Ding. I look down at my phone. It’s Zac. Out the front when you’re ready
Brother to the rescue. I push myself up, then make my way through the house, saying a quick goodbye to a group of people huddled together in the hallway.
As I reach the door, I hear, ‘Chloe, wait up.’ I turn to see Jake hurrying towards me. He seems to have removed himself from his girlfriend to find me. ‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ he says.
I nod, not quite sure what’s happening. How did he even know I was leaving? Before I can stop it, my stomach starts to flutter and I admonish it silently for betraying me. We step outside, alone for the first time since his girlfriend came back last year. The white light from the streetlamp bounces off the back of his head, casting a shadow on his face.
‘How are you?’ he says. ‘I’ve been thinking about you… hoping you’ve been doing okay.’
Maybe he just wants to apologise for shutting me down at the Kings of Leon concert. I don’t think that’s it, though. He seems genuinely interested in what’s been happening in my life.
‘I’m good. I’m on the mend.’ This is partly true. I am improving, but I don’t tell him about my diagnosis, the fact that I will be living with lupus forever, or that I’m still at the hospital three times a week for plasma. Something in me knows I can no longer talk to him about my deepest, darkest feelings anymore. His heart belongs to someone else.
‘I’m so glad, Clo. You’re looking so much better. I can’t wait till you can get back to dance,’ he says. We reach my brother’s car and face each other, ready to say our goodbyes. He lingers for a moment—I’m not sure why—his big brown eyes looking into mine. ‘Take care of yourself,’ he says.
‘I will.’ My speech is soft. I’m nervous. I feel as though this is an unspoken break-up of sorts. A break-up of friendship. A parting. A last goodbye. He has another life to live now, and I can’t be part of it. I will have to keep fighting this disease on my own. He hugs me, holding me a fraction of a second too long, before we break apart and I jump into the car and wave him one last goodbye. I lie back against the headrest and close my eyes.
‘Was that Jake? From the hospital?’ Zac says, his nose scrunched up as he drives away from the house.
I open my eyes and look at him. ‘Yeah. Why?’
He lets out a small laugh. ‘He walked you to your car?’
‘Yeah. So?’
‘Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?’
‘Yeah. Why?’ I say.
He grins and shakes his head. ‘Nothin’.’
I shrug my shoulders and look out the window, the glow of streetlamps flashing past one by one. A montage of scenes replays in my mind: hugs, smiles, letters. All I see is Jake. I go over and over all the signs I thought were of affection, even love. Maybe they were, but they weren’t. I guess I should be thankful that someone so kind and thoughtful came into my life when I needed him the most. He gave me a human connection in a time that was so scary. He was my anchor. Something to grab hold of when I needed it. He made me feel safe and cared for. When I needed a break from hospital life, that’s what he gave me. I guess he’s just a loving person who wanted nothing in return, so I’m letting him go now. For good. He will no longer creep into my heart, my soul or my mind, ever again.
* * *
Over the next few weeks, I throw myself into my self-made rehabilitation program to continue building up my strength and stamina to perform my two-and-a-half-minute routine at the Sydney Eisteddfod. My mind is focused and I truly feel as though my positive mentality has helped heal my body from the inside out. It’s taken me almost six months to gain enough strength to be able to complete my simple dance piece, but each day, I slowly add a little bit more until I have the full-routine. I’ve had to plead with the doctors and my parents to let me do this, because they’re nervous my body won’t be able to handle the adrenalin and stress. I’ve assured them I will be fine, though secretly I’m a little frightened that something will go wrong, envisioning being carried off the stage by paramedics.
But after all my training, the day is finally here, and I’m standing backstage at the Sydney Eisteddfod, ready to perform once more.
* * *
I stand close to the wings, facing away from the stage so I can concentrate. This performance is just for me. I’ve been aching to step onto the stage for almost a year, but now my heart starts to race at the thought. It’s not because of the competition, it’s the anticipation that after all this time, I’m about to feel that magic again. I need to be transported to another world. I need to dance.
