Running through the neighborhood

Anastasia James

Among all the words I know, the one that would certainly define my weekend would be: “chaotic”. I had never seen so much dirt in one place, and I also had no idea how exhausting cleaning could be. Even my most intense ballet workouts didn't leave me as exhausted as I was.

Workouts.

I let out a long sigh as I stared at the bedroom ceiling, analyzing some leaks in it. Before, when I had a more active routine because of rehearsals and performances, I felt more energetic, but it's been so long since I've danced, seriously! I look like the old lady in the apartment below, who is dragging her feet and complaining of joint pains.

And to make matters worse, last night I woke up feeling strong cramps in my legs, which made me conclude that maybe it is time to go back to a less… sedentary routine. I barely think about it, and my cell phone vibrates on the wooden table beside the bed, being none other than Bethany.

| How's my favorite running buddy?

| Everything okay over there? How about we talk on video later?

My best friend is extremely lovely. When I told her I was moving, she simply gave up her sacred morning workout to stay with me until my last day in Chicago. She even made me promise that, even if we were hours apart, we would talk to each other often enough to gossip and catch up. Bethany knew of my reluctance to come to the countryside, so I imagine she is worried that I will go crazy here.

I send a reply and return the cell phone to the wooden cabinet, jumping out of bed. After all that I thought, if the message from my best friend wasn't a divine sign telling me to think less and act more, I honestly don't know what it is. I approach the window and open a small gap in the shutter so that I can check the weather. During these last three days, I realized that South Dakota is a very lazy town. Even the sun takes a while to rise and set – unlike Chicago, where everything seems to be on 220.

Since I am already wearing pants and a sweatshirt, I just need to open the closet and get a pair of socks and my running shoes. I quickly put them on, grab my Bluetooth headphones, and leave the room, while I try to tie my brown strands into a high ponytail.

“Are you going to run?”

That's the first thing my father says when he sees me.

“Yep.” I nod, starting some basic stretching. “I got the webs out of the apartment, now I need to get the webs out of the body.” I joke and hear him laugh nasally.

“It's good to see you active again, daughter.” he says with a sigh. I stare at him and just smile minimally. “Don't get lost in the neighborhood, uh?”

I instantly roll my eyes.

“Ha, ha.” I laugh without humor. “Leaving!”

I hum the last part and don't wait for any objections.

My cardiorespiratory training begins as soon as I close the door and cross the apartment hallway. Going down all those stairs was no joke. However, I keep myself steady, and after taking a few deep breaths, I start a light jog. I have no idea where I am going, but I want to trust my locator senses, which will lead me and find my way back.

I am far from reaching the level of Bethany, who can run more than two km without getting tired, but we are not talking about anything professional here either. My only goal is to reduce that feeling of hellish tiredness when doing simple everyday tasks.

I confess that my legs wanted to weaken during the first five minutes of the run, but I forced myself to continue. Soon, my feet involuntarily acquired a constant speed, making the cold breeze blow away some of the unruly strands that had escaped from my ponytail. At that moment, nothing else mattered. I had headphones on, but I didn't take the initiative to play any song. It was as if I had unplugged my own mind and any sound was just a noise. Not even my thoughts wanted to show themselves. All I could heared is my agitated breathing and racing heartbeat.

This went on for about twenty-five minutes.

When I realized the amount of time that had passed, I simply slowed down until I came to a complete stop. I look around and immediately my father's voice warning me not to get lost made itself present. I definitely don't know where I am, so I think I’m far enough away to take a short break and back home.

So, I find a stone bench in front of a small square, and there I rest, trying to catch my breath to continue. Unlike Friday, when I arrived with my father, and we went out to eat, today, Monday, the neighborhood is less busy. There are not as many cars, and even the sound of the train passing in the background seems to be louder. Maybe there is some kind of local holiday or something…

With my breath caught, I decide it is time to go home. I don't want to arrive after lunchtime – especially since my father hates to wait – so, after a long sigh, I decide to start my walk back.

Yes, walking.

I’m so tired after twenty-five minutes, that if I force myself to run back, I would surely faint halfway. And since I don't want to cause any trouble or worry, I decide to just walk back anyway. It would be good to enjoy the surrounding landscape, since I didn’t have the opportunity to do before.

Even though I disapprove of the sudden change and the “shelving” of my dreams, I must admit: this place is not so bad. I have always enjoyed direct contact with nature, so to feel the fresh air every morning coming in through my bedroom windows is simply comforting. They say that country towns do just that, give us this tranquility and comfort, but I don't know if I want to get too used to it either.

One of the reasons I came to live with my father in South Dakota is my lack of independence. At the age of twenty-one, my only goal in life is to go to college and finally achieve my independence, especially my financial independence. I am aware that higher education is not synonymous with money, because if this were the case, many people would be millionaires, but it is a start.

Another important factor is that I do not want to get attached. I have lived all my life in Chicago, and I could only imagine moving away from there when I was approved at Juilliard. Unfortunately, there were some setbacks, but I do not want to – and will not – associate this place with a home. It is only temporary here.

After a few minutes of walking, while observing the surroundings and losing myself in daydreams and analogies, a place catches my attention. It is a two-story house, with a completely black facade and a sign written “Rachel’s” in white block letters, hanging high up. They were probably LED’s and only lit up at night, but what really caught my attention was not their appearance, but the strong musical beat coming from there.

