by Cara Malone
It really only hurt while she was getting into her shoes. Adrenaline had a wonderful way of taking away the pain once she was on the dance floor. That was when she could feel the music flowing through her body and see the stage whenever she closed her eyes. Those were the moments when all this pain and trouble was worth it, and when she could forget about the fact that she’d been put in the chorus for every one of the performances she auditioned for since she arrived.
In the space between blinks, she was a prima ballerina.
CHAPTER 5
The world outside of Jessie’s window was pitch black except for the yellow glow of a street light when she finally got to slouch into her favorite overstuffed old chair. Like most of the things in their half of the little duplex, the chair was a hand-me-down from her parents and about five years past its prime. It was still plenty comfortable to curl up in during the rare moments when Jessie had a chance to relax.
This wasn’t one of those moments, but at least she could bring her work with her. Pulling a little side table next to the chair, she set her sewing kit on top of it along with the elastics for Ellie’s ballet slippers. Jessie wasn’t the best seamstress in the world, but she could sew a button and darn a sock, and she bet that she could figure this out, too.
Ellie had ricocheted all around the house after her ballet lesson ended, showing Jessie first position, second position, plié and arabesque over and over again. She was quite pleased with herself, refusing to change out of her leotard even for dinner. Jessie watched her swinging her feet beneath the table, turning them out and pushing her heels together into first position as she shoved chicken nuggets and macaroni into her mouth. There was no doubt she’d be signing Ellie up for lessons in the fall.
“Mary Beth said there’s a recital next month,” Ellie said, little flecks of chicken flying across the table.
“Chew first, talk after you swallow,” Jessie scolded, trying to look severe. It was hard to maintain the expression, though, because she couldn’t help swelling with pride at how excited Ellie was about ballet. All of those extra hours she’d have to put in at work would be worth it if she could see the joy they paid for.
“They’re going to dance on a stage and wear costumes and everything,” Ellie continued. “I don’t know the dance but Mary Beth says I should come anyway and watch so I know what it’ll be like when I get to dance next year.”
After dinner, Jessie tucked the elastics into Ellie’s ballet slippers the way Melody told her to, pinning them in place and then carefully removing the slippers to keep from sticking her feet with the straight pins. Jessie didn’t have a quiet moment to actually finish the job until after Ellie went to bed, sleeping more soundly than she had since she was a baby. Jessie thought she’d probably used up all her energy for the entire week today, but of course Ellie would wake up tomorrow rearing to go again.
For now, though, she took advantage of the quiet moment to sew in Ellie’s elastics.
The house was silent as she worked – Jessie hadn’t watched much television in the last five years and she didn’t have much use for it. Even if she had the time to get invested in a show, it seemed like every one of them was nothing but a love story. Even if it was a thriller, or a crime drama, or a reality show, there had to be a love story. They were inescapable and tiring. So when she had a rare moment to herself, Jessie learned to enjoy the sound of silence.
Jessie was just picking up the second ballet slipper when she heard a key slide into the front door. She looked up from her work and her husband came into the living room.
“Hey, Jess,” Steve said, nodding briefly at her before turning his back and unzipping his coveralls. As always, they were smeared with grease from the machines he worked with, and after a few hours of hard scrubbing to get it out of the carpet when he first took the job, Jessie gave him strict orders to leave them by the door to save her the mess.
“Hi,” she said as he kicked off his work boots. “How was your day?”
“It was alright,” Steve said with his characteristic shrug. His hair could have caught on fire, or he could have played the lottery and won a million dollars during his dinner hour and he still would have answered with it was alright and a shrug. “How about you?”
“Good,” Jessie said. “Ellie enjoyed her ballet lesson.”
“Oh, that was today? Good,” Steve answered. “Is she asleep?”
“Mm hmm,” Jessie said, not even bothering to look at him as she answered. She kept her eyes on the tiny ballet slipper in her hands, careful not to poke herself with the needle as she threaded it through the elastic.
