Thirteen
Denise
It’s probably not the smartest idea for me to force myself to try and perform an entire dance that I haven’t practiced properly for almost a whole year.
But I know that I was able to perform it once before. I feel the need to prove to myself that I can do it again, despite the burning in my hip creeping up on me when I overextend myself for too long.
I know I’ll have to severely ice my hip after this but the high I felt last week at the dance studio—well, before I crashed down onto the floor—wouldn’t leave my head. I hadn’t danced before then and now that I’ve gotten a familiar taste, I’m itching to do it again.
“The Dying Swan”
It was the dance I was rehearsing for before my injury. Actually, it was the dance that led to said injury. I wanted the chance to be able to perform it but it was between me and a few other girls. One from Germany. One from Japan. The other two were American.
There could only be one swan and I needed to prove that it could be me. Needed to be the best, not only in my class butat the school. How else was I supposed to become one of the greats?
I did whatever I could to ignore my hip flexor strain. But because of the injury, I couldn’t perform at my best, leading me to lose the role to Michi Watanabe.
Strykers don’t tend to take losses well and that one wasn’t an exception. I pushed my body past its capabilities, my injury only worsening.
All of that stress on not only my mind but my body led to me having to get surgery. Said surgery taught me nothing. I was dancing way sooner than I should’ve. I did irreparable damage to my body. I could never dance the same and I had to say goodbye to my favorite thing in the entire world.
Apparently, I like to torture myself with the knowledge that I’ll never be able to perform this song for anyone, ever. Not in the way I want.
To perfection.
And maybe that’s why I talked a good friend of mine into letting me into the Kingswell theater just so I could be up on this stage, lights shining on me, pretending that I’m in a different universe where I didn’t turn out to be the person that I am today.
I don’t tell myself that I have to move through the solo with fluidity or precision. Unlike the other night where all I did was think about if my feet were pointed enough, or my arms were elongated and elegant.
This time I allow myself the luxury of feeling the hum of the cello vibrating off the floorboards of the stage. I take in the sound of my pointe shoes hitting the floor.
I don’t think about how I used to be able to do this perfectly or how if anyone that knew a thing about ballet saw me right now, they’d be able to tell me where I messed up. Where I’ve developed weaknesses.
No, right now I let my body move without expectation.
My muscles tense as I remain on relevé but I keep my breathing steady, my arms delicately swaying above me.
As the song comes to an end, I’m now on the floor. I rest my head against my extended leg for the final pose, letting out a shaky breath, feeling my cheeks grow warm and wet.
The sorrow sits in my chest, outweighing the burning in my hip.
The sound of someone clapping causes my spine to straighten and I quickly sit back up. My eyes squint, trying to see past the stage lights but then I hear Lucas’s voice, and I find my body relaxing.
“My knowledge on ballet is exactly zero but I do know that was pretty amazing, Stryker.”
I quickly wipe my tears away before standing up and watching Lucas climb the stairs, a gentle smile on his face.
I find myself stepping closer, needing to be near him in a way that I shouldn’t allow myself to want.
Wanting things is a dangerous game to play.
“How’d you know I was here?” I fail at trying not to smile, only making Lucas’s widen.
He shrugs, putting his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “Bethany told me and despite popular belief, I’m not entirely stupid so I knew I’d have the upper hand by bribing her with Moose’s phone number. Apparently they were too drunk the other night to do anything besides sleep together.”
Of course he did. Why am I not surprised?
“You’re ridiculous.”