“another way to dance
without damaging your feet.”
“Yeah.” I pick at some hanging blister skin.
“It would be great
if I could be a dancer
without this part.”
I touch his shoe with my foot.
“But it’s worth it.”
The glass shelves
bounce the light
into my eyes.
I squint in the dark hall
and sip my water.
Army medals
rest on red velvet.
Old ski racing ribbons
line a whole shelf.
Most are first place.
A picture of Grandpa
dancing with Grandma.
Her gauzy turquoise dress floats
above the floor.
She was really beautiful.
Grandpa’s treasures
are safe behind glass.
I flip off the light
and go to bed.
I kick my leg
as high as it can go.
Grands battements:
front,
side,
back,
side.
This is something
I can do with power.
Madame
presses her cold cane
against my hip.
“Control.
Control.
Control,” she insists.
I have to lower my kick
so I don’t jar
against her cane.
“Better.” She walks past
tapping the rhythm.
But now
I’m only kicking
as high as everyone else,
and my grands battements
don’t seem so special
anymore.
Rosella’s on the other side of the barre.
The spot in front of me is empty.
It’s Dia.
That’s who’s missing.
How can I miss Dia
when I didn’t even know her?
But she was
one of us,
one of this class,
trying just as hard
as everyone else.
Now
there’s an empty spot.
Elton
usually has to wipe the floor
during barre exercise.
He sweats so much.
His dark skin shines.
I need to sweat that much
to show I’m trying my best.
I’m going to work harder.
Today Tommy grips the barre
behind me.
I move up closer to Nathan.
I’ll never feel comfortable around Tommy,
the way he flirts with all the other girls.
I don’t like how his long hair clumps with sweat
by the end of the class.
Nathan’s crew cut always looks neat.
So does Elton’s short Afro.
I smooth my stray hairs back.
The pianist plays an intro,
and we sweep through the motions
Madame instructed.
Perfect synchrony
among near strangers.
Margot places one foot
on the little barre in the floor room
and slides.
A perfect split.
Rosella bends at the waist,
puts her hands
on the floor,
presses one heel
to the floor molding,
and runs her other leg
up the wall behind her.
A perfect split.
Elton sits facing the wall.
With his legs spread apart,
he scootches himself
closer and closer
until he touches
every inch of the inside of his legs
to the molding.
A perfect split.
I lie on my back
and lift one straight leg.
I pull it down against my chest
until my toes
touch the floor behind my head.
A perfect split.
Whatever way,
it has to be perfect.
Madame’s sipping from her water bottle.
We have a couple more minutes to stretch.
“Isn’t it weird she’s gone?” I whisper to Rosella.
“What? Who?” She checks herself in the mirrors.
“You know. Dia.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I feel like—”
“Oh please, Clare.” She laughs.
“It’s good she’s gone.
She looked awful
with those big boobs
bouncing around.
She flopped all around the room.
It’s good Madame took care of it.
We need the space,
and it was horrible to have to look at her.
Especially that big butt jiggling behind it all!”
What?!
Rosella tosses her towel on a chair.
“Come on,” she says.
I don’t move.
She keeps walking.
We bourrée—
little tiny steps
on pointe—
from one corner
to the other.
In one long line.
It’s the worst time to see
how much I stick out.
My head is way above all the other girls.
My feet flick baby steps
almost as fast as my heart beats.
“Auditions will be held here, on Saturday.
10:00 A.M. sharp,” says Madame.
She runs her cane through her fingertips.
“Students from
all over the Seattle-Tacoma area
will come to compete
for the sixteen City Ballet positions.
If you were a member last year,
you must audition again this year.
Nothing is guaranteed.
I expect your absolute best
as you represent the conservatory.”
I’m amazed
her slick, tight bun
actually lets her smile.
I tug on my jeans.
“What you said
was pretty awful, Rosella.”
“What?”
“About Dia.”
“Oh, come on, Clare.
It’s no big deal.
I only said what everyone’s thinking.”
I bend to get my stuff together.
The room feels more crowded than usual.
I’m bumping into rear ends,
elbows, and knees.
“I need to use the bathroom.
Wait to walk out with me, Clare.”
