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Twenty-Four
Natalia
I stared at the satin laces dangling from the shelf, taunting me, begging me to wear them. Sam had schemed me into this and I wasn’t happy .
He was in the studio waiting for me to show him something a ballerina would do. My Goddess uniform was hanging where it always did. Didn’t he know I hadn’t been a ballerina for a long time ?
I dug through my closet until I found one of my wrap shirts and a light pink wrap skirt. I quickly put them on and then began to pull the pointe shoes from the shelf. I was shaking and my fingers tingled. I didn’t know if I could go through with this .
I sat on the edge of the bed. What if it didn’t feel right? What if I injured my hamstring again? What if this was a setback? This could end all of the plans I had made to audition. With a new injury, I would ruin the chance I did have .
“Natalia, where are you?” Sam called from the room next to mine .
“Hold on,” I replied .
I had to do this. Not only because I had to pay up for the bet I had lost, but because I had been putting it off way too long. My fear had eaten away at my confidence. I could tell Sam was trying to give some of that back to me .
But he hadn’t been there. He didn’t know the pain it caused and the months of anguish piled on top .
I exhaled, and for the first time in nine months, my feet wore pointe shoes .
* * *
I might as well have been stepping onto the stage for my first performance. My stomach did somersaults and I could feel the sticky perspirat
ion in my hands. I took my time walking into the studio .
Sam was going through my record collection, but he must have heard me enter and turned around .
“Wow.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” My mouth felt dry. Wearing the shoes again had brought back not only the good memories but also the nightmare. I trembled .
He took a few long strides toward me and took my hand, leading me to the center of the room. “I know you can .”
I looked at us in the mirror. He was tall and strong, overpowering, almost, in my quiet sanctuary. He made me look dainty even though I was five-eight. He stood behind me and squeezed my shoulders .
“I’ll put on the music .”
“But what if I can’t?” I eked .
He turned. “I’ve got you. And if you can’t, we’ll figure out how to make sure you can .”
It sounded simple. It sounded as if he had figured out the perfect remedy to my problems. All I had to do was dance .
He placed a vinyl record on the turntable, moved the arm, and hit the switch. There were a few moments of crackling static before I heard the notes of the piano. I needed a moment to center myself. A moment to remember who I was as a dancer .
I felt the air fill my lungs before I started with a gentle plié. My arms swished to the sides before I moved onto my toes in a relevé. I wasn’t ready to try one leg at a time yet. I needed to work through the motions slowly. I felt the strength in my legs as I held the position on the tips of my toes and pressed into the ground with my shoes .
The more I moved, the more I started to remember the joy of dancing. The lure of the stage. The music in my ears. I stopped thinking about the accident and the pain. I let my body dictate how it floated through space .
Sam didn’t utter a word. He stood in the corner next to the record player, while I picked up my left leg and then my right. I leaned toward the bar, kicking a leg behind me, all the while maintaining my balance on my toes. It was happening. There was stability and balance. I had trust in my body again. I didn’t feel like my right leg was going to snap like a twig. Instead I felt the power in my standing leg as I moved easily from position to position .
I twirled on my toes and bowed at Sam. My heart was about to beat out of my chest, but no longer from fear—from bliss .
“What do you think?” I was practically glowing. I could see it in the mirror .
“I think you’re beautiful and you’ve never been sexier than you are right now .”
