by Renee Fowler
“I can’t. My right hip doesn’t turn out.” I assume first position to emphasis. “This is what I’m working with now.”
“You can fix that,” Aaron says hopefully.
“Nope. Trust me, I’ve tried.” I relax my posture and pat my right hip. “This is mostly metal and plastic now.”
His sad downtrodden face is quickly masked by a bright smile. “But you have your own studio. That’s amazing. Are you loving it?”
I nod quickly. I really am. With every passing day I miss the stage and my old life a little less.
“Promise me you’ll come tonight. I’ll make sure you have a good seat.”
“I’ll come,” I say with a touch of reluctance. I have no wish to see Mikhail again, but I doubt he wants to see me either. Chances are he won’t even know I’m there in the audience, and it sure beats sitting alone in Gregory’s cramped apartment.
Aaron goes over to fall heavily on the edge of Gregory’s bed. He bounces violently. “Get up lazy bones.”
“Nooo,” Gregory moans.
“Get up or you’re going to be late.”
“I’m not going. I’m sick,” he says towards his pillow.
“Liar.”
“Stop bouncing or I really am going to be sick,” Gregory warns.
“You can’t play hookey.”
“Watch me.”
Aaron gives his ass a playful swat, and rolls his eyes towards me. “This is all your fault. I expected better from you, Anna.”
“I’ve kept him out of trouble plenty in the past,” I point out. “That’s your job now.”
“Can you two please stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Gregory whines.
“Done.” Aaron pops up from the foot of the bed. He gives me another peck on the cheek on his way to the door. “See you two tonight.”
I go to pour myself a cup of coffee, and make a piece of toast. Gregory doesn’t have any fruit, so I do without. I run through a few more stretches just to loosen up. I really overdid it last night, and I’m going to pay for it the rest of the day.
Figuring Gregory can do with a bit more sleep, I don’t want to turn on the TV, so dig my phone out of my purse, and see an unread text from a few hours ago.
Jack: Good Morning
Me: Morning
Jack: Did you actually sleep late for once?
Me: Just this once. We were out late. Salsa dancing.
Jack: I know. Jamie told me.
I guess someone posted a picture online, and she had requested me as a Facebook friend a few days ago.
Me: Why don’t you have a Facebook?
There is a long pause before he responds.
Jack: I deleted it after Claire died. All the digital thoughts and prayers got to be a bit much.
Claire. I didn’t know her name until now. Is it irrational that I’m jealous over a dead woman? Probably. His reason for getting rid of it makes perfect sense to me though. My account sat abandoned for months and months after my accident. I couldn’t handle the sympathy, and as childish as it sounds, hearing news from all my friends who were still healthy and well enough to dance made me want to scream.
Jack: Any big plans for today?
Me: Going to see Giselle tonight
Jack: What’s that?
Me: It’s a ballet
Jack: I should’ve guessed, LOL. You really don’t have any other interests besides dance, do you?
Me: I told you. I’m boring.
Jack: You’re not boring, but maybe I’ll have to introduce you to some new hobbies
Me: Like what?
Jack: You’ll just have to wait and see :)
God, I’m pathetic. The little smiley face from him sets my heart pitter-pattering. My eyes drift over to where Gregory is still passed out. Recalling our conversation from last night, a question tears through my mind that I probably wouldn’t have the courage to ask if we were sitting face to face.
Me: Am I your rebound? You can tell me the truth. I just need to know.
My thumb hovers over the send button. What if he says yes? I almost don’t want to hear the truth. I click send, and wait.
And wait, and wait, and wait.
Ugh. I should’ve just left it alone. It’s too soon for some big, serious conversation.
My phone rings in my hands. I startle, and nearly drop it. Rising up from the couch, I close myself up in the bathroom before answering. “Hey,” I say weakly.
“You’re not my rebound, Anna.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He lets out a soft sigh. “My rebound was about three years ago. It was too soon, and it didn’t go anywhere because… it was too soon.”
