Dirty Chaos

by L. A. Corvill

  “Good, because if he hurt my baby, I’ll kick his ass,” my Dad says, walking into the kitchen and into our conversation.

  “Honey, be nice. Lola can take care of herself,” she says, hitting him on his shoulder. My dad walks around the counter with his coffee in his hands and kisses my cheek.

  “I know, but she’s still my baby,” he responds.

  “Ok, I gotta go, see you this afternoon.” I kiss my mom goodbye and chug what’s left of my coffee.

  I’m dreading school. I have Luka in most of my classes and I really don’t want to see him. I park my Jeep in the parking lot and debate whether to get out or play hooky. If I did, I could go visit Nolan. I scan the parking lot; it’s ten minutes until class starts and I don’t see his car. I jump when Brian taps on my window.

  “So are you planning on getting out of the car?” Brian asks sarcastically.

  “I don’t know yet,” I answer matter-of-factly.

  “Nolan and I were calling and calling you last night, you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can’t lie to me, Lo.”

  “Luka and I threw in the towel, it’s for the best,” I say to him, hearing sadness emitting from my own words.

  “Luka? Or you? Last I heard, you were blaming him for Nolan’s impulsive need to feel better.” I look at him, unable to believe what I just heard.

  “Whose side are you on?” I ask angrily.

  “Yours, always yours, but I don’t think there is anyone to blame here. Yes, Nolan took those pills, yes he took more than he should have, yes it was stupid, but this was neither Luka’s fault nor your own. So stop blaming yourself and stop blaming Luka, Nolan has to own up to his actions, which of course had consequences that affected everyone.” I hate that he’s right and now I just feel like a total jerk.

  “Come with me?” I ask Brian.

  “Of course, where?” he asks, not hesitating to skip school.

  “To see Nolan.” He jumps in the Jeep and we take off toward the hospital.

  We walk into Nolan’s hospital room and he’s just relaxing and watching television, sports as always. He sits up straighter when he sees us walk in.

  “Lola, glad you came. We were calling and calling you yesterday, what in the world happened? Who the fuck is more important than me?” He smiles a cheesy smile and points to himself.

  “Me,” I answer. “I was going over my dance routine and didn’t want to be bothered.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit. I bet you already know this dance routine and can dance it in your sleep,” he says to me. He’s right.

  “She broke it off with Luka,” Brian butts in and tells Nolan.

  “Why? The guy loves you, you love the guy, and I approve of this guy,” Nolan says.

  “Oh, ok, so you fucking date him then. He’s just not what I need right now.”

  “It’s because of your stupid shit, man,” Brian says to Nolan.

  “Lolita, are you blaming him for this?” Nolan says, spreading his arms out, indicating that he means the fact that he’s in the hospital’s psychiatric ward.

  “Yes, and the fact that if I hadn’t been so consumed by him I would’ve had more time with Abuelita.” I say sadly.

  “Lolita, Abuelita would hate for you to be living this way. She would’ve wanted you to celebrate the life that she had, not mourn her loss. I miss her too but I think about all the good things we were able to learn from her. I remember all the things she taught us and one of them was to always live each day like it’s your last.” Brian walks toward me and pulls me next to the hospital bed. We are all holding hands and Nolan is nodding, agreeing with Brian.

  “You’re right. I just miss her,” I say sadly.

  “No one is telling you not to, you just have to stop letting it consume you. There are things in life we cannot prevent and death is one of them. It’s not up us when we die, only the good Lord above holds that power,” Brian says.

  “I know, I just keep thinking that if I would’ve been there, maybe, just maybe, she’d still be here.”

  “So you plan to push people that love you away?” Brian asks.

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe,” I say.

  “Well, think long and hard about it because you might have let your soul mate walk away,” Brian says.

  “Shit, if I were you I would call him right now and ask for forgiveness,” suggests Nolan.