My number is called and I check that my black chiffon halter top is covering my permacath and pull down my black Lycra shorts just a little. Shaking my legs out, I say a quick prayer that I will make it through this, then run out through the curtain wings and onto the stage. The hum in the audience falls silent.
My whole body feels warm, yet my arms are covered in goosebumps. I can’t believe I’m standing onstage right now. This is all I dreamed about in hospital, and nothing in this world can compare to what I feel right now. The bright lights beam down on me, calming my nerves.
Something mysterious fills the air, something light, sparkling, untouchable—a kind of magic—and I am transformed. The music reaches my ears and my body starts to move like it’s controlled by a higher being. My presence fills the stage. I can feel the audience move with me even though I cannot see them. As I run to the back of the stage, I’m taken out of my world for a split second when my blood pumps a little harder as I prepare to leap. I take two big runs and jump. Legs splitting apart, I move through the air, suspended as though I am truly flying. Then I come down and land softly on two feet.
I did it. It’s taken me six months to work up to that one jeté and I finally did it.
I morph and melt into the ground before turning on my knees to face the audience. Raising up one arm, I drop to the ground, huffing and puffing at the completion of my routine.
The audience lets out a roar, and I get up in a daze. I stare into the darkness as the light shines down on my face. My mouth is smiling but my eyes are crying. They said I wouldn’t dance again but I just did. Against all odds, I did it. Goosebumps reappear, sending fireworks rippling across my whole body as I take a bow and run off the stage. I’m shaking violently as tears flow down my face.
A girl taps me on the shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes. I am more than okay.’ I smile back at her. ‘Good luck.’
* * *
As I stand onstage next to my fellow dancers, I can’t help but think how different all this is to me now. I feel lucky. Everything in my life, not just dance, is so much more precious to me now. I want to do all the things in the world that make me happy, and I’m so thankful that my body has given me this opportunity. Dance has a different meaning for me now. It’s not about how good I am, or how many turns or tricks I can do, it’s about the love, the passion and the storytelling. I was made to perform. I can’t do what I used to be able to, but today I told a story and shared my passion with an audience. I felt something special and I hope they did too.
The adjudicator stands up at the microphone and starts to list the top eight finalists for the section and each dancer runs over to him to be awarded with a certificate. There are at least forty dancers onstage right now, and I’m standing next to a group of my friends from the college. When he says, ‘Chloe Bayliss,’ my jaw drops, and there’s an uproar, cheers and claps filling every inch of the room. My friends are jumping up and down so high, yelling, screaming, hooting and smothering me with hugs and kisses. I am rooted to the spot, stunned, unable to speak, until my friends push me forward. The adjudicator hands me a certificate, looking a little taken aback by the reactions. He has no idea what it means to me just to be able to perform again. I don’t care about being a finalist. All I care about is that I am back.
I. Am. Back.
The stage is my home and I will never let it leave me ever again.
CHAPTER TWEN
TY
Eighteen
JULY 2009
It’s my eighteenth birthday, and it’s hard to believe I have made it to such a significant milestone. I’ve passed my driving test, I’ve danced on the stage, I have 60 per cent kidney function, and now I am eighteen years old.
I’m in a room surrounded by people dressed in 1960s Austin-Powers-inspired outfits. I spot Miss Carmen dressed in a white-and-black shift dress with a blonde wig and big sixties glasses. I see the nurses from dialysis decked out from head to toe in colours and swirls, including Nurse John, who’s wearing a long-sleeved bright-orange shirt with a large gold peace sign dangling from his neck. Katy and a group of girls who travelled from Port Macquarie are all dressed in matching go-go dancer outfits. I catch Demi’s eye as she adjusts her black vintage headband. She blows me a kiss.
This is a huge crowd full of my favourite people. Every single person who stood by my bedside is here, dressed in wild and wacky outfits to light up my life.
I stand facing all my loved ones in a hot-pink, lime-green and purple-spotted vintage dress that stops halfway down my thighs, almost meeting my knee-high purple Lycra boots. My hair is high in a half beehive, curls falling to my shoulders. Big silver hoop earrings finish off my retro go-go dancer look. I feel absolutely fabulous, the most beautiful I have felt for a very long time.
