by Jessica Leed
Allie looked at her, her youthful green eyes glistening with a prospect of scandal. ‘It’s ok, I won’t say anything.’
Sienna frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I might be young, but I’m not stupid.’
Sienna’s heart pounded profusely in her chest. Did she really think something was going on between them? If that was the case, how many others had she shared her thoughts with? This girl wasn’t shy. It was fair to say Allie had a flare for the dramatic. She could only imagine the stories that could and would be created.
This wasn’t good.
‘I’m not sure what you mean by that, but like everyone else here, my relationship with Damian is strictly professional.’
The seriousness in her voice was enough for Allie to scrunch her face. ‘I saw his hands on you just now,’ she alleged bluntly.
She saw what?
Sienna felt sick. This was bad. Very bad.
‘Well, it’s not what you think,’ the words flew from her mouth without realising how pathetic they sounded.
Her colleague must have thought so too and let out a snort.
‘Yeah, ok.’ She didn’t sound convinced. Not even a little bit. Sienna struggled to find the words that could possibly save her from another layer of gossip formed against her. But she was too tired to defend herself. She had given up. She was dog-tired, defeated and desperate to go home. At this point, even the perfect response wouldn’t save her. Her identity had already been sealed in this place.
‘Maybe if you spent less time flirting with our boss then maybe you would have made the meeting earlier, like everyone else.’ She slowed her pace and turned. ‘I guess that was a little vague of me.’ She puckered her lips together like she had it all figured out. ‘I saw you two earlier as well.’ She quickened her pace, leaving Sienna staring vacuously after her.
She must be one of the few people left by now. Classrooms were empty and the few remaining lights had been switched off.
Just like that there was a silence once more. A silence that screamed at her. She clasped her dainty hand over the cold hand rail and took a moment to inhale, her lungs closing in on her with every attempt for air. With shallow breaths, she dragged her tired legs up the last of the stairs, and into darkness. Darkness; her life resembled this to a tee.
A pit of darkness she couldn’t seem to escape from.
Six
She always imagined she would be at her peak, her physical best by the time she completed her three years of intensive training at the National State Ballet. For as long as she could remember she had imagined walking into her first company audition with her head held high, her muscles fine-tuned, mentally prepared to tackle anything that was thrown at her. She had never been naive to think that it would be easy, or arrogant to believe she would be exactly what the directors were looking for. She was well aware of the standard she was up against. She knew the ballet world was ruthless, that she would have to audition for twenty jobs to have the chance of landing one. Even then, she never quite had the confidence in herself to even believe that.
When she stepped into her audition for the National Premier Ballet, her twenty-year-old body felt as though it was eighty. She couldn’t understand why the last few months her legs had decided to shut down on her, especially when she was doing everything she was told to manage them. Massaging, rolling, magnesium salt baths, stretching, plenty of rest and sleep. Yet, none of these things eased the squeezing sensation as though there was something constantly tackling her to the ground. There would be an agonising pain every time she extended her leg, making it almost impossible to point her foot. After sending her body through hell and back, she managed to finish her audition with what she had hoped had been delivered with ease, strength and grace. It had taken every ounce of energy to make her movements appear effortless, working three times harder than usual to be able to portray exactly that.
By the time she walked out of the studio there was no feeling in her legs. Her calves had swollen up to hard balloons, her selection of foam rollers failed to release the giant knot they had become. It had terrified her as she looked down at a pair of legs she no longer recognised. After spending an hour practically paralyzed, she had worked herself up in such a state. After some time she somehow pulled herself off the floor, hobbled to the toilet, and threw up.
She must have danced well, somehow bringing something to the panel that was unique or special. It was a miracle when she was notified of her success in obtaining a position as a company artist at one of the country’s most elite ballet companies. She had never imagined that she would have had such luck after just one audition. She had convinced herself she would have to travel overseas and do the rounds there. She never imagined that she would have to turn down the chance of a life time. It was only days after where she had been diagnosed with severe compartment syndrome in her legs, giving her no choice but to step away from the contract she had worked almost her entire life for. And just like that, fifteen years and quite literally thousands of hours of working her ass off, had been wasted.
She had never heard of such condition before. Medical specialists constantly commented how rare it was for dancers to acquire it, having been more common in runners, cyclists and footballers. An overuse injury one had said, caused by excessive exercise and repetitive motion. It made sense, considering she had been dancing sixty hours a week. The condition was described as an increase of pressure, causing bleeding in the muscle. Unfortunately for Sienna, her latest symptoms of swelling and numbing was caused by decreased blood supply, resulting in nerve damage in her calves. She hadn’t accepted the first doctor’s opinion of course. Instead, she put herself through a series of excruciating tests to be absolutely certain.
