38 comments

Fiction



Blindly I ran. Fuming, indignant and yes, scared, I ignored the gasps of protest behind me. Without thought I rejected the life sentence I had just been given and followed the arrows to the building's exit. Furious, I rushed through the old city covering winding narrow streets, crossing numerous bridges over stinking canals, ignored historical sites, did not pay attention to the fabulous architecture, a testament to man’s success. I sneered at the beauty of the futuristic new buildings.


Instead, I railed against the unfair twists of fate and the savagery of time. Silently I cursed the betrayal of my body. I could not believe or accept what I had heard. Scoffed at and rejected all suggestions and options that had so carelessly been voiced. Desperately I wanted to continue to build on my many triumphs. I grappled at air, prayed there had to be a way to yet achieve those unreached goals and unfulfilled dreams. As I walked on, I raged and cursed my body’s treason, how it had raided my strength and skill. I held on to my anger, keeping sadness at bay. The longer I walked the stronger I believed that I was alone in my struggle.


The salad I was served when I stopped at a sidewalk café, was wilted, the wine I asked for turned out to be sour. I watched people hurry by, absorbed in their own miserable thoughts. Paper lanterns, like fading flood lights, outlined the patio. Leaves fell from trees like teardrops.


Feeling restless, my thoughts still churning, I walked on. Avoiding the busy avenues, I heard the rhythm of my footsteps echo in the quiet side streets. With each step, my body begged for rest, warmth, and comfort. Yet over and over, I tried to capture one more glimpse of me. Just one more dance, one more performance, one more ovation for who I used to be. In my mind I flew again, my body in perfect control, each part of me exactly where it should be. In my mind I only felt the exhilaration of perfection. As I walked, I did not feel the strain, the near constant pain and fatigue after hours of rehearsing the same movement. I chose to forget the jarring impact of each landing that inevitably followed every perfect flight.


And then I did.


As I walked through the old city and passed under scaffolds used for repair of centuries-old facades, as I stepped from one unevenly worn cobble stone to the next, I felt each hour of practice, each bone crushing plie, soubresaut and grand jete. I relived each blister and damaged toenail, felt the white pain of every torn ligament, the repeated agony of landing on stress fractures. And the frustrating restraint of plaster casts.


Yet obsessively I walked on, one painful step after another.


I heard music cascading from open windows and felt it wrap itself around my heart, my soul, my gut. But when I urged my limbs to remember what they had been taught, when I told my body to follow the music, to dance and fly, I could not. I felt like a stranger in my home. I could not find myself.


In my anxiety, my panic, I could barely remember what I used to take for granted. Gritting my teeth at my weakness, I hunched my shoulders against what I feared most to face, a future with what was left of me. A washed-up, side-lined, old, useless, soon-to-be- forgotten has-been.


I turned into an alley; one I’d never seen before. There, ahead of me, walking from one pool of light to the next, was a mother holding her small daughter’s hand. There was something about the child, the way she walked, her proud posture, the flutter of her hands as she studied her movements. She reminded me of myself at that age. Long ago when I first fell in love with dance.


It was as if, by design, history decided to repeat itself. One of the girl’s ribbons slipped off her braid. It only took three steps to trap the pale satin under my foot, two more and I was within speaking distance.


“Excuse me.” I said, like my hero had said to me.


The mother looked over her shoulder, pulling the small girl closer. “Yes?”


I smiled at both and spoke directly to the child. “You seem to have lost this one.” I held the now stained ribbon out to her.


Shyly she took it from my hand.


“Are you a ballerina?”


She nodded, like I had done so many years ago.


“I can tell, you have the posture, so graceful. Do you love it?”


Her smile grew, as I remember mine had spread, her head bopping emphatically. “Oh yes, very much.” She enthused.


“More than ice cream?” I teased, just as I had been teased.


“Oh, yes!” There was no hesitation.


“More than your mother?” I echoed my mentor’s words.