Out of curiosity, I look around to make sure that there is no one there, and then I approach. The front door is open, so in order not to draw too much attention, instead of going that way, I go to the alley between the two-story house and the little shop next door. There were some glass windows there that might allow me to see something from inside. But, as soon as I get close and stand on tiptoe, my jaw drops.

There is a small group of girls dancing synchronously in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror to the sound of generic 'hip-hop'. They were very good, and besides being amazed by their talents.

The reason for my surprise was also the simple fact that when I found out I was moving to South Dakota, one of the first things I did was to research if there were any dance academies here. I was sad to find out that there weren't even any, but now I am feeling slightly tapped out.

I moisten my lips, analyzing each of the girl's movements. They had a certain lightness in their steps, but also a firmer, more consistent grip, as if their goals were literally to make noise. They were fantastic, and they kept me so entertained that I became detached from the things around me.

“What are you fucking doing?”

The deep voice gives me a startle.

I turn to the voice abruptly, startled that there is someone there, and confronted by a man holding a cardboard box in his arms. He has a rectangular face, with a well-defined jaw, and dark brown hair shaved on the sides of his head and the back of his neck. There is a small silver ring on his nose, and his thick eyebrows were frowned upon, as his gaze flicked to me.

“I wasn't…” I point with my thumb to the window, but I was interrupted.

“Peeking?” He narrows his eyes and a debauched smile appears on his lips. “I’m sure you were.”

His smile widens and that is enough to make my blood boil. I can't stand arrogant people. I know that I’m not the right person here, but this kind of attitude makes my stomach sick.

“I gotta go.”

I nod, forcing a smile on my face. Then, I start walking to get out of there, but his body plants itself in front of me, blocking my way.

“You stood here, peeking for hours, and now that was caught, you're just going to leave?” He stares at me, bored.

“It wasn’t ‘hours’,” I correct him. “And again, I was not peeking.”

I say slowly, hoping that he understands.

“Right, because standing outside, watching what people are doing inside, isn’t peeking.”

His ironic tone makes me close my eyes, take a deep breath, and count to three.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the boy staring at me with a debauched smile. And, before I could say rude things to him, a third voice made itself present, drawing our attention:

“Matt?”.

“I'll be right there.” Replies, looking over his shoulder.

You know what? Fuck it off! I'm not going to lose my patience with this guy.

I take that one second of distraction to get out of there. But, I don't take more than three steps and crash into something. Rather, someone. The owner of the third voice is a man so tall that, for me to see his green eyes, I have to bend over most of my body. He raises his eyebrows, probably curious about my presence, but don't say anything, so I just walk by him and go on my way.

I guess they whispered a “crazy” when I got far enough away from them, because, well, even a few good steps ahead, I could still feel their eyes burning into my back. But, honestly, I don't care. Damned if I'm going to be the crazy one! As long as it allows me to never bump into that asshole again, I'm up for anything.

Gosh! Seriously, is it now forbidden to watch other people's dancing? A.S.S.H.O.L.E. This is what that guy is. If there is one thing that irritates me the most in life, it is a man who think he’s the best just because he’s a man. Oh, come on! What fun is that? Well, I answer: NOTHING!

This made me so angry that I only realized that I was frowning when I was climbing the last flight of stairs in the apartment and softened the expression on my face, causing some relief in the area. As soon as I open the door, I find my father sitting on the sofa, with his laptop on his lap. He looks away from the screen momentarily, and when he confirms that it is me, he turns his attention back to what he was doing.

I go to the kitchen and open the refrigerator to drink some water. I need to calm down, and for some reason, my mind returns to the dance of those girls. Well, I’m not an expert on dance, but Chicago also has something similar. And, I must say: that was so amazing! Those girls were good.

“Earth calling Ana!?”

My father's voice awakens me. I realize I've become distracted, and I’m still holding the glass of water halfway, so I say before take it to my mouth:

“Hey…”

“Are you okay?” He asks. “You seem a little… distracted.”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” I nod with my head in agreement as I take the glass to the sink. “I was just thinking about what I have to do today.”

I know it's a lie, but in particular, I don't see the need to tell him what went on. Nothing extraordinary or worrisome happened, and there is no reason to tell him about the dance studio. I don't want him to think that he needs to accept the first job offer that comes his way just to pay for the classes. I'm over it, and I'm fine with it now.

“You took a lot of time.” My father notes, a little worried. “You really got lost in the neighborhood?” He arches his eyebrows.

“No!” I stare at him, incredulous. “I… I just took the opportunity to know the neighborhood better.”

“And… Did you find anything interesting?”

He had left his computer aside and was leaning his head on his hand, looking straight at me with a mischievous smile on his lips. I roll my eyes and walk out of the kitchen, aware of what Reyes James means.

“No, unfortunately, there was no Johnny Depp or Michael B. Jordan in the middle of the street.” I smile, satisfied to hear him snort.

“I’m talking about people who are humanly reachable.” He stares at me, bored.

“I'm going to take a shower.” I say to him, ignoring his previous answer.

“Don't think that I have forgotten this subject, Anastasia.” He says in a threatening tone, making me laugh.

“What about lunch? I'm hungry, huh!?”

And that was the last thing I said before go to my room to get some clean clothes.

Since it's just me and my dad, he has felt it his duty to also play the role of a mother, who asks about boyfriends and gives love advice. I find it kind of funny, but that is the last thing on my mind at the moment. I’m not celibate, I had “my affairs” – as my father affectionately called them – but after I prioritized ballet to get into Juilliard, it became less relevant.

And it's not like I'm going to fall in love with the first guy I see, right? I think I have at least a bit of decency about that.