The Dancers: An Artist Story by M.L. Cameron
The Dancers: An Artist Story
M.L. Cameron
Copyright 2011 By M.L. Cameron
Author’s Dedication:
I’ve got two of them this time. My best friend and forever sister, Tracey. She’s always there for me and she reads everything I write, whether I ask her to or not. And then there is someone who probably hasn’t read a single thing I’ve written, Eduardo. I remember falling asleep talking to him just to wake up and talk to him until I fall asleep again. Over the years he had become one of my closest friends, and while he might not ever actually read this book he should get to the first page. I love you both.
Author’s Note:
This book is about perfection. If you don’t get that… Well I don’t know how to make it any more obvious for you… So think about it, what’s perfection for you? Black? White? Straight? Gay? Male? Female? Dancers? Singers? Models? Guys with six packs? Whatever it is, it’s not that same as what someone else will answer. Perfection is infinite. Think about that for a minute…
Anastasia
How do you explain what perfect is? How do you truly understand what perfect is? Can you describe or understand perfect? No one can, we can describe what perfect is to us, we can understand what we think perfect is but the word itself… no.
Perfect, he’s perfect, she’s perfect. Well I am not perfect, I want to be, I strive to be but I can never really get there. I’m flawless and graceful but not perfect. Never perfect.
A dancer’s mistakes are not noticed by an audience. There are mistakes that not even the instructor would notice. But mistakes are always noticed by the dancer, no matter how small.
I had been dancing for thirteen years. Since I was three years old. I could not remember a time at all when dancing hadn’t been the center of my whole life. Thirteen years… And I had made the biggest mistake in my entire career.
“Anastasia! You have to be on the stage in two minutes,” my instructor said and I smoothed a stray hair from my pale face.
He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the dressing room. “You didn’t use the make-up,” he accused and I rolled my eyes. “The way you look is just as important as the way you dance. Next time I’m hiring someone to do it for you.”
The stage dimmed. Little did either of us know… there wouldn’t be a next time.
I got onto the stage with my partner, took a small breath and listened for the first beat of music. With the first lift I fell… There was something sticky on the side of my head… The sound of yelling people… The darkness and distress of pain… The smell of hospitals… The taste of blood and fear.
♪♪♪
“Daddy?” I whispered and heard his near silent footsteps. “Daddy?”
“What honey?” he asked and I felt his hand on my hair. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head and turned around to press my face into his chest. “I know honey. It’ll get better, it’ll get easier I promise.”
“How can you say that daddy? It will never get better. It’s not getting any better. It’s been six months and the doctor already said after six months that it could be diagnosed as permanent blindness or whatever. Mr. Parkingson already told me that if it’s permanent I could never dance again. It’s hard to relearn everything in a new way. I’m done. I can’t dance now. I can’t do anything now.”
He sighed and kissed my hair. I refused to let tears fall down my cheeks. I refused to show weakness. “You have a student tutor coming to help you out with your school work. You have that Anastasia. You have your smarts. You are very smart. It’s going to get better. You can learn how to dance blind, you can learn how to do anything blindly. You’ll be fine.”
“If I can’t dance I can’t do anything.”
“You can learn,” he said softly. I heard the soft meow of my cat in the other room.
“Yeah, it takes five years. And in five years I’ll have to start working up again. That’ll take ten years. And then I’m screwed because I’ll be too old and it’ll be too late to do anything.”
He took a deep breath and his arms tightened around me. “Get some sleep Anastasia,” he said and guided me to my bed. I laid across the extremely soft, smooth, silk bedspread and rested my head on my feathered pillow. “Good night honey.” He kissed my forehead and I shut my blind eyes…
… “There have been some complications. When she hit the ground the impact was too much on the left side of her head. Long story short… she’s blind,” I heard the doctor say in my mind…
I woke to my cat kneading my stomach. She was just a kitten. My dad had given her to me when I got home from the doctor. I felt my way to her head and stroked down her back. “Good morning,” I whispered and she purred beneath my fingertips, a good morning of her own.
“Anastasia? Are you awake?” I heard my dad asking.
“Yes,” I murmured, still petting the kitten.
The door slid open and I turned my head to my left, where I knew my father would be standing. “Your tutor will be here in an hour. So you want anything?”
“No, I think I’ll just go to the studio and wait. Thank you daddy,” I whispered and he came to my side.
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I think I’m going to be all right.”
I stood at the point bar and held on to the smooth wood. My Pointe shoes were wrapped around my ankles and I could feel my leg making the straight line to the floor. Maybe I didn’t need to see to dance. I took a deep breath and traced my way to the farthest wall of the room. It would be easy to just dance. I hit play on the stereo and music filled my small studio. If I fell… I had no idea what would happen.
