She knows

Anastasia James

The night was beginning to fall, and I was still at Rachel's. I don't even want to think about the scolding I will get from my father when I get home because, according to him, I am too “out”. But, I believe this is all because of last week when I told him that I would sleep over. Since then, he has been very interested in what I am doing, and even tries to control my schedule, even though I have already made it clear that I am not doing anything wrong and even less interested in anyone. In other words, no early pregnancies – one of his biggest concerns.

Sitting on the floor of the practice room, I started to untie my high-top sneakers, which, although they were already worn out, had great sentimental value for me. As I was getting rid of them, I noticed a new callus on my left foot, so I sighed. It had been so long since I had danced on my tiptoes that I thought I had become unaccustomed to it.

I started rubbing my hands over the sore spot in a slow and pleasurable massage. I was so focused on what I was doing that I only noticed the second presence in the practice room when I heard a hiccup. I looked up at the mirror on the wall and saw Matthew. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest.

“I’m going!” I warned, getting to my feet quickly.

Matthew allowed me to stay a little longer to practice my part of the choreography, but said he would only take Johnny home, and when he returned, he would lock all the doors. In other words, I couldn't stay here another second. Unless I want to stay locked up until tomorrow morning, when they will come back to rehearse – which is not the case, obviously.

Despite the harshness in his words, I know it's just his way. It's not as if I've gotten used to it or simply erased all previous ignorance from my memory, but I'm trying to understand. Yes, I think that is the perfect word. I don't have a degree in psychology to study people, but, it is what Matt himself said: to make it work, we have to try first.

“There's no need to rush.” He said, putting his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “I was going to take Johnny home, but he said that Scott would take him, so…” He shrugged.

“I see…” I nodded. “Anyway, I'm done for the day. Thanks for waiting.” I gave a small smile and bent down to pick up my things from the floor.

And we are getting along fine. When he suggested that we put our differences aside to continue the championship, one of the first things I thought was that it would be complicated. After all, just like me, Matt has his quirks, and he has proven to be quite a hardheaded person when it comes to choreography. But I was surprised as we debated and expressed our opinions, and they began to fit together. Sometimes it feels like we are the same people…

“Are they the only ones you have?” I woke up from my reverie as soon as I heard the question.

I stared at him, confused. He was looking intently at something on the floor, so I followed his gaze.

“Oh, that?” I laughed nasally, picking up my ballet shoes. They were really beat up. “Yes, but they are very special to me, that's why I haven't gotten rid of them yet…” I ended up smiling with the unlocked memories. “My mother wanted to give them to me for my birthday.”

“Wanted to?” Matt asked, confused.

I kept my eyes on my ballet shoes, thinking about it.

I’m a well-rounded person, but you can't say it's not a sensitive subject, because it is. I suffered, but I'm sure my father suffered much more, after all, everyone says that first love is something very striking in people's lives, and to see it wither away without you being able to do anything about it. It's complicated.

When I “won” these ballet shoes, we had just returned from the funeral. I didn't even want to dance anymore, I was about to give up everything, because my greatest motivation had gone from this to a better one. A week later, when I was cleaning up my parent’s room, I found a box under the bed. I remember to this day the giant pink satin ribbon that wrapped the box. Inside, in addition to the blessed sneakers, there was also a letter, handwritten in a cursive handwriting that would be impossible not to recognize.

I suppose that day was the end of my mourning. The words of the letter brought such comfort to my heart that I realized I was doing everything but what my mother wanted me to do. She knew that she would not last long to tell me such words, so she wrote them. From that day on, I changed. And I believe that my change influenced my father, for even he recovered his energies and slowly came back to life.

I looked at Matt, analyzing the expression on his face, and sighed. I can't say that I trust him blindly enough to jump off a building knowing that he will be there to save me – because I distrust even my own father in these circumstances. But for someone who takes a large part of his day to care for a terminally ill child, and yet claims that he will recover… Well, for me, this goes beyond the concept of trustworthiness.

After a sigh, I felt ready enough to explain. Not too much detail, because I don't want to tell my life story, but enough to understand the great meaning behind a worn out sneaker.

“My mother was a professional dancer. One of her greatest wishes, besides my happiness, was that I would follow in her footsteps, since I had a knack for it since I was a little girl.” I gave a wry smile. “We were even planning to start a dance academy when I graduated, but… She discovered advanced marrow cancer and, well, died before she could even give them to me.” I forced a smile and stared at him.

Matthew's face was filled with terror. He barely blinked, and for a minute I worried if he was really breathing, but he regained consciousness and looked down at his feet.

“I-I…” His voice was shaky, so he choked out. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, Matt.” I frowned. “It's been a while.” I shrugged.

It really was all right. Talking about it doesn't give me any trouble. Is it sad? Yes, but it's over. Life goes on, after all.

The frightened look on Matthew's face made me relatively curious. Could it be that he is the sensitive type who cannot talk about delicate subjects like this? I tilted my head to the side, trying to decipher what this reaction meant. His breathing seemed a little agitated, as if he had just danced. Matt is nervous?

“How?” He snapped, staring at me intently.

“What?” I raised my eyebrow, not understanding what he meant.

“How did you get over it so fast?” He swallowed hard.

I ran my tongue over my lips to moisten them and looked away, thinking about it.

“Actually, there isn't a recipe.” I stared