“Okay. I just wanted to make sure before…” Before I fall for him? I’m already starting to feel like it may be too late to avoid.
“Am I your rebound?” Jack asks.
“Nope. That ended over a year ago, and I definitely don’t miss him. He was a dick.”
Jack laughs. “Good to know.” I hear him swallow. “I like you, Anna.”
“I like you too.”
“I’m glad we cleared that up.”
“Me too.”
The bathroom door bursts open, and Gregory blinks at me with bleary eyes. “Move Anna. I have to pee.”
Jack guffaws. “I’m not gonna ask.”
I jump up and shift out of the way so Gregory can slide past. “This place is teensy. It was either stand in the bathroom, or outside in the hall,” I say, closing the door behind me to give Gregory some privacy.
“Gotcha.” There is some sort of loud noise from Jack’s end. “I need to go. Sarah needs me, but I hope you enjoy the show tonight.”
“You too, err… enjoy whatever you’re doing instead I mean.”
We both laugh, and quickly say goodbye as Sarah starts to whine in the background.
∞∞∞
I feel a bit out of place sitting in the audience between people that are dressed far nicer than me. I hadn’t planned on coming here tonight. I didn’t pack for it, but here I am nonetheless, and I’m more excited than I anticipated. Aaron came good on his promise. My seat is excellent. Close, but not too close, and almost dead center in the theatre.
Coincidentally, the first ballet I ever saw was Giselle. I was thirteen, and I sat all the way in the back of a larger theatre that is no longer in existence. My grandma got me tickets for my birthday because I’d begged, and she sat through the whole thing with me begrudgingly. I kept that program for years, but it eventually got misplaced during one of my many moves.
The house lights go down, and the curtain is swept back. I’m not bitter or resentful as I watch the performance like I feared I might be, but I’m not sure if I can enjoy it the same way I could back then. Aaron does a fine job in the role of Albrecht, but he make one or two very minor flubs that snag my eye. Brooke is beautiful as Giselle. Technically she is flawless, but Aaron was right. There’s something missing in her performance, that unknown essense that doesn’t really have a name.
Ballet is an art, and it takes many years to master that extra something. It took me years anyways. Right about the time my body was starting to revolt from the years of abuse I’d put it through, all the pieces started to fall in place. I could not only execute the sequences precisely, I was able to bring… grace to it. I guess that’s the word I’m looking for, and it’s what Brooke is missing, that delicate refinement of movement, but she’s still young. I’m sure in a few more years it’ll click for her.
If not for Mikhail, I would probably go backstage to greet a few old friends I haven’t seen for a long time, but instead I sit tight right where I’m at and wait for Gregory. I pull out my phone to pass the time.
Jack texted me earlier just to check in, and he asked me to tell him how the show went when it was finished. We’ve been doing that a lot this week. Gregory teased me earlier about the excited face I made when I noticed it was a message from him.
Me: You missed a good performance.
Jack: I was reading about this Giselle. That’s a pretty messed up story.
At its core, I suppose it is. Giselle is courted by two suitors, one of whom is betrothed to another. She eventually dies of shock when she learns the truth of his deception. It’s dramatic tragedy, and not the sort of thing that is conveyed well in words I suppose.
Me: I thought you were watching Beauty and the Beast with Sarah
Jack: We did, but I’ve seen it about 100 times now. I may have been looking at my phone instead of the TV
Me: That’s a pretty weird story too, when you think about it
My phone dings lightly, alerting me to a new text, but before my eyes can take in his words a shadow cuts across my lap. My head snaps up, and I’m instantly enraged.
“Hello, Bella,” he says softly. At least he has the presence of mind to leave an empty space between us as he takes a seat.
He looks older than I remember. His hair is still thick, but more grey than dark now, and his widow’s peak more pronounced. The lines around his eyes are deeper than I recall. So are the parenthesis that connect the corners of his nose to the edges of his lips.