I grab her arm. “You have to stop doing that.”
“Clare, I have to pee.”
“Oh, right.”
“I do. What is with you today?”
She pulls away.
I step around a pile of clothes
and Margot changing her shoes on the floor.
I follow Rosella to the stall.
She does go.
But when she flushes
I hear her vomit.
I knew it.
This can’t be right,
no matter what I was thinking before.
She’s got to be losing strength.
It’s dangerous.
Rosella comes out and crosses her arms.
“What?” she asks.
“I’m going to tell your mom
if you don’t quit it.”
“Big deal.” She pushes by me.
“My mom’s the one who tells me to do it.
Grow up.”
She slips between the other girls
and disappears.
I stomp,
stomp,
stomp
around the window shoppers
looking into the gift stores.
The sidewalk is extra crowded.
I want to get away from everyone
and back to Grandpa’s.
I should have cut through the alley.
Sure, my mom is like a cheerleader
about our dream,
and my dad says I can’t fail,
but her mother
tells her
to vomit?
Rosella’s mom has always
been into clothes
and cool cars.
Going through three husbands
and getting tons of alimony,
she is used to having whatever she wants.
Maybe Rosella has to be
the daughter that fits her style.
The perfectly thin ballerina
to accent her vogue life.
Vomiting
to make her mother happy.
It makes me
want to puke.
Grandpa pulls his little car
up to the curb.
“Come on, Clare.”
I duck by the hanging basket and get in.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a nice day for a short hike.”
“But Grandpa,
I haven’t changed.”
“You’ll be fine.”
He pulls out onto the street,
turns on Main,
and heads up toward the Cascade Mountains.
“But I need a snack.”
“I packed some goodies.
Relax, Clare.”
“But I’m wearing clogs.”
“Your hiking boots and socks are in the trunk.
Before you know it,
ski season will be here,
and I want to be in shape for some downhill
on Crystal Mountain.”
I shake my head.
Grandpa has skied
since forever.
It drives Mom nuts with worry.
I sink back against the seat
and watch the traffic disappear,
until we are alone on the road
weaving up into the foothills.
Grandpa flips on the radio.
I close my eyes,
shut Rosella out of my mind,
and choreograph a dance
to the classical music.
The gravel crunches.
Grandpa parks the car.
He gets my boots and socks,
and I pull them on.
“Ready.” I grab the pack from the backseat
and hand him his walking stick.
We lock up.
“Here’s the trail.” He starts off
through the bushes.
I follow.
Ferns stretch over the path.
Sun shafts slice between the firs.
I breathe in the sweet
growing, decaying smell.
The moss is spongy under my feet.
Grandpa leads the way.
I follow.
“Wow. Look at those roots
on that fallen tree, Grandpa.
They must be twelve feet across.”
“Looks like an old cedar.”
The trail switches back,
and we walk the length of the downed tree.
“Sure the forest is beautiful.
But don’t you think
this rotting tree is awesome too?”
Grandpa says, “Definitely.”
He puts his arm
around my shoulder. “Look at all the life
that can grow on it now.”
Moss, baby ferns, even a couple little trees
are springing from its side.
“Amazing,” I whisper.
I pull back my tights
and dip my feet in the river.
“Ahhhh.”
Grandpa laughs at me.
“What? It feels great!” I say.
“I’m sure.” He gathers up our trash
and tucks it into the pack.
The water burbles around my ankles.
The cold prickles and needles my skin.
I yank my feet out.
Mmmmm.
The rock is warm,
and my wet footprints
evaporate in seconds.
A ladybug creeps onto my hand,
then flies off.
The alpine meadow rustles around us.
“Hear that?” asks Grandpa.
“The marmots?”
“We always called them whistling pigs.”
I laugh.
The whistles drift away.
“So you’re really getting ready
for ski season, Grandpa?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“But you’ll wear the helmet Mom got you?”
“Yes, I will.
And no backcountry without a buddy.”
“Great. That sounds a little safer.”
“You can join me if you want,” he jibes.
“Yeah, right.
You know I hate heights, cold, and speed.”
“That about describes the entire ski experience.”