The little girl thought carefully, looked up at her mother and back at me. “No.”


“Good, you remember that. There may come a time that you have to choose. Be sure if you choose dance that your loved ones are with you.”


Something, a thought, a memory, niggled at me. Had Olga felt the same as I did at that moment when she gave me this lesson? I doubted that, like me, the child would remember my words and started to walk away.


“You are her, aren’t you? You are Eden, right?” Her little voice was full of wonder.


Smiling, a bit ruefully I’m sure, I turned back. “I was, yes.”


“I saw you dance last year and wanted to be like you. Wanted to fly the way you did.” Her voice sounded dreamy, as if she were seeing that performance play out again.


I just had to know, just had to torture myself. “Which performance was that?”


“You were the black swan.” She sighed reverently.


I laughed. Everyone always looked at the white swan. I had been accused of upstaging. But I have always given it everything I had. “Thank you, I am very pleased to hear that.”


“May I give you a hug? May I touch you?” she whispered as I had pleaded back then.


I bent, ignoring the groans from my back and wrapped my arms around her small frame. Suddenly, as if the child were sharing the promise of her future, as if Olga were reminding me of life still to be lived, I realized I had purpose and substance, I had knowledge and experience. I had something to give in addition to a hug and a smile. I swallowed my tears of relief. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace.


“Thank you.” I whispered. “For letting me see a future.”


With a lighter step I turned and finally headed home, where my family was. The ones I had ignored, put second for too long. I hoped they could forgive me and allow me to be in the chorus of their lives. I prayed they’d help me find more than the momentary high of a performance and the empty warmth of applause. I wondered if they’d let me lean on them while I transformed myself from the ashes of my dreams.



August 23, 2024 21:18

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38 comments

Chris Sage
09:56 Sep 05, 2024

Powerful. A really good job of placing the narrative right inside the character's head.

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Trudy Jas
10:58 Sep 05, 2024

Where most of our laments belong. :-) :-) Thank you, Chris

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Karen Hope
02:06 Sep 05, 2024

This is beautiful, both the story and the way it unfolds. Seeing her life through the eyes of a young dancer helps her make peace with this new stage of her life. Lovely story - and such a creative response to the prompt. I tend to take the prompts both literally and seriously - but we don't need to :)

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Trudy Jas
03:01 Sep 05, 2024

Ha, no we don't. Thank you, Karen. I'm glad you liked it. Life does have so many stages. Sometimes it's hard giving up something and making peace with a new part.

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07:31 Sep 04, 2024

This is....beautiful. Didn't konw where it was going to go but its a very strong piece and I think something we can all relate to as we....get older....and have to deal with the fact we can no longer do what we used to , at least not as well. Through no fault of our own just....time. Brilliant and I am happy Eden has found a new 'calling'.

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Trudy Jas
10:14 Sep 04, 2024

Thanks Derrick. So glad you liked it. Growing old is easy, just wake up every morning. Doing it gracefully is another story.

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Susan O'REILLY
14:15 Sep 03, 2024

Fab poignant read great story x

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Trudy Jas
14:28 Sep 03, 2024

Thanks, Susan. So glad you liked it.

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Carol Stewart
03:25 Sep 02, 2024

Not the story I thought it would be given the start. I assumed the life sentence would be a terminal illness, so for this to be about a dancer no longer able to dance (for whatever physical reason) the near-comparison heightened the sense of devastation felt by your character. An excellent piece. Went to see Swan Lake myself a few months back and can only imagine the toll taken on those professional bodies (near the front row I could see their legs shaking). Also, I was probably in the minority as, like your little girl, my eyes were more on...

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Trudy Jas
11:02 Sep 02, 2024

Thank you, Carol. I agree that for someone who has dedicated their life to one thing, to be told that they can't do that anymore, would be devastating. And I think we all watch the black swan, because she stands out from the rest. :-)

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Helen A Smith
10:21 Sep 01, 2024

What a beautiful piece. We always have something to give, whatever our age.