Mikhail played Albrecht in that first ballet I ever saw. He was near the tail end of his performing career at that point, and I was just a girl. That’s how many years there are between us. Way, way too many. I don’t see my girlhood crush when I look at him now. I see a cruel, heartless man who couldn’t even wait until I left the hospital to break my heart.
“You look like you’re doing well,” he says, when I don’t respond.
“What do you want?” I bite out. His eyes widen a touch. If I didn’t know better, there is hurt shining in them. Of the two of us sitting there, I’m the one who is entitled to that emotion, but all I feel is pissed off and bewildered. “Well?” I demand.
Mikhail rubs his hands together nervously, and finally clasps them on his lap. “I noticed you in the audience earlier. I just wanted to say hello, and see how you’re doing.”
“Now you want to see how I’m doing?”
“Of course I want-”
“You have a lot of nerve, you know that?”
The muscles along his throat move as he swallows. “I’m sorry, Bella.”
“That’s not my name, and… there’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You did me a huge favor.”
His face is a mask of confusion, and pain.
“There you are,” a bright, cheerful voice calls out from the end of the row. Brooke is still wearing her stage makeup, but she’s changed into a form fitting top and dark jeans. At first I think she’s addressing me, then I realize she is speaking to Mikhail. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I chuff a laugh under my breath. I was young enough to be his daughter. Brooke could possibly pass for his granddaughter, but who he chooses to spend his time with isn’t my concern now. “Nice to see you again,” I say to both of them, and immediately jump up to my feet.
Mikhail mumbles something I can’t make out.
Brooke gives me a tight smile, but her heavily made up eyes are narrowed in my direction. Is she worried I’ve returned to tempt that asshole away from her? Maybe she thinks I’ve come back to reclaim principal. She took my old spot on stage, and beside Mikhail, and I truly don’t miss either.
Between the way I pushed myself last night, and being confined to that narrow theater seat for several hours, my hip cramps and screams in protests, but there is no way in hell I’m letting myself limp in front of either of them. I grit my teeth and walk away with my head held high.
Chapter 11
Jack
When Anna confessed she bumped into her ex, I was overcome with a sharp pang of jealousy that surprised me. We barely know each other. I don’t have the right to that sort of possessiveness, especially since I’m still sleeping on my side of the bed.
Then I lay on my side of the bed for an hour after Anna and I say goodnight, staring at the ceiling, trying to talk myself out of digging up pictures because I suddenly can’t remember which side of Claire’s face held that tiny mole, left or right. I called it a beauty mark, but she said, “Let’s call a spade a fuckin’ spade. It’s a mole.” Claire didn’t believe in sugar coating a thing.
I can remember certain things she said, but not the sound of her voice. I can recall that tiny, innocuous beauty mark, but I can’t recall which side of her face it decorated. In another five years will I remember it at all? It doesn’t feel right to forget those tiny details, but it doesn’t feel right to go pouring through old pictures at midnight either, not if I’m trying to move on.
When I’m with Anna, or even just talking to her, she’s the only thing on my mind. Even when I’m alone, she’s been occupying my thoughts quite a bit, but memories of Claire still pop up at random.
I feel guilty for forgetting Claire.
I feel guilty for remembering her.
I feel guilty that I might end up hurting Anna, even though it’s the last thing in the world I want to do.
And if I’m being very honest with myself, I’m a little afraid Anna might end up hurting me. She’s fucking gorgeous, and talented. Maybe I don’t give a shit about ballet, but there are plenty of other people who do, and from what I’ve gathered she’s a bit of a big deal to some of those people. I’m left scratching my head about what’s she is doing in this little town to begin with, and what the hell she sees in me.
We don’t have a thing in common from where I’m standing, yet… I want to find a bit of common ground between us. I also want to turn off my brain, and go the hell to sleep, but what I want and what I get don’t always coincide, and I don’t drift off for a long time.
Sarah jostles me awake the next morning by bouncing around the bed. “Daddy, what’s for breakfast?”
I rub my eyes, trying to wake up. “Let’s go downstairs and see what we can find.”