  “I don’t think he could ever forgive me. I said things I shouldn’t have said,” I tell them, a tear escaping.

  “Lola, that shouldn’t be a reason to give up on him. You need to put your pride aside and apologize,” Brian tells me. He makes it sound so easy, but I truly feel like my words were hurtful and unforgivable.

  “So fucking get off that high horse you’re riding and call him,” Nolan says.

  “You guys are right. I’ll call him after my auditions. I need to focus and have a clear mind so that I can pull off the best dance routine they’ve ever seen.”

  “Auditions?” Brian questions.

  “What the fuck, when? Where? Why didn’t you fucking tell us?” Nolan says.

  “I was scared. I didn’t want you guys to feel like I was choosing dance over you. This is my future,” I say sadly.

  “Lo, we support you in anything you want to do. We’re best friends, remember?”

  “No more fucking secrets, you assholes. Never in our lives have we kept anything from one another and we shouldn’t start now,” Nolan says sternly.

  “You’re right, no more secrets. I cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” I say.

  We all laugh and it’s like before. Friends who will live and die for each other, who will never judge, who will be there until the end.

  “Damn straight,” Nolan says.

  We stay in the hospital all day. The nurse is nice enough to let us, even though visiting hours are only in the morning, lunch, and evening but we promised we wouldn’t leave the room. We talk about how it’s going to be after high school and how we are all going our separate ways. I’m sad to learn Nolan won’t be able to play football, ever, and that this was the reason behind his accidental overdose. I also learn that Luka never supplied him with more than a couple of handfuls of pills. I feel like such a jerk.

  It’s four o’clock and we have to leave. I have a dance lesson with Dion and I still have to drop off Brian at school.

  I didn’t realize I had text messages. My heart skips a beat when I see that they’re from Luka. I want to read them, but if I do, I will let myself be consumed by his words. I decide to read them after dance practice.

  Practice is just to clean up my routine. Dion and I spend hours going over and over my routine. I feel confident I can nail it. We leave for Dallas on Friday for auditions. Just the thought makes me nervous.

  “Swan, I’m speechless. It’s just so damn beautiful. I don’t think anyone can do better. Bravo. Bravo. Now rest tomorrow; I don’t want you dancing and being sore on Friday. Make sure you soak your body and stay hydrated you hear?” Dion says.

  “Yes, I promise I will. Thank you. Love you.” I hug him and kiss his cheek.

  He exits the studio and I sink down on the floor. I grab my phone, anxious to know what Luka has to say. I open up the text messages and read them.

  Luka: So you skip school to avoid me?

  Luka: Ok, so I see how you’re playing this game, but just know I will give you your space.

  Luka: My heart beats for you and I will never give up on us.

  Luka: Never forget, always remember.

  My mom comes in and sits down next to me. I lean into her and rest my head on her shoulder. She kisses my forehead and places a red box in my hand.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “Abuelita got this for you for your auditions.”I inhale a sharp breath. I slowly open the box and read her words across the back. Tears begin to roll down. They’re a beautiful set of gray pearl earrings. Etched across the velvet lid is ‘There are never any dead e
nds in life, only detours.’

  I rub my ear, feeling the pearl earring my abuelita gave me. In my other hand, I hold onto the box with her message like it is my lifeline. I am trying to channel her strength and her passion for dance to give me luck for today’s auditions at the McFarlin Memorial Auditorium in Dallas.

  I can’t cry today.

  Even if my heart hurts like crazy.

  I have to get my head in the game; this is for my future.

  I am so tired. Nolan, Brian, and I stayed up until very late last night talking like we did when we were younger, deciding what super hero we would be when we grew up. We are idiots sometimes.

  “Lola. Mi princesa bonita,” I hear someone calling me. I turn to look for them but I can’t see anything in all this brightness. There is also a dense fog covering everything. I can barely see my own body.

  “Abuelita? Abuelita!” I turn in circles yelling for her. Where is she? I walk through the endless fog.