Steve always got home from work a little past nine and Ellie went to bed at eight-thirty, and yet he asked that question every night. He’d go into her room in a couple of minutes and kiss her goodnight, and most of the time she didn’t even stir.
“There’s mac and cheese in the fridge,” Jessie said.
“Thanks,” Steve answered. “What are you working tomorrow?”
“Grocery store from seven to two, then waitressing til eight,” Jessie said, although she had to pause a minute to think about it. Two jobs had been manageable when she used to work only one of them each day, picking up shifts at the diner on the weekends for extra money, but now that she was waitressing more frequently in order to bank money for Ellie’s dance lessons, it was harder to keep her schedule straight. “You?”
“The usual,” Steve said. “Twelve to nine.”
He carefully stepped out of the coveralls and hung them on a coat rack, and then he was wearing just a pair of boxers and an old yellowed tee shirt – he spent six days a week in coveralls at the factory, and aside from taking Ellie to school in the mornings, he had no need for anything but the coveralls. Jessie watched him meandering toward the kitchen and noted with mild amusement that he’d had a blow-out in the arm pit of his undershirt. She added it to the mental to-do list – she could pick up a new pack of tee shirts for him on her break tomorrow.
Steve disappeared around the corner and she heard the refrigerator door open, the condiment jars clinking. She called after him, “Dinner’s on the second shelf.”
“Got it,” Steve answered, but Jessie heard a can snap open and she knew he’d opted for a beer instead of the macaroni. As far as Jessie could tell after five years of marriage, a beer after work was Steve’s one and only vice. He popped back into the living room for just a second to say, “I’m going into the bedroom. I think I can catch the last quarter of the game.”
“Okay,” Jessie said, watching him disappear down the hall. She knew he’d stop in Ellie’s room first, tucking her in if she managed to twist her blankets up since Jessie put her to bed, and by the time she came to bed in an hour or so, the television in their bedroom would be showing the post-game highlights on mute.
For now, she turned her attention back to sewing the last piece of elastic onto Ellie’s ballet slipper. It seemed so obvious now, and she felt more than a little embarrassed to be that mom who brings her kid to their first lesson without functional shoes. The heat built in her cheeks a little more as she thought about Melody’s fingers brushing over hers as she showed her how to sew the elastics.
Melody probably thought she was an idiot, or an airhead.
Most of the time, Jessie didn’t let stuff like that get to her. She’d gotten pregnant at sixteen and left school when her morning sickness came into conflict with the absence policy. For her entire adult life, people had been looking at her like she was stupid because she was a high school drop-out and a teen mother who obviously couldn’t figure out how condoms worked. She’d learned pretty quickly that the best thing was just to let those looks and comments roll off her back. But when she thought about how Melody saw her, Jessie suddenly couldn’t stand the idea that she might look down on her.
It didn’t make any sense at all – their interaction today had lasted all of about ten minutes, and as the receptionist at Ellie’s new dance school, Melody should have been one of those background peo
ple in Jessie’s life who pop up from time to time and rarely elicit more than a friendly smile and maybe a brief conversation about the weather. She shouldn’t matter, and Jessie certainly shouldn’t be thinking about her so many hours later.
But something in her gut said Melody was different.
Or maybe it was a little lower than her gut. Something clicked on inside her the moment Melody’s hand brushed against hers, like an old piece of machinery that was neglected for years and rusted to the point of immobility. Melody was like oil lubricating the gears, setting them in motion again, and it was a sensation that Jessie wasn’t totally sure she liked.
In the past five years she’d gotten quite used to being rusty, immobile, and numb. She’d gotten so good at pushing her desires away that she didn’t even know she was doing it anymore, and she always put Ellie first. Even if Jessie allowed herself to admit how attracted she’d been to Melody, it wouldn’t matter because Ellie’s happiness was first, last, and only on Jessie’s list of priorities.