“Exactly. The only time I like speed
is when I’m spinning on pointe.”
“Fair is fair. You speed across the floor
on your tiptoes,
and I’ll shoosh down the slopes.”
“Deal.” I grin.
He stretches and gets up.
“Time to go, Clare.”
I pull on my socks and boots.
We hike down the dimming trail
side by side.
“Whoa!”
“Grandpa!” I catch his arm.
He regains his balance.
Little pebbles
tumble over the side of the hill.
He squeezes my hand. “Thanks, love.”
“Sure. This switchback is steep.”
“And I’m old. I’d actually
do better on a pair of skis.”
“I bet!”
He gives me a shaky laugh
and grips his walking stick
for the next step.
I keep close by.
Grandpa steers the car
down the dark dirt road.
I tilt up his old Army canteen.
Nothing. “I’m so thirsty.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring more water.
I forget how much you drink after class.”
“That’s okay. Thanks for sharing yours.”
“We should always bring tablets to purify
the river water.”
We pass a deer crossing sign.
I suck in some air through my teeth.
“What?” asks Grandpa.
“Oh, the deer sign makes me nervous
that one is going to jump out in front of us.”
“I’m watching. You help.”
The car bumps along,
its headlights bouncing and jarring.
“There!” I yelp.
Grandpa slows the car.
A doe is running up the hill
away from the road.
She leaps gracefully
over the rocky ridge
and disappears in the dark.
“Beautiful,” we say together.
Thousands of tiny ladybugs
pour out of my heart
and rush over my body.
I’m covered head to toe,
and they begin to glow.
I dance in front of the black sky
perfectly.
Faster and higher.
Spinning and jumping
until
my foot cramps.
The ladybugs turn black
and fall off,
clattering to the floor.
The sky shatters,
and shards crash to the earth.
I wake up.
Oh, man!
A
charley horse!
The pain bites
and grinds the muscle in my arch
up into the bone.
The muscle
is twisting, trying to flip over.
I jump out of bed
and crash around the room.
Grandpa comes in.
“Put your weight on it,” he says,
and loops his arm
around my waist.
“I can’t!”
“Do it,” he says.
“Ow, ow, ouch.”
He helps me walk off the cramp.
There.
“How can it hurt so bad,
but when you finally stand on it,
it eases away with tingles?”
“It just does,” he says.
“And why’s it called a charley horse, Grandpa?”
“I’ve never heard.”
“Me either.”
I give him a hug
and notice
he feels so small.
My head is above his.
“Now get back in bed,” he tells me,
“and I’ll bring you some water.
You must be dehydrated.
I’m so sorry I didn’t bring more water
for the hike.”
“It’s okay.”
I crawl under the sheet
and rub my foot.
My toes aren’t pulled apart
like a wishbone anymore.
Grandpa brings the water.
I gulp it down.
He slides both windows closed.
“Don’t want you getting chilled.
Good night, love,” he says.
“Good night, Grandpa.”
Prunes again this morning.
I stare at the
bloated blobs
floating
in Grandpa’s bowl.
He slurps them down.
I gobble up my low-fat breakfast bar.
My foot is a little sore
from the charley horse last night.
I massage it while I sit at the table.
“Thursday Bible study for me this morning,”
Grandpa says.
“Oh.”
“We have such a good group,
and the study is very intriguing about—”
I zone out until I hear,
“You know you are welcome to come
and worship with me on Sundays.”
“Yeah. But it’s just not for me, Grandpa.”
He straightens the place mat.
I’ll tell him how I feel.
That’s not talking back.
“Since Mom and Dad have never gone to church,
it would be really weird for me.
Remember we talked about it before?”
“Oh, yes. But I thought you might have
changed your mind.”
I shake my head.
“Well, I guess I’ll be going then,” he says.
“Would you load the dishwasher?”
“Sure.” I smile to make it up to him.
He pats me on the back.
“Have a good class.”
“You too,” I say.
I push the dishwasher closed.
I don’t have to go to church,
and he’s not going to make me
feel guilty or anything.
I wipe the counter with the sponge
and squeeze the water into the sink.
Not one bit of guilt in me, Grandpa.