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Trudy Jas
13:57 Sep 01, 2024

Thanks, Helen. That's exactly right.

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Darvico Ulmeli
21:20 Aug 31, 2024

Very nice. Love it.

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Trudy Jas
21:44 Aug 31, 2024

Thank you, Darvico.

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Greg DeLaurier
20:25 Aug 31, 2024

a wonderful story on many levels, but I find (as my meagre story tried) it to be a mediation on growing old. Lovely work.

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Trudy Jas
20:48 Aug 31, 2024

And you'd be correct. Thank you, Greg. :-)

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Victor David
18:35 Aug 31, 2024

Thank you for letting me see a future. That line really jumped out at just the right time. Quite the journey from despair to acceptance. Nicely done, Trudy.

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Trudy Jas
18:37 Aug 31, 2024

Thank you, Victor.

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Ana M
13:57 Aug 30, 2024

The story beautifully illustrates the transformation from despair to discovering a new sense of purpose. Amazing work!

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Trudy Jas
14:01 Aug 30, 2024

Thank you, Ana. I'll take "amazing" :-)

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TE Wetzel
02:04 Aug 30, 2024

Beautifully written and very inspirational. Another great one, Trudy. I like the title. But am I to understand that Luke and Lookie will not be recurring characters in your future stories? This, I must admit, is a bit disheartening.

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Trudy Jas
04:49 Aug 30, 2024

Thanks, Tom. (re. Phoenix) Um, about Luke and Lookie, I have no doubt that one day they will have failure to communicate, will need to face off in the yard on a Saturday afternoon and fight. The usual rules and regs will be in place, of course. The loser - and Lookie feverently hopes to enlist Margot's help - will spend the night in the box. This, being natural and unavoidable, may very well become lore to be retold and reenacted to, if not everyone's, definitely your delight. Stay tuned. :-)

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TE Wetzel
06:48 Aug 30, 2024

Margot: "Lookie, hold my beer. I got this." (Stalks back and forth, impatiently waiting for the fight to start.) Luke: What if I bite you right on your neck? Margot: That would be incredibly painful... Luke: (Nods) Margot: ...for you.

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Trudy Jas
13:33 Aug 30, 2024

LOL. Thanks, I needed that. I wonder if they will bond when the two of them spend the night in the box. :-)

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TE Wetzel
14:28 Aug 30, 2024

No one is putting Margot and Lookie in the box. That's a good way to lose all your fingers.

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Trudy Jas
14:34 Aug 30, 2024

So noted. :-)

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PJ Town
03:22 Aug 29, 2024

Very elegant, Trudy - like ballet itself. Just as Eden's spirit is renewed during her walk through the city, so we as readers go from feeling, vicariously, the dread of ageing, to coming out the other side with hope for a different life. Lovely and uplifting.

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Trudy Jas
03:40 Aug 29, 2024

Thank you, PJ. I'm glad you picked up on the message I was trying to leave. Thanks for your lovely feedback

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Mary Bendickson
19:46 Aug 25, 2024

Another lesson 'from the mouths of babes'. Take flight.

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Trudy Jas
20:51 Aug 25, 2024

Thanks, Mary.

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Linda Kenah
15:42 Aug 24, 2024

A beautiful story. You walked us through her feeling of loss only to find hopes of a new purpose. Well done!

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Trudy Jas
15:44 Aug 24, 2024

Thank you, Linda. I'm so glad you liked it.

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Alexis Araneta
11:52 Aug 24, 2024

Trudy, this was absolute brilliance. Yes, dance takes so much devotion, and sometimes, you sacrifice relationships for this. This tale of someone relentlessly pursuing a dream only for it to be ripped from them was so touching. Amazingwork !

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Trudy Jas
11:55 Aug 24, 2024

Thank you, Alexis. I'm glad the anger and anguish came through And I'll take "brilliance" any time. :-) I'm glad you liked it.

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