That’s why she married Steve, and why she tried to be a good wife for the last five years. He was a good man who, like her, was doing the best he could to provide for his family – even if he had been a bit of an idiot when they were kids. He’d been the one to tear the condom while he was trying to be a big shot opening the wrapper with his teeth, after all. Meanwhile Jessie had been sixteen, a virgin, and wouldn’t have been impressed even if he managed to grow a spectacular pair of tits in the process, but that single act of bravado changed the course of their lives forever.
There didn’t seem to be much point in coming out as a lesbian after she took that home pregnancy test and saw those two blue lines, and after the baby came, Jessie didn’t have time for girls anyway.
She barely had time to eat, or sleep, and she definitely didn’t have time to go back and finish high school. Eventually, though, her life settled into a predictable chaos - a manageable level of disarray. She got used to it, Ellie got used to it, and Steve got used to it.
He got used to her cold shoulder, too. Most of the time Jessie simply told him she was too tired for sex – it was the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. The rest of the time, she figured he would just assume she was still a little salty about the whole sixteen-and-pregnant thing. In any case, asexuality had slowly become the norm, and it was a lot easier to get through the day when Jessie couldn’t feel anything below the waist.
Melody had been the first girl in a very long time to challenge Jessie’s status quo, and as she sat back in her chair, setting down the completed ballet slippers, Jessie closed her eyes and tried to push the thought of Melody away.
CHAPTER 6
When Jessie got home from work, the house was blissfully quiet. Today was her fourth wedding anniversary and Steve had volunteered to pick Ellie up from Jessie’s mother’s house to save her the trouble. With the extra half hour Steve was saving her, Jessie thought she might take a bath.
She stripped off her repulsive blue vest (‘How may I help you?’ screen printed on the back in four-inch letters) as she walked down the hall. When she went into the bedroom to hang up the vest, she saw her black knee-length dress laying on the bed and Jessie’s first thought was a panicked, “Who died?” But then she noticed a bouquet of wildflowers in a vase on her bedside table along with a note.
I asked your mother to watch Ellie tonight. Put on the dress and be ready by five. We have reservations at your favorite restaurant.
- Steve
Jessie read the note and smiled, her mouth already watering for the gnocchi and sausage at the Italian place Steve was talking about. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten at a nice restaurant – it might have been a year ago on their third anniversary.
“You look nice,” Steve said when he came home a few minutes before five in a borrowed suit. The sleeves were a half-inch too short, but he cleaned up pretty nice when he wasn’t covered in grease from the factory or walking around the house in yellowed tee shirts.
“Back at you,” Jessie said as they headed to the car. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” he said. “You’ve been working so hard lately, you deserve a good meal.”
The gnocchi was good – incredible, even – and the bottle of wine that Steve splurged on was even better. Jessie didn’t realize until she got to the bottom of her second glass that she may have overdone it a little. The restaurant was dark and romantic, candles lighting every table in the intimate dining room, and when she looked at the couples at the other tables, her vision went a little fuzzy.
They looked so in love, staring into each other’s eyes, eating off each other’s plates, their toes touching and lingering together beneath the tables. The whole damn restaurant was like an advertisement for diamond rings or something.
Jessie watched one particularly amorous couple who couldn’t even bear to eat their entrées without holding hands at the same time, and then she looked across the table at her husband. Steve’s eyes were on his plate, completely engrossed in his spaghetti and meatballs. They spent most of the meal talking about Ellie and the process to enroll her in kindergarten, and they hadn’t gazed into the other’s eyes or touched each other all night.
Not that Jessie wanted to do any of that stuff.
She looked back at the couple, expecting them to go full Lady and the Tramp on a piece of spaghetti at any moment. It was a goddamn miracle that Jessie and Steve been in the restaurant for a full hour and they hadn’t witnessed a proposal yet, and Jessie rolled her eyes as she emptied the dregs of the wine bottle into her glass. She had no use for mushy romance, and she could never figure out why everyone else was so obsessed with it. There was a heartthrob in every movie and a girl waiting for her Prince Charming in every book.
