paced her tiny house. Her muscles twitched as though she’d taken too many diet pills.
In the past, she’d coped with her confused feelings by taking pills and keeping herself busy. Tonight no activity distracted her. She almost wished she’d stashed a few diet pills to lean on since nothing else worked.
Hour after hour she struggled with a roiling tangle of thoughts. How did Steve figure out she was seeing someone? How did that make him feel when she confessed she was seeing Sam? How did Sam and Betty fit into her life? Was it love or concern she felt for them?
Tonight after seeing Steve, she realized she still missed him. He’d seen her through her happiest and saddest moments. When he looked into her eyes and smiled, her body melted. Maybe she still loved him.
At dawn Marta showered, put on clean clothes, opened her living room blinds, and froze in place. A man stood leaning against a blue car parked next to her mom’s car. It was Steve. He’d done the same thing when they’d first met and again when she’d lost her position with the ballet company. Was he for real or just playing with her?
She put on her blue sweater and walked out to the car. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He moved to stand free of the car and stared at Marta.
She frowned, but inside she realized his caring touched a special place. “Where did you stay last night?”
“Here. I thought….”
“I get it. You thought if I looked out and saw you, I might want to go for a ride or talk?”
A half smile played on his lips. “Something like that.”
“Steve, I don’t know if I can do this. You just popped back into my life. Do you expect me to go back to the way we were and resume our relationship?”
He opened his hands and shrugged. “Marta, I have absolutely no expectations. I took a chance, that’s all. I’ve tried to get over you, but I think about you every day. I wonder what Marta’s doing? Is she happy, is she getting healthy? Does she ever think about me? I’m ready to settle down, move my life forward, but you’re still in my head.” He took her hands. “You’re my favorite unresolved issue, so I keep coming back.”
Marta nodded and pulled her hands free to button her sweater. “I know. I guess I’m still stuck with you in my head, too. Come on. I’ll fix you something to eat and we can talk.”
Since Marta had no classes to teach, they spent the morning talking and walking along the shore in front of her house. That afternoon when he drove away, she collapsed, drained as though she’d danced for hours. She sat in her rocking chair, absorbing the steady rhythm of the motion. The next step still belonged to her.
Their conversation had zipped from one topic to the next, including her confirming that she’d stopped taking diet pills. When he spoke of job interviews and the difficulty of finding the position he desired, she realized that his life contained issues she’d not associated with someone graduating from college. That confused her more than thinking about their tattered relationship. She wanted the best for him and realized that she wanted their lives to interconnect as they moved forward.
A knock on her door woke her. The clock showed eight-thirty in the evening. When she opened the door, Sam looked at her with concern. “Hey. I tried to call yesterday. Are you okay?”
Marta nodded. “I’m fine. I’ve needed time to think, so I haven’t answered the phone. Come on in.”
He stepped inside and reached for her hands. “I drove by yesterday, but I didn’t stop because I saw you had company.” Sam paused. “Marta, are you sure you’re okay?”
“No.” She walked to the window and fiddled with the blinds, opening and closing the slats. “My life is crazy busy. I need some alone time right now. Call me after the recital is over. I promise I’ll be more focused by then.”
“Sure.” Sam looked puzzled as he hugged Marta and headed out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
Before the hour ended, Marta found herself parking her mom’s car and walking in the back gate of her family home. She knocked on the kitchen door and called, “Mom?”
Her mom came to the door drying her hands. “Hi, honey. I…are you okay? What’s happened?”
Marta let herself be hugged. After a long moment, she pulled back to look into her mother’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were talking with Steve?”
“He asked me not to. I didn’t know if you even wanted to know he was calling, so I kept quiet. I’m sorry if you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. I feel like my life is flying out of control again. First I had nothing; no one who cared about me, but you. Then I met Steve and my loneliness ended. After my career fell apart and I came home, I was alone again, except for you and my confusing conversations with Steve.
Then I met Sam. I thought I’d put my life back together and making everything jell again, but now I have two people I could love. Why is life so complicated?”
“Did you and Steve have a chance to talk?”
“We did. I apologized for being a jerk and not staying in contact. I told him about the dance studio problems, and…I told him about Sam and Betty.”
“How did that go?”
“He was hurt. For now we’re letting our lives settle down. After the recital and dance studio business, we’ll sort things out.” Marta inhaled deeply. “As much as I try to move on or forget about him, Steve holds a large portion of my heart. I owe it to him to figure out my next steps.”
16
Marta left her mom's house and walked to the dance studio. She inhaled the fragrances of May flowers as she walked the familiar route. Not much traffic this time of evening. All the homes looked snug with their curtains closed against the darkness. Tonight she’d take a step closer to making a decision about what place dancing held in her life.
She turned on the upstairs practice room lights, pulled out several classical ballet records, and cranked up the volume. She played Swan Lake, followed by Sleeping Beauty, the Nutcracker, and Coppélia, filling the entire space with memories of performances and visions of dances yet to be learned. Her soft ballet slippers slid smoothly across the floor as she danced, then walked each piece of the choreography.
When exhaustion overpowered her, she collapsed on the floor allowing her performance images to float across her mind like a motion picture. What should she do about her dancing career, the situation with the dance studio, and her feelings for two different men who said they cared about her? Why did life give her so many options when all she wanted was simple day-to-day satisfaction? That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
When the chill of the linoleum soaked into her body, she got up, went to the lost and found, and pulled out a pair of pointe shoes that looked her size. She rummaged through the drawer of Bandaids and wads of lamb’s wool and found a pair of bunnykins. Such a comfortable change from wadded up lamb’s wool. The furry insides of the rabbit fur covers protected her toes from the rough interior of the pointe shoes. That meant tighter fitting shoes, but delayed her getting blisters, which she appreciated.
As she tied the ribbons, the familiar crowding of her toes in the box of the shoes sent mild pain up her legs. She stood, shook out her arms and legs, and walked around to settle her feet into the s
hoes. How long had it been? Close to a year since she’d worn pointe shoes. Oh, how her feet ached just walking in them, but now was not the time to chicken out. She turned on the record player and slid the needle into the correct groove and waited for the familiar strains of corps de ballet dances to begin.
She ignored the electric flashes of pain and rose en pointe as she played one melody after another. On and on she danced, embracing every move as if she danced in a ballet company performance. She circled with tiny, pecking bourres, her feet fluttering up and down fast as a hummingbird’s wings. She faced the mirror and inhaled, then performed changements, feeling the rise and drop of her center of balance as she jumped, allowing her feet to move from fifth to second to fifth position, again and again. Pas de bourres carried her to one corner of the room where she completed her challenge by performing chaine turns en pointe diagonally across the room until she bumped into the counter where the record player was plugged in.
Marta bent over with her hands resting on her knees, panting, drawing in deep breaths. “That didn’t go well.”
She walked in circles then sat on the floor and removed the pointe shoes, brushing past newly-forming blisters. Her left ankle began to swell. Pain surged through her body as her career slipped away as if she’d never danced professionally. Time to move on.
She lay on the floor until the gray of dawn yielded to morning light. In four hours her Monday exercise class began. After she returned the pointe shoes to the lost and found, she wrapped her ankles in ice-filled socks, curled up on the small couch in the little upstairs apartment, and slept without dreaming.
For the entire day she moved through her classes on auto-pilot, then sat down to finish recital details with her mom. Neither mentioned last night until they’d crossed off the last chore and prepared to leave for the day.
“How are you feeling, hon’?”
“Tired, lost, confused; ready for the recital to be over. I never realized how much work this entails.”