After a bit of back and forth, she finally settles on scrambled eggs. I set some coffee to percolate, and get busy cooking. I’m just scooping the finished product onto a plate to cool, when the sound of the front door opening draws my attention.
“Hi Aunt Jamie!”
“Yeah, hi Aunt Jamie,” I say pointedly, barely able to hide the anger or disgust from my voice.
She holds her hands up. “I wasn’t with C-O-L-E.”
Sarah starts to sound out the word. Did Jamie forget she could read?
I’m not sure if I actually believe my sister. It seems like an awfully big coincidence that she recently learned that piece of shit was back in town, and now she’s creeping in the front door after a night out somewhere.
“I wasn’t,” Jamie whispers when she slides past me to get a cup of coffee.
“Alright.” I still have my doubts, but she’s a grown woman. I suppose it’s not really my place to say either way. “You still gonna be around when I go to pick up…”
Jamie smiles up at me. “Yup.”
After breakfast, I help Sarah get ready for church. Evelyn takes her most Sunday’s, which Claire would probably have plenty to say about. When she was pregnant, she went on a lot about how she was not going to fill our daughter’s head with that rubbish.
Sometimes I think Claire would hate the way I’m raising our daughter, church, the pretend princess getup, all the pink crap she gravitates towards, but those things make Sarah happy. Maybe if Claire was here, she’d understand. In either case, it’s pointless to wonder about because she’s not here.
Sarah wants to wear her ballet shoes to church, which I talk her out of. She gets mildly ticked off that I can’t fix her hair the way she wants, but Jamie gets out of the shower in time to do it for her. Evelyn doesn’t bother pestering me or Jamie about attending church with them when she arrives. She already knows how we’ll answer. We didn’t grow up with it, maybe that’s why none of it resonates, but I usually suffer through a few services around the holidays when Sarah asks.
I could probably do with another hour or so of sleep, but once I’m up, I’m up, and s
omeone needs to attend to Fluffy. Sarah could’ve just as easily named him scrawny or patchy. He’s sort of pitiful looking, with odd orange, brown and white colorations, and uneven tufts of hair. I’m a little surprised Sarah chose this little furball out of the litter. Maybe it was because he stuck out from the rest.
I arrive a few minutes early to pick up Anna, and her bus arrives a few minutes late. When I spot her striding out, with her rolling suitcase trailing behind, I hop out to go greet her. Her face breaks out into a big smile when she sees me, and I realize I’ve been smiling from the second she came into view.
For such a long time the gesture didn’t feel natural on my face. I could turn it on when I had to, for Sarah, for friends and family who were worried about me, but when I’m with Anna it seems to happen all on it’s on. When I catch her up in my arms and kiss her, that happens all on it’s own too. My lips are slanting over hers before either of us have said hello.
Anna drops the handle of her suitcase to wrap her arms around me. By the way we’re going at it in the middle of the damn parking lot, you’d think we were long, lost lovers reunited after months apart. It hasn’t been two measly days since we said goodbye, and we haven’t known each other for a week.
A short horn blast reminds us both that we’re blocking the way, and we break apart. Anna hurries to grab her bag. I snatch up the suitcase, and we both move out of the way.
“How was the ride?”
“Loooong. I’m so ready to get home and see my baby.”
I grab the bag out of her hand, and hold out the keys in her direction. “If you’re so eager to see Princess, you’re gonna want to drive a bit faster this time,” I say with a smile, as a joke, but Anna doesn’t laugh, and her face deepens to wine red. “I’m just messing around, Anna.”
“I know,” she says quickly with a forced grin, and snatches the keys out of my hand.
Anna is nothing like Claire, which is good. I’m not looking for a clone of my late wife, but I need to be mindful of those differences I guess. I’m not sure if it was possible to make Claire blush. Not much phased her, and she didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. She definitely wasn’t afraid to drive, or of much really. When we would go out to my buddy’s farm, she often scared the shit out of me on one of his four wheelers. I used to fear she’d end up killing herself on one of those things.