Steve was a good guy but with a little pasta sauce on his chin, he was no Prince Charming and Jessie had no desire to be rescued.
She rolled down the window of Steve’s truck on the way home, and by the time they arrived the effects of the wine were wearing off and her head was feeling clearer. The apartment was empty and Jessie and Steve stood in the quiet living room for a moment.
This was about the time that most couples would head for the bedroom together. Jessie wondered if the nauseating ones she’d seen at the restaurant had even made it all the way home before the clothes started coming off.
“I think I’m going to take a bath,” Jessie said.
“Okay,” Steve answered. “I’m gonna get a beer and find out how the Colts did today.”
She headed down the hall and Steve went off in toward the kitchen. Jessie stopped in the doorway to the bathroom and called, “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy anniversary.”
“Mm hmm,” he said, the crack of the beer can echoing down the hall. “You too, Jess.”
CHAPTER 7
Doctor Riley’s office was small and dimly lit. There was only one window, high up on the wall, and it always reminded Melody of being in Andy’s basement. She sat down in one of the two straight-backed chairs opposite from Dr. Riley’s chair. There was an overstuffed armchair in the corner and it looked a lot more comfortable, but Melody didn’t like getting too comfortable here. She always sat in the same chair that she’d chosen on her very first visit.
“How are you today, Melody?” Dr. Riley asked. This was more of a small talk question than a serious head-shrinking question. Dr. Riley always opened with it while her back was still turned and she was typing a few notes into the computer on her desk. Melody never knew what these notes were, but she liked to guess sometimes. Ten minutes late, I could have eaten my lunch slower if I’d known. Tacky shoes today. Don’t forget to DVR Grey’s Anatomy.
“I’m fine,” Melody said with a shrug. “Got a job last week. How are you?”
“Good,” Dr. Riley said, and Melody wasn’t sure which of her statements this was a response to. Dr. Riley thrived on vague statements, but at least she never said stuff like, How do
es that make you feel?
Melody’s mother had found Dr. Riley for her the same week she came home from New York, doctor’s orders, and even though Melody had been unable to persuade her that she didn’t need therapy, at least Dr. Riley wasn’t totally useless. Melody would never admit it to her parents, but having someone to talk to helped a bit. Melody had seen Dr. Riley every week for six months now, and it was nice to know that no matter what happened during the week, she’d have somebody a little more helpful than Andy to vent it all to.
Her new job, for instance.
“What kind of work are you doing?” Dr. Riley asked as she pulled a legal pad into her lap and then swiveled around in her chair to face Melody. She didn’t immediately put the tip of her pen to the page, but Melody knew that she’d be dying to count this as forward progress in her session notes.
“Well, I haven’t actually started yet,” Melody said. “My first shift is tomorrow. I’m going to be the receptionist at a dance studio.”
Dr. Riley’s eyebrow ticked up almost imperceptibly, but Melody caught it. Skepticism. Incredulity. She knew it well because that was the same reaction she’d been having herself ever since she accepted Mary Beth’s offer.
“How did that come about?” Dr. Riley asked. Given the fact that she’d just spent twenty weeks talking ad nauseam about her traumatic experiences at Pavlova, Melody was expecting a critical reaction like this.
“How do you think?” Melody asked with a wry smile. “Mrs. Bledsoe to the rescue.”
“Your mother got you the job?”
“No, she strongly suggested that I get it for myself,” Melody explained. “Remember a few weeks ago when I told you that my dad didn’t want me sitting around the house anymore? Well, the idea of me finding a job to get back on the horse came up one night over dinner, and I guess it stuck, and the next thing I knew I was the front desk girl at Mary Beth’s School of Dance.”
