by Naomi Niles
I tied my long black hair in a bun, donned an old pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, and grabbed a black duffel bag before I ran out the door. Lexie’s ballet studio was a small, red brick building on the edge of downtown. She was standing out back leaning against her car when I pulled up. I parked my car, grabbed my bag, and walked over to where she was standing, looking down at her phone.
“Good morning,” I said in a sing song voice.
“How are you, Gillian?” She put her phone away.
“Excited for class.”
“I just hope we don’t get too much trouble. One of the parents came in yesterday to sign up her three-year-old.”
“A dance mom?” I asked.
“Of course. When I told her the girl was too young, she screamed at me, saying that I just didn’t know talent when I saw it and her girl was going to be a star.”
“You should’ve told her to get the little girl to plié.”
Lexie laughed. “The look on her face would’ve been priceless.”
“You have to have a sense of humor with these women,” I continued as we started walking to the back door. “They’re like rabid dogs, all of them hell bent on turning their daughters into the next Britney Spears.”
“Dance is supposed to be fun and easy,” Lexie said. “It’s about expression, not sabotaging everyone you come across just to get your daughter on stage.”
“I just love playing with them,” I said.
“Your backhanded compliments.” Lexie rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Ms. Halverson, what a wonderful dress. Isn’t it wonderful when you find great bargains like that?” She laughed. “It always takes them a second to get it. Their eyes just get wider and wider as they begin to realize what you’re saying. Then, all of a sudden, bam — you’re one of the haters and they’re obsessed with throwing every achievement in your face.”
“You’re evil.” Lexie unlocked the back door.
“They’re always so serious. I just wish they’d lighten up.”
“I know. I came this close to banning them from sitting in on practice.”
“There’d be designer shreds of cloth and hair extensions everywhere.” We walked through the hall into dance studio. Lexie flicked on the lights, illuminating the buffed wooden floor, the wall-length mirrors, and of course, the infamous barre.
“I can’t believe that this place is real. I keep expecting it to fade away or fail somehow.”
“I think we’re on solid ground,” I said.
“Now we are, but it’s only because you work so hard. You took a big risk moving to the city to do this with me. You could’ve lost everything, and you did it anyway. I hope you know how much that means.”
“I just like hearing it.” I beamed. “Say it again.”
“Thank you, Gillian.”
“It’s not just me, you know.”
“I refuse to take any credit.” Lexie grabbed her elbow and stretched out her arm. I followed suit. We bent over, touched our toes, grabbed at the air, and stretched our legs. Then we started our morning routine, a quick warm up to keep the blood flowing. When the kids came in at nine, we had to be at our best.
When we were done, Lexie went to check her phone. “It’s getting to be time.”
“Good, I love new classes. We get to mold the children in our image.”
“Now you’re talking like one of the dance moms,” she said.
“The evil is contagious.” The sound of the door chiming interrupted our laughter. “I’ll get that. You go ahead and setup.”
There was a bony woman with long blonde hair and a stern look on her face, holding her young daughter’s hand. “Are you the teacher?” She looked me up and down. I stopped and looked down. I was supposed to change into my leotard before class had completely forgot.
“I’m one of them.”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” I said. “And, you are?”
“Kirsten and this is my daughter Maddie.” She motioned towards her daughter who was struggling to wriggle out of her firm grip. The woman was wearing a simple white dress with a gold belt, something elegant that reminded me of a supermodel. It must’ve cost her thousands, but it was so basic. She might as well have draped a sheet over her head.
I knelt down in front of Maddie. “Are you ready to dance?”
My burst of energy was all the girl needed. She hopped up and down nodding her head. Then she stopped and threw her hand in the air. “Yeah!”
“Great,” I stood back up to address the mom. “I assume you’ll be wanting to stay for practice.”
“Of course.” She seemed offended.
“If you just want to make your way into the back and wait for the other girls.”
“Don’t you have a place for the parents to sit and watch?”
“There arre chairs in there.”
She threw her head high. “Come on, Maddie.”
Once she was gone, I disappeared into the bathroom to get changed and make myself look presentable. The mothers expected poise and composure, labels with a full face of makeup and a blemish-free complexion.
I didn’t need any of that to look good. My face was compact, my skin pale. I’d been compared to a porcelain doll, but I wasn’t the kind of woman that spent hours in the bathroom perfecting my contour and highlighting. I was casual, maybe a little sloppy, so I took a minute every day before the moms came to make sure that didn’t show. They were a judgmental bunch, and our business relied on what they thought of us.
When I walked out, there were four women standing in the lobby, trying to wrestle their daughters. They jumped up when I walked in. Judging by the looks on their faces, I could tell that we were going to have to have a Q and A session to placate some of their fears.
Lexie was way ahead of me. When I led the mothers into the studio, she had a white board setup and was already passing around handouts. That way the moms had something that they could hold onto to make themselves feel better.