  “Princesa, come,” her sweet voice beckons.

  “Where Abuelita? I can’t see you.” I cry. I can feel her close but I can’t see her.

  “Look harder, Lola.”

  “Gosh, Abuelita I am.” I continue to walk through the fog I’m in. I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. I feel desperation creeping in that I can’t get to her.

  “Look with your heart, not your eyes, princesa.” I stand still and heed her advice. As I look into my heart for her memories, the brightness starts to come into focus. I see her sitting in her favorite chair in my studio, the only chair allowed. She would spend hours, watching me practicing and knitting me leg warmers.

  “Sientate, sit Lola.” I sit at her feet putting my head on her lap. Like many times before, she undoes my bun and runs her fingers through my hair.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Lola. What are you afraid of? Leave me all your worries.”

  “I’m afraid they will not like my performance. What if I forget the steps, or worse, fall?” I cry.

  “Lola, you have been dancing since you were six years old. This routine has been practiced since last year. You will do great, my nieta will be the next prima ballerina.” Her confidence in me has never wavered, even from the first time I fell in my first dance class. She always made sure I got up again.

  “I’m afraid of failing you.”

  “Mijita, look at me.” I pick up my head and gaze into her beautiful wrinkled face. “You will never fail me. I am proud of you for the person you are, not what you could do. If you don’t make it, it will be okay. That just means you are needed more somewhere else.”

  “Ay, Abuelita if only it was that easy.”

  “It is. Remember that. God will never close a door without opening a new and better one.”

  A feeling of completeness and peace overcomes me, the same feeling that Luka evokes in me. God, I miss him.

  “I will never be far, mi niña preciosa. I always will be in your heart and you can always look for me there.” She places her hand over my heart. “I love you always. Be happy, my precious ballerina.”

  I wake up with a start from the movement of the plane as it touches down on the runway.

  “You okay, Lola?” my mother asks. I look at her with questions in my eyes. She shifts her gaze from my eyes to our joined hands. I have a firm grip on her hand.

  “Sorry, dreaming about Abuelita.” Her eyes soften as she hugs me.

  “She will be there Lola.” I nod and hug her. I know that we both miss her a lot. The pilot announces that we have arrived at our destination. I get up and walk toward the exit with my parents and Dion following behind me.

  We take a taxi to the auditorium. As soon as I walk in all the fear and doubt rush back into me. My mother takes hold of my hand, squeezing it a little bit, giving me her strength and my abuela’s.

  I see girls all over the lobby stretching, going over their routines, getting their hair and makeup done. Every girl that loves ballet is here. The competition is going to be brutal. We walk towards the registration table and there’s a line of girls with legs for miles.

  I got this. I chant to myself. Abuelita and mom are right: I have practiced this routine for a year. My phone vibrates in my tracksuit pocket.

  Group Message: Brian and Nolan

  Brian: Good Luck, Lo. We love you. Break a leg.

  Lola: Thanks guys.

  Nolan: Wishing we could be there.

  Lola: I know.

  They had bugged me for tickets all last night, but this is a closed audition: no audience, only the judging board members. The waiting is going to be nerve wracking. The line is moving steadily. I get to the front of the tables.

  “Name?” the lady asks without making any eye contact.

  “Lola Cole.”

  “You are scheduled for the 2:30 p.m. slot. Fill this form out and make sure you have your music either on a CD or USB drive. When you are done, turn it in at the table with the “Music” sign, and hand them your music. There are no cell phones, cameras, or any other electronics allowed inside.” She runs through everything curtly, already asking the girl behind me her name.

  “Okay thanks,” I mumble as I take the clipboard with the form on it. I thought I had already filled out everything that they needed before we came out. I look down at the sheet and see more personal questions: Who inspires you to dance? What is your first dancing memory? They’re questions that judge character, I guess.

