Black Sheep

by Tabatha Vargo

  I could do this; I knew I could. Dancing was something I’d done since I was eight months old and refused to walk any other way but on the tips of my toes.

  Tires squealed and the world spun as we flipped and rolled. This time there was no safety from my seatbelt as the buckle snapped, throwing me from my seat.

  I could feel my adrenaline pumping as confidence began to flow through my system. I took form, counted to three, and spun onto the stage.

  Metal screeched across the road, melting and sparking against the pavement.

  Positioning my arms above my head, I extended my leg and pointed my foot out. When the music lifted I spun around, lifting on my toes and kicking my leg into the air.

  The smell of gasoline, burnt rubber, and blood mixed and stung my nose.

  I wanted Julliard to be proud they chose me. I may have only been fifteen, but I was a damn good dancer. My performance only lasted the length of the four minute song I’d chosen, but I could have spent hours on the stage had they let me.

  Turning, I searched for her. I needed that calm that only she could provide. I tried to focus on her face, but my vision blurred.

  The tempo changed and I recognized the dramatic ending for what it was and my mom’s words lingered in the back of my mind—“Blow their minds, Araya. Dance like it’s the last time…” And that’s exactly what I did.

  I danced for the last time.

  Our screams were the last thing I heard.

  My head pounded with each whispered word that drifted through the never-ending black fog.

  Everything felt heavy. My arms and legs felt weighed down and anchored to… where was I? I couldn’t wiggle my fingers, much less move anything else. As bad as I wanted to, the simple task of opening my eyelids was something I couldn’t manage.

  “Unfortunately, we couldn’t contain the infection in time and it has spread…”

  I didn’t recognize the low voice hidden in the shadows. It was deep and male as his words flowed from the black and swirled around my head.

  Infection? Spread? Couldn’t contain? Where was I and how long had I been here?

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  I knew that voice. I could never forget the easy sweep of her cold tone. It was my Aunt Nina. I strained my ears to hear the one voice that would make everything better—my mother’s.

  “I’m afraid it’s not good news…”

  The male voice got deeper; it seemed to dip lower at the end of each sentence and I knew I was missing pieces, important pieces, of their conversation. I couldn’t make sense of what was going on, but a tiny pull deep in my stomach told me my life would never be the same.

  “She’ll never dance again.”

  She wasn’t fazed. I wanted to focus on what that meant, but her words stole my attention.

  “How long before she wakes up? The arrangements for my sister have already been made.”

  My aunt’s voice was cold—it was always cold—but that wasn’t what sent an icy chill through my body. Arrangements? What arrangements? There was a loud buzzing in my ears and my chest began to hurt, and as I listened to the rest of their conversation, the knot in my stomach grew.

  “She’s already showing signs of coming to. It’s just a matter of time now.”

  I wanted to sit up and scream at them, tell them I was awake—that I was alive, but I couldn’t form the words, and the deep voice was still talking.

  “When she does wake, the trauma of realizing what happened is going to be severe. I don’t know that it will be best to tell her right away,”

  Fear choked me. Panic took over my limp, heavy body and I wanted to demand they tell me whatever it was they weren’t saying out loud. And then the man spoke again and this time I understood every word and their very meaning stabbed into my chest and snatched all my air away.

  “Adding the news of her mother’s death will only…”

  The world spun away from me and the blackness around me moved in and began to consume my thoughts. His words faded behind the fierce pounding in my ears. My fingers gripped something soft, and I felt my body strain against the pain exploding in my chest.

  “Doctor!” another voice shouted in panic. “Her heart rate is out of control.”

  Fingers grabbed and groped at me as frantic voices issued commands all around me and I felt myself being jerked back. Icy air ran up my stomach as they pulled whatever was keeping me warm away. Something smooth and cold stung my bare skin.

  “CLEAR!”

  My body pulsated as an electric current ran through my system. I felt nothing. I was numb from head to toe and his words echoed through my head over and over as I let the darkness consume me.

  My mother is dead.

  I can’t dance.

  My mother is dead.

  SPECIAL NOTE

  For more information on child abuse go to: http://www.nccafv.org/child.htm

  For more information on drug abuse go to: https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/drugfacts/understanding-drug-use-addiction