The routine was among the first I had learned in my college level classes. I extended my arm and took a deep breath. There was isolation of my torso and my body fell into the natural step. The only problem was, I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t know what I looked like, or where I was inching to. And then there was the jump. I was going to do it and try to land without a boy to catch me.
No one to catch me, I took a deep breath and my steps slowed slightly. Just take it slow, I reminded myself. “Jump,” I heard someone whisper as I prepared to stop.
When someone said jump, you jumped. They said leap, you leaped. Turn, turn. Arm up, arm up. So I jumped and only then did I realize what I had done. Someone caught me and turned me in a circle. There was a small pause as I dropped into someone’s arms. I could feel them walking and I waited, it wasn’t like I could do anything. The music stopped and I shut my eyes.
“Who are you?” I asked softly.
“I’m Luke.”
“Oh.”
“And you’re Anastasia? Correct?”
I nodded. “Yes. Are you my tutor?”
“I suppose I am. Though tutor isn’t exactly what your father described. And he certainly did describe a lot.”
“Oh.”
He chuckled and turned with me still in his arms. He didn’t feel like the typical dancers I dealt with. They were all thin and lean. He seemed thin, but not a dancing type of thin. There was muscle, especially since he was still holding me up. “Is my father home?”
“No, he left the second I walked in. He told me to go to the third room in the left hallway. Then to make sure you ate something. And to try and get you to eat a brownie. So which way is the kitchen?”
I sighed, of course my father wanted me to eat a brownie. They were my favorite sweet and before the fall I only allowed myself two a month. Now I could probably eat as much as I wanted, it wouldn’t matter. “Back through the foyer and through the middle hall, all the way back. You could put me down if you need to.”
“I’m good. So let’s get some food in you. It’ll do you good.”
??
“You can do that in the kitchen.”
He walked in silence, the kitchen was cold. The tiles of the counter were really cold through the thin material of my tights and leotard. I was wearing a thin skirt but it didn’t really help. I fidgeted, I didn’t know where I was in the kitchen and that always made me nervous… The not knowing where I was. I brought my foot up to unlace the slipper but a firm hand stopped me. “I’ll help with that,” Luke said and I took a deep breath.
“The ribbons can’t get knotted.”
“I know.”
His fingers slipped beneath the lace pieces and tugged on the end of one ribbon. I felt them loosen around my calf and then slowly, they were removed from my leg. “In the studio…” I started as he reached my ankle with one of the slippers. “How did you know I was going to jump?”
“My sister dances. She’s about two years younger than me. It’s sort of a complicated story. Other foot?” he murmured, pulling the first slipper off.
“Oh.” I slid my other foot out to him and he started to remove the ribbon. “How long has she danced?”
“A few years. Not very long. But long enough that I know what to do, how to do it. What do you want to eat?” he asked me and I took a deep breath.
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Your father said that you have to eat. So what would you like?”
He pulled the other slipper off and tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “Some of the fruit that’s in the fridge,” I breathed. His casual touch sent a shock through my body.
There was a moment of silence and I felt him back away. The fridge opened and I heard the suction of a lid on a container. “Do you want to eat in here or at the table?”
“At the table.”
“Okay.”
I gasped as he lifted me into his arms again. I rested one hand on his shoulder to steady myself and he chuckled. “I can walk,” I stated.
“I know, but this is nice.”
Luke
I sat across the table from her and watched as she moved the fruit around on the plate. “Moving it around isn’t eating it,” I said. She nodded and strands of light blonde hair fell in front of her eyes. Her eyes looked like pieces of sea glass. In between the white and the grey pupil the blue was hardly visible.
I wondered how she felt, not being able to see anything. She couldn’t see me. She had seen me before, we had gone to the same school when we were little. But that was hardly the same. She ate one of the strawberries and continued to move the rest of the fruit around. “How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m seventeen.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
I nodded and waited for her to speak again. She didn’t talk much. She hardly did anything. I stood up, with intentions to go to the kitchen. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“To the kitchen. Would you like something to drink?”
She shook her head and ate another strawberry. I wondered how she kept picking up the strawberries. In the kitchen I uncovered the plate of brownies. I set one on a napkin and brought it out to her. “I’m not hungry,” she said for about the thirteenth time.
“How about the brownie?” I set it in front of her and moved the fruit away.
“I can’t eat brownies.”
“Unless you plan on continuing your dance, you can.”
My phone rang and I sighed, I didn’t want to talk to my sister. She would be loud and