I introduced myself to the group, then stood back while Lexie went over the curriculum and answered the mothers’ questions. They wanted to know everything, from how much experience we had to which celebrities we’d trained. There were always a few moms that were dissatisfied with our answers. This time was no different. Two of them walked out before we could even begin the class.
It used to bother Lexie. We worked so hard to impress the women and even went so far as to purchase designer outfits that we could wear outside of class, but nothing we did would ever be enough for them, so we gave up and let the bad apples leave if they didn’t want to be there, or their standards were too high. We didn’t want them there.
When we were done with the question and answer session, I stepped up to the front of the room, gave the mothers my warmest smile, and turned to the kids. “Are you guys excited?” There was no response so I cupped my ear. “I said, are you guys excited?”
“Yeah!” they screamed.
“That’s better. Now stand up and find a place on the barre.”
They all scrambled, screaming and shouting for their place. A little blonde girl, no older than five years old, shot up and ran as fast as she could to end of the barre. Another girl saw what was happening and pushed her to the ground.
Time seemed to stop. Her face scrunched up, turned bright red, then her head flew back and her shrieking cry drowned everything else out. Her mother was already off of her feet running to swoop her up. “Come here, Jenny.” She lifted her daughter off the floor. “It’s okay.” I gave her some room to deal with her daughter and looked around to find the assailant’s mother.
Nobody was chastising her, and none of the mothers seemed particularly perturbed by anything except for the sound of the girl crying. The little brat had taken her place in line and seemed to be quite happy with herself. She stuck her tongue out at the crying girl, then looked straight ahead.
One of the women, a straight-backed brunette with the demeanor of a supermodel gave the brat a nod of approval. Th
ere was always one. We called them the predators, women who teach their children to hurt other people to get ahead. Their excuse was that they were trying to teach their children to be competitive and wanted their daughters to know what it took to succeed. What they were really doing was breeding little monsters.
Lexie shot up out of her place in the corner and pulled the mom aside. It was always the same thing. We told the mothers that their children need to behave or leave. They only got one chance, and if it happened again, they had to go. I knew the mother would be trouble, and I didn’t want to bring attention to the situation so I turned back to the girls who were all lined up on the wall, holding their barres.
“Good job, girls. First, I want to talk to you about posture. Does anyone know what that means?” Four hands shot up. I chose the littlest one, near the back of the room. “What does posture mean?”
The little ginger gave me a huge grin. “Stand up straight,” she sounded off.
“That’s right.” I arched my back and bared my teeth, using my hand to pretend I was hobbling down the line with a walking cane. “Wouldn’t want to look like a witch, would we?” I cackled.
“No!” the girls said.
“And, why not?” I asked, using the witchiest voice I could muster. “I can dance.” I wriggled my butt around. “Aren’t I any good?” I looked to the girls for affirmation. “No?”
One laughed. “You’re terrible.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty bad.” Lexie stepped up. “That’s why we stand up as straight as we can.
We went through the various standing poses, then onto pliés. Once the class was over – and the moms were satisfied with the lesson – Lexie and I collapsed into our folding chairs and took a few moments to relax.
“The day was a success,” I said.
“How so?”
“Only one hissy fit and we already isolated the predator.”
Lexie laughed. “I don’t know. We had quite a few women walk out.”
“Less than last time. Don’t let it get to you. New parents are fickle, neurotic creatures. They want the best for their daughters, and who can blame them?”
“I just wish they didn’t have to be so sour about it.”
“Hey, the mothers don’t matter. It’s about the kids. Just pretend they’re not there.”
“How can I? The kids don’t pay the bills, the mothers do.”
“Don’t lose sight of what matters. We’re doing fine.” I stood up and took a pull from my water bottle. “I want pho,” I announced.
“Pho?”
“Yes, with lots and lots of hot sauce and spring rolls.”
“You’re going to get me into trouble.” Lexie glanced down at her perfect stomach.
“Come on,” I urged as I took her by the hand and pulled her out of her chair.
“Oh, alright.”
There was a Vietnamese restaurant a few blocks away. The lobby was cramped and filled with cheap decorations, but their chef was a genius. He’d mastered the art of cooking the meat in the broth and adding just the right amount of lemongrass and basil.
Lexie didn’t seem very hungry because she was just moving her chopsticks around in the bowl. “Don’t you get bored?”
“What do you mean?” I slurped up a noodle.
“Every day it’s the same thing over and over — the same curriculum, the same neurotic mothers, the same problems.”
“This is what we dreamed of,” I told her. “We can change things up if you want. Maybe we can do a new routine for this recital.”
“I’m talking about having a life outside of work.” Lexie took a drink of her soda.
“We don’t have time for that.”
“We have to make time for that. I’m suffocating; I know you are, too.”
“I’m having fun.” I drank a spoonful of broth.
