“Did it hurt?” Edith barely looks up from her book on the couch to acknowledge my statement. Her still-swollen foot is propped up on a stack of throw pillows with an ice pack draped over it. She cried a lot last night, and when she finally gave in to her exhaustion I did some research.
She’s had three physical therapy sessions in the past week. Each seems to be more challenging, more tiresome, more draining on her energy. But her comment about flying to Australia like some guy called David stuck with me.
After some digging around on Google, I discovered a bunch of articles about David Halberg. It was seemingly a huge story in the ballet world a few years ago, and after a year of intensive rehab in Australia, he could dance.
From what I’ve read, the Australian Ballet is the absolute shit when it comes to injuries. If my girl ever has a chance of dancing again, that’s where it’s going to happen.
She tips her head to the side, lowering her book onto her lap. “What you got?”
“Let’s go to Australia and get you rehabbed.”
Her jaw drops open, hangs for a beat before snapping closed. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“Hear me out. I’m about to wrap up school for the summer, we could go and at least get you evaluated, talk to some people, see if there’s anything we can do to increase the mobility in your ankle. I know you’ll never get back what you had.” I pause, struggling to contain my grief for my girl. “But if we go to the best in the world, there’s a chance you could dance for fun, and maybe that’ll be enough?”
Her face says “Bless you, sweet dumbass boy,” as she gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m not sure dancing will hold everything it held to me if you remove the competitive element of it, Pollo. But I appreciate the idea, and the thought. It’s clear you’ve done some research.”
I nod, but I’m not willing to let her away with it yet. “Will you think about it?”
“I don’t want to ask my parents for that kind of money, Pollo.” She hasn’t been to class in months. I’m not sure if her parents have been notified of her pulling out of spring semester classes and just don’t care, or my girl is somehow running interference so they don’t know yet. Either way, she doesn’t want to involve them.
I frown at her. “You know I’ll pay whatever sum of money it takes to get you whatever treatment and rehab you need.”
She sticks her tongue out. “Oh, how the other half live.” She’s scoffing, but her eyes glisten with gratitude. “You can’t leave the country over the summer. You need to train, to play hockey, to practice with your team. You need to keep pressing forward so when the fall comes the scouts pick you up and offer you contracts for every NHL team in the country.”
My stomach drops. She’s not wrong. But if it means she’ll consider it, I’d absolutely rearrange my life and go with her.
Her face flickers, she points her finger at me. “No. I’m not letting you trash your hockey career to take me to Australia on a wing-and-a-prayer idea that someone over there can make my busted up foot magically better.”
She pauses for a beat. “Not to mention you’d have tobribesomeone to work with me. Generally the PT staff work exclusively for the company.”
“Your story took an unexpected turn, Edie. It sucks, no getting away from that. But don’t let your story push you forward. Think about taking back some control, writing your own narrative, pushing the story forward yourself.”
She looks at me like I’ve grown an extra eyeball in the middle of my forehead. “What the fuck rabbit hole did you fall down into on the internet last night when you looked up injury recovery?”
Shrugging, I flash a grin at her. It’s true, there were perhaps some inspirational, you’ve got this, go team type articles I read about mindset, but Edith can accomplish anything she puts her mind to. She just needs to decide.
“Maybe you can’t ever compete against other dancers again,princesa. But there’s nothing to say you can’t compete against yourself.”
“I’ll think about it.” She taps her book against her chin. “But.”
Here it comes.
“If I decide to go to Australia, it’s by myself. I’ll go solo, then you can stay here and practice hockey, and skate until your legs fall off. I want to come back to see you with a shiny new C on your shirt.”
The fact she’s already talking about coming back means she’s thinking about it enough to go in the first place. That warms my chest way more than any mention of getting the captain’s C. Not to mention, Artemis is a much better leader than I am on the ice. The whispers around the locker room concur. Everyone thinks he’ll take over the reins when Justin graduates this summer.
She hasn’t dismissed it right off the bat. She’s already turning it over in her grey matter because she hasn’t reopened the book on her legs. She’s staring at it like it might have the answers she’s seeking.
I don’t want to push her either way. But I’ve brought her flowers to every, single dance recital she’s performed in since she was a little girl. I’ve seen her light up from within when she dances. She’s talked about nothing else for over a decade, and if this is what she needs to be able to get back doing what she loves? I’m all in.
* * *
Ares paces back and forth like a caged animal. This is the third sibling meeting we’ve had in as many days. This time it’s at Edith’s place, where I’ve moved in permanently. She’s stretched out across the sofa, her feet on my thighs as I rub her recovering foot.
The longer my siblings and I take to reach a consensus on what to do about our cheating father and half-siblings, the more Ares seems to boil over.
It currently looks like someone shook him up like a can of Coke, and we’re waiting for something to pop the tab.