Mum and Dad walk towards me, both grinning ear to ear, joy and relief radiating from their cheeks. The fine lines in their faces appear to have faded for the night and they look like the parents I had prior to getting sick. Dad grabs the microphone and clears his throat. ‘Hi, everyone. Thanks for coming. Well, we all know what a wild ride our Chloe has had over the past year.’ He turns his gaze to me and my heart aches as I see moisture appear in his eyes. ‘We all love you very much, Chloe, and know you will go on to this next chapter of your life with the strength, love and bravery that you have shown us. For a moment there, we weren’t sure whether you would make it through… So please don’t give me a fright like that ever again!’ He tries to laugh but is too choked up. ‘Happy Eighteenth, Clo,’ he says, and both he and Mum hug me while everyone cheers.
It’s nice to have a little bit of brightness back in my life. It doesn’t feel like a birthday, though; it feels more like a celebration of life. For a moment there, I thought I might be forever seventeen. As I cut the cake, I think how lucky I am to have all these people here to support me. Besides Jake. I couldn’t tell you where he is right now. I wish I could thank him for his amazing support, but he is long gone now.
* * *
As the party comes to an end, I jump onto a shuttle bus going into town with Katy and a bunch of other eighteen-year-olds who are taking me to my first nightclub. Demi sadly can’t join us because she’s underage, but I promised her that I’ll be the first person to take her out when it’s her birthday. My body can’t handle alcohol with all the medications I’m on, so I’ll just have to settle for being high on life.
Katy flicks her golden hair over her shoulders and grabs my hand as we walk into the nightclub. The place is dark and flashing lights beam out over the top of the overcrowded dance floor. It reeks of smoke and alcohol and my beautiful shoes keep sticking to ground as I walk across spilt drinks on the floor. ‘I’m going to the bar to get a drink. Just stay here, okay?’ Katy is only a week older than me but she already seems to have this whole nightclub scene worked out.
Drunk girls stumble past me and people are kissing and rubbing up against each other in every corner of the room. I desperately want to get on the dance floor that’s just metres away from me, but it’s so crowded I’m scared I’ll get knocked around too much.
‘Ah, hi. Excuse me.’ A young man in a blue flannelette shirt steps into my view. ‘I’m from the country, and new here.’ He speaks softly and it’s hard to hear him over the loud electronic music. ‘You look really beautiful,’ he says.
For some reason I feel as though I have to look down at myself, like I need to remind myself what I look like. I’m wearing a short black coat that just covers my 1960s costume. I giggle a little. ‘Um, thanks. It’s my birthday party tonight, and I’m dressed in a sixties outfit, see?’ I pull up the front of my coat, high up over my head, and he laughs. I realise how silly I must look with my arms up, and the action felt sort of like I was lifting up my dress. Embarrassed, I quickly push down my coat and smile.
‘Can I kiss you?’ he says.
I don’t know what to say to this. I mean, he is a stranger. But maybe this is what people do in nightclubs; they just hunt out a person to be physical with. For a few seconds, I contemplate whether it’s a good idea, but his broad shoulders and warm smile draw me in, and my curiosity peaks. I feel a strange pull towards him, as though I want to kiss him, just for the thrill of it. If he knew I had tubes in my chest, I’m sure he would have second thoughts. I haven’t had a real, proper kiss since I was fourteen, when Katy dragged me over to Caleb. It’s funny that she’s here again with me tonight.
I take a few steps closer to him and he puts one hand around my waist and pulls me closer. His hand reaches up and holds one side of my face, then he gently kisses me. His tongue softly slides into my mouth. I feel dizzy. My legs are melting. His kiss is soft, yet passionate. When he finally pulls away from me, he looks into my eyes. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he says again, then disappears into the crowd. I’m left standing there, a little confused and still weak at the knees. It was like my first kiss all over again, but this time it was actually good. I don’t understand why he just disappeared, though. I frown as I stand all alone in the dimly lit nightclub. I am still so confused about this whole love thing. It feels like everyone in this room has had sex, or at least knows what they are doing when they feel a physical connection with someone. I am dying to know what that feels like. I want to be desired. I want to feel something. I want a man to take me to another place so I can feel something real. I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about sex.