“You’re playing it off is what you’re doing. Neither of us have gotten laid in more than a year. We don’t go out. All we do is work. That’s not the life you want for yourself, is it?”
“Right now, I’m happy with ballet. I don’t need a man or a night out to make me feel complete, and you don’t, either. You’re falling out of love with the dream, Lexie.”
“You’re right. I am. It’s not just about the dancing anymore. It’s about the money and keeping clients.”
“It can be about both, and it can be fun at the same time.” I took a drink of my soda and focused on my soup. I was determined to get as many calories in as possible.
Lexie had different needs than I did. I enjoyed the little things, like food and the excitement of watching the little girls realize what they were capable of. That was satisfaction enough.
Chapter Three
Dwayne
It was still dark outside when I got off the plane. I was exhausted from the jet lag, so I retreated to the dorms and fell asleep right away. When I woke up, I was still stuck in a haze. The raw excitement of war was over, and all the energy was gone. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I did what I always did. I got up, smoothed the creases on my bed, and tucked the edges of my covers under my mattress, creating a perfectly flat surface.
When I stood up, there was a piece of lint stuck to the end of the bed. I pulled it off as I grabbed my things to go shower. I kept the water as cold as possible, hoping that it would shock me awake, but the fog was too thick.
This wasn’t my world. I was dreaming. When I woke up, I would be laying in a mud brick house with my gun at my side. We’d have our duty to perform, places to patrol, and of course, somebody to save.
The excitement never ended. The rush was always there, driving us forward. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself once that was gone. I couldn’t just sit around doing nothing knowing there were people out there that needed saving and killers that had to be stopped. The guilt would be unbearable.
The pain didn’t matter. I’d been shot nearly half a dozen times. There was scar tissue, sore muscles, and old aches that would never fully heal. But even that was comforting when compared to the meaningless existence I knew I’d have to go back to.
Civilians would never understand what it meant to live a life of worth. They didn’t dedicate themselves to anything, not like soldiers did. The world was an obligation that they were trying to escape. They hated getting up in the morning and going to work. They couldn’t stand the thought of having to come home to their nagging wives. The only comfort they got were the few precious moments when they didn’t have to do anything.
Real soldiers live for their duty. Every time they woke up in the morning was another achievement and another day when they had the honor of performing their duty. They dedicated themselves to saving lives, bringing men to justice, and taking care of the people that had their backs. Their life had meaning.
Once I left, I’d have to cope with the fact that I couldn’t be part of the action any more. I couldn’t save anyone. I’d never get a chance to bring a murderer in or save another child. All I’d have were my memories, and eventually, I’d lose myself in them. I was dreading it.
I was fortunate enough to have a quiet breakfast. Jason was still sleeping when I arrived at the canteen, so I didn’t have to worry about him following me around. It was simple, white gravy, sausage, and toast – the same thing I had eaten every day in basic training. I took my time eating as slowly as I could.
I wanted to delay the moment when I had to get on the plane and go back home, so I did everything slow. It didn’t matter. They were going to force me out at the same time no matter what I did, but I didn’t want to feel rushed.
My phone started ringing when I got up to throw my trash out. “Hello?”
“Howell.” It was my CO Jacobs. “Report to my office.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be right there.”
“Good, make it quick. I have something else I need to attend to,” she said.
“Yes, sir.” I hung up and walked outside. I took off at a jog and kept my eyes straight. I wanted to simulate that old life.
I imagined myself standing in formation with a dozen other soldiers, sounding off as the CO marched us across the grounds.
When I got to the CO’s office, I stood outside and waited with my back straight. “You may enter.”
I marched inside and saluted her. “At ease,” she said and motioned for me to sit down. “How are you feeling?”
“Still a little tired from the flight.”
“That’s not what I meant. How severe are your flashbacks?” She noticed my hesitation. “I’m not asking from an official standpoint. If we reported every case of PTSD we saw, we’d go bankrupt from the burden of treating them.”
“This isn’t about my discharge?”
“No, you’ve earned your honor, I assure you. I’m asking because I want to make sure this doesn’t affect your performance at the company.”
“It won’t be a problem. They don’t happen every day, or even every week. It’s mostly when I’m anxious.”
“Good, it will probably fade over time. Mine did.” She said it without shame or even hesitation.
“Sir…”
“No, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t try to hide it anymore. I still get dreams, but not very often.”
“How long did it take?”
“Years.” She leaned back casually and smiled, an uncharacteristically casual posture.
“I got the job?”
“Of course, you did.”
“Thank you so much.”
“I’m glad I could help. You’ve always been one of my best men. Now, get out of my office. I have work to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
I found my way back to the barracks and into my dorm, where I changed into a pair of sweats and started my morning routine. First there were the stretches – my arms, my legs, and my torso. Then I moved onto jumping jacks, push-ups, and finally, I lay down on my back and crossed my arms over my chest so I could do some crunches.