Blood tests were undertaken in search for chemical markers of muscle injury, where needles were inserted into the muscle compartment for pressure monitoring. Those doctors whom had been optimistic suggested a fasciotomy, an operation where the thick, fibrous bands that line the muscles are filleted open, allowing the muscles to swell, relieving the pressure within the compartment. Although most prognoses indicated that such operation wouldn’t be successful as complications of acute compartment syndrome in most cases, were irreversible. In her case, muscle scarring and nerve damage had already been caused as the condition had been left untreated for too long.
Her final couple of months of training saw her away from the ballet school and at countless doctor and physio appointments, hooked up to a Tens machine, or submerged in ice therapy. Her audition had marked the last time she would tie a pair of point shoes on her feet. While her peers spent hours on the tip of their toes, she would either be in the next studio attempting Pilates, or taking notes for a rehearsal she knew she would never have the chance to put to practice. She was looked upon with pity every time she walked into the studio as she positioned a stool next to the pianist. With the music echoing in her ears she would watch with envy at the way everyone else’s legs worked perfectly as hers curled beneath her chair. Until then, she hadn’t realised what a gift it had been to be able to move freely. She had spent half her dance career time wishing to be ‘normal,’ wanting to enjoy a normal life such as going out for dinner, shopping with friends or seeing a movie. On the contrary, she had been abused and screamed at in an environment where she was expected to be perfect every single day. If only she knew she would be sitting on the sidelines, watching her competition get a head start, day in day out, she wouldn’t have taken it all for granted.
Even though they pitied her, she knew there were times where they wished they were her. She certainly knew there had been days where she wished to be in their position when everything seemed too much. Times where she had questioned what the hell she was doing with her life as she stared at herself in the mirror all day like some self-absorbed robot. Maybe some of the girls really did wish they had been in her position, but the pity they presented her with had all been a
n act. If anything, they were relieved. One less dancer in the world to compete against. One less component in the running for the scarce array of contracts that were up for grabs. Even though they were yet to learn she had secured one. That was the reality of the ballet world. No wonder she often longed for a normal life, when the bubble she had been in was exactly the opposite of that.
But as soon as the one thing she had dreamed about forever was taken from her, she felt starved for oxygen and left without purpose. She never really had a back-up plan. She didn’t expect she would actually need one. She had sacrificed everything to see her dream become a reality. The number of parties, road trips, holidays she had passed up to perfect her technique had been too many to count. She was left devastated, crushed, and empty. But worst of all, there was no one who could relate to all she was feeling. Her parents had never been for her choosing to pursue a career in ballet. She came from a very academic driven family with an emphasis on status and financial stability. If the dream didn’t earn above a certain figure, it should be ruled out.
As anticipated, they took the whole injury as a blessing. In her father’s eyes, it had added years onto her life, putting her on a pathway he had hoped for her. A pathway to University, leading to a stable life with everything that a secure life offers. Investments, shares, a mortgage for a home. A chance to put away for the future, ready for a family one day. A life she had been reassured time and time again that the ballet world would never give her. A life he had told her she would be foolish to neglect, one that she would regret when she hit sixty-five with no real savings behind her, struggling through life as a pensioner. Every time a situation challenged her to question her decision to follow her heart, these comments filled her head. Comments that played over, eventually turned to fears, stripping every ounce of confidence and mocking her for pursuing such a far-fetched dream. It wasn’t that they weren’t proud of her or failed to acknowledge that she had talent. They just wanted her to live an abundant life, convinced the dance world would rob that from her. They had some understanding of the toxic environment and the constant stress she had constantly been under to be ‘perfect’, along with the statistics of dancers that actually made it. But what they didn’t understand was how dance had become her identity, her livelihood. The way it made her feel alive, her need to dance. Despite the odds, they didn’t believe she would find fulfillment in it, that it was a healthy life choice, nor would it ever give her a balance she needed in order to be happy.
But as soon as she turned down the contract and hung up the point shoes once and for all, she didn’t feel the freedom her parents assured her she would feel. She enrolled in a Bachelor of Education after being bribed that all her expenses would be fully taken care of. She was pretty much depressed for the first year, even though she really did try to enjoy ‘College life’.
She really did try.
She hung out with her class mates in the cafeteria, the library between classes, spending many of her free blocks at quirky cafes before returning to campus with the best coffee everyone talked about, warm in her hands. It was the ‘normal’ life she had dreamed about during the days where pebbles of sweat streamed down her back into her already soaked leotard. Being able to be outside with the sun streaming down her face had been her biggest fantasy during the times she had been screamed at by her director. But as soon as she was tasting the life she had once longed for, she wanted nothing more than to be back in the studio doing what she knew how to do best. The one thing that made her feel something.
Dancing.
By her second the year the ache slowly dulled and her drive to give the university thing her best became her focus. She defriended all her dancing ‘friends’—well—the ones who had contracts and were now living out their dream the way she imagined she would be. She hadn’t wanted to witness their happiness and success pop up all over her news feed on social media. She didn’t need the reminder.