‘Hey, Clo. I finally got served at the bar.’ Katy’s back, and I look up at her a little disorientated. ‘Are you okay?’ she says.
‘Yeah, I just… A guy from the country… Well, maybe he wasn’t from the country. He probably made it up to look cool or something.’
‘Huh?’ Katy says.
‘Well… he kissed me. But then he smiled and disappeared,’ I say bluntly.
‘Woooo,’ Katy cries. ‘Go, Clo! A birthday kiss, huh?’ she says as she starts to sway to the music and sip her drink.
‘Katy, you’re not helping. Why would he just disappear?’ I say.
Katy does a little twirl in her white go-go dress and chuckles. ‘It’s all just part of the fun. Guys and girls do that all the time. If you go out, everyone wants to kiss each other—no strings attached,’ she says and takes another sip of her drink.
‘Oh. Right.’ I’m not sure I like the idea of that. ‘He didn’t even tell me his name or ask for my number,’ I say.
Katy laughs. ‘That’s just how it is.’
‘Well, I think that’s kind of stupid,’ I say. ‘How am I supposed to contact him?’ This adult world is bewildering.
* * *
I arrive home at 3 am after the biggest night of my life, still sober.
Sitting around the dining table with three of my girlfriends, we dig our hands into my half-demolished birthday cake.
‘Hey, Clo.’
I look up to see my sister peeking through the white wooden railings on the stairs. ‘Fez, what are you doing up? You should be in bed,’ I whisper, not wanting to wake my parents.
‘Can I have some cake?’ she says.
‘Okay, but you have to be quiet and you can’t tell Mum you’ve been up,’ I say. Even though she’s little, we still have a sister code. We keep secrets between us that nobody else will ever know.
We all finish my cake together, then I am soon fast asleep after what’s been a wild and wonderful night.
* * *
In the weeks that follow my eighteenth birthd
ay party, I think a lot about my future. I don’t want to have to rely on my parents for the rest of my life. I don’t know how I will ever live with myself if my parents have to look after me forever. I’m so scared that my illness will keep me trapped at home, my parents too worried to ever let me do things on my own.
I have my car licence and I just want to be free. As for my dance, I can now do a pirouette and a full ballet barre. I’m shaky and still quite weak, but I’m getting there. I know I’m still unwell, but I’ve just finished my third and final biopsy, and it’s time. I need to move out and be the independent adult I’ve always wanted to be.
* * *
Bags packed, I’m standing at the front of our house.
‘Why do you have to leave?’ My sister sobs a little as I grab hold of my last suitcase.
‘Fezzy, I’m only going to be fifteen minutes down the road with Zac. You always visit him, so now you can come and visit the both of us,’ I say. I hate that she is sad, but I need to escape this terrifying feeling that if I stay here, I’m going to end up being the sick girl who has to be looked after by her parents her whole life.
My mum chimes in. ‘I really don’t know why you have to do this, Chloe. Why don’t you just wait a few more months to see if your plasmapheresis stops and then go?’
My heart sinks a little. Goodbyes are not my thing and I’ve chosen to leave the house while Dad is still at work to avoid too much fuss. A quick and snappy au revoir is just how I like it.
Mum wants me to stay, but she doesn’t know that this is something I need to do for myself to continue recovering. I need to learn to look after myself now. I need to be a normal eighteen-year-old. ‘Mum, I’ll be with Zac. If something goes wrong, he’ll be there. It’ll be fine.’ I kiss them both goodbye and walk out the door. I can hear Fezzy sobbing in Mum’s arms. Maybe I have left her a little too early, but the longer I stay here, the longer I will rely on them to keep me safe and well. It’s now or never.
En Pointe Page 16