  I answer all five questions and make my way to the drop off table. I hand over my music. That done, I make my way to the open area to go stretch and practice, just to kill time until my name is called. My parents and Dion have gone in search of coffee and a snack. It’s going to be a long day.

  I look for an open area to sit down. I finally find one as the girl that was there gets called into the auditorium. I drop my bag on the floor, along with my body. I remove my tennis shoes and start working my feet and massaging them.

  “Are you ready to stretch?” I hear Dion ask from above me. I nod.

  “My parents?”

  “They are at the parents’ waiting room. They are talking to the rest of the parents there. They don’t want to be in the way.”

  “There are a lot of girls here, they look better than me,” I say as I eye a group of girls doing a sequence of assemblé.

  “Lola, they have nothing on mi ballerina. It’s her Mexican fire that will bring everyone to their feet.” He laughs.

  “You got that right. There is no competition for me. Now I have to make sure I believe, because I can’t be afraid in there.” I point to the theater doors.

  “Oh, we got this. It’s in the bag. So stop trying to make me feel sad and give me those sexy long legs, niña bonita. We need to put these legs to work instead of them just being around your boy’s waist.”

  Laughing, I give him my legs. Boys yeah, I only need one. Besides, Dion is the only man I know that knows how to work them.

  The endless stretching of muscles begins. I loathe to stretching, but I have to or I might not make it through the routine. He sits in front of me, massaging my feet and calves, rubbing and massaging them to liquid. I look around to see if there are any spaces against the wall so I can do some plies. I don’t see anywhere. Sighing, I start thinking about Luka. I recall his last text. I hope he will be there when I get back.

  This waiting feels endless.

  He makes me bend my legs like a butterfly and he gets up to push my knees toward the floor. Did I mention this hurts? We continue to do our sets of ten as girl after girl gets called. One by one, you see either happy tears or sad tears, but the endless amount of tears is consistent.

  After stretching, I get up to take a walk around the lobby.

  I need to relax.

  To take a deep breath.

  To find the clarity that I seek before my dance.

  I take my phone out of my pocket, willing it to ring and have Luka’s face light up my screen. I need to call him as soon this is over. He needs to know that it is not his fault
that my grandmother died and that Nolan was a dickhead to take all those pills.

  But all I see is the time…2:20p.m. In ten minutes, my future will be determined.

  Why is it so daunting?

  Shouldn’t I be more excited?

  I really want this to go well for my grandmother, for me.

  As I walk into the lobby, I hear my name being called.

  “Cole. Lola Cole?” I raise my hand so she can see me, and then walk toward Dion who is holding my stuff. I grab my bag and give him a hug. Turning, I make my way to the woman. My parents are waiting next to her. My dad grabs me in a big bear hug.

  “Kill it, baby,” he says.

  “You know I will.”

  I turn to my mother and she blesses me like Abuela used to and kisses me on the cheek. They can’t come in with me.

  “You got this.”

  The woman opens the doors to the theater; it’s eerily quiet. We walk to the front of the stage and she hands my portfolio to the judge at the edge before continuing toward the side of the stage.

  “The changing room is in there, if you need to use it.” She points to a door under the stage.

  Yeah. No thanks.

  “I have my gear under my pants and shirt,” I say. I would never want to go into such a dark small place.

  “Ok, you have about two minutes to get ready and get on stage. You will have three minutes to show the judges why you should be their next prima ballerina that with sell out every show.” She walks away. Thanks for the pep talk. I hear her stilettos click to the front.

  Show time.

  I remove my yoga pants and my sweater. I am wearing my leotard underneath. I take my tutu out of my bag and slip it on. I take out my pointe shoes and lace them up. I handle them with care since they were my abuela’s last gift to me. She took away the traditional pale pink ribbon and added a black and white checkered ribbon to represent my other passion, motocross.

  I absolutely love them.

  There’s a chalk box at the bottom of the stairs. I walk toward it and tap my pointe shoes, making sure they have enough chalk to not make me slip.