It was simply time to move on.
Her grades sky rocketed to high distinctions, and to her parents’ delight, she spent her evenings with her nose in the books. She barely had the time to talk whenever they called. She hadn’t stepped into a dance class since her diagnosis but had been encouraged to engage in low impact exercise such as swimming and Pilates.
So, that was what she did.
Her legs were doing much better. There were times where she would walk the stairs at Uni and feel them tighten and begin to throb. But she knew what she needed to do to release the pain and was back to walking normally within record time. For the first time in her life, she actually had time to work and picked up a job as a check out chick at the local supermarket just two blocks down from her studio apartment in St Kilda. It was nice to earn her own money. Up until that point her parents had completely supported her finances. She only worked eleven or twelve hours a week but enjoyed the cash flow and the freedom to buy new things without feeling guilty of spending her parents’ money. She felt a boost of confidence as she began to dress in nice clothes instead of the sloppy, old, active gear she lived in travelling to and from the Academy. There was no point buying nice things back then. There had been literally zero time to wear them anyway as she arrived at the studio before the sun got up, leaving well after it went down.
With her rent being paid for, a new wardrobe of clothes, a part time job and good grades—life was looking a lot brighter for Sienna. She had formed friendships with a couple of nice girls and enjoyed the night life of delicious dinners, cute bars, night markets and festivals. There was always something on at night, a comedy show, a movie, a musical. Even the ballet. Her friends at the time had suggested to see ‘Giselle’ performed by the National Premier Ballet as it premiered in Melbourne that year, but she had somehow talked her way out of it. She hated the sudden rise of passion surface whenever the word ‘ballet’ was brought up. She hadn’t told them about her past as a dancer, she had somehow kept that gigantic part of her life a secret. There was no way she would put herself through the agony of reminiscing the contract she had scored with the same ballet company performing that season. It should have been her dancing that ballet on that stage. It was all she could think about as she stared out at the giant billboard they passed that night.
It simply wasn’t fair.
It was in the same year when she met Patrick. It wasn’t like her to have struck a conversation with him the way she had that night. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol she consumed, the way life was finally falling into place for her, that allowed her to tap into the playful, quirky Sienna that had been in hibernation since high school. She blamed the ballet world for killing off any sense of personality.
He came from a similar background, and like herself, was at College for all the same reasons. His father dreamed for him to own his own company one day, and a business degree would best prepare him to do just that. But unlike her, he didn’t have much of a relationship with his family. Although he didn’t say so, Sienna assumed it was due to the pressures they placed on him to be successful like his older brother, who was a lawyer in one of the top firms in the country. Because of his strained relationship with his parents, he never really made the effort to build one with hers. And so, she never really got to know them even though they lived in the same city. She had met them only a handful of times over the space of five years, every encounter being rather awkward and distant no matter how hard she tried to get to know them on a deeper level.
Although he loathed his parents, their expectations steered him like a bit in a horse’s mouth as he worked himself into the ground, determined to make them proud. She had somewhat hoped he would have been more sensitive about her past as an aspiring dancer in those early days where they wanted to know every detail about each other’s lives. But instead of talking it over, he brushed the whole thing aside like it was nothing other than a petty, childhood dream. Instead, he went on to talk about what things needed to be in place for a future together. As soon as
he brought her into the equation, using words like ‘we’ and ‘us’, the niggling feelings she felt in that lost conversation were all forgotten as she fell in love with the prospect of a possible future with a man who would provide her a safe and comfortable life.
In the five years they had been together, ballet never made its way back into conversation. Not once had they stopped to re-evaluate where the other stood on anything that had once rattled their emotions and struck their heart strings. As time went on it became easier to keep it that way. To keep the door firmly shut on anything that could throw a spanner in the works, interfering with what had become a mind-numbing path together that once seemed exciting and filled with adventure. A path that now appeared narrow and empty, stripped of any sort of potential. Maybe one day that path would open up again. Maybe one day it would create a space where they could explore their passions and discover something that made their heart soar.
When that time would be, she didn’t know.
For now, they had to keep on working hard, finding ways to keep their bank balances up. Adventure would just have to take a back seat; the fun stuff would come in time. And maybe when that time came, she would find something that held her heart the way ballet once had. The longer they stayed on this path, the more determined they were to see it through.
But the question was, would they?
For every step they climbed, they never seemed closer to reaching the top, wherever that was. Would they find anything that made it all worth it if they did?
Her decision to spend some time in Aringdale had come at a good time. It would give her a chance to rejuvenate and find the focus she once had when they first decided to set out on this path together. The only thing was, nothing about their journey so far filled her with an adrenaline than the thought of stepping back into her home town.
The town where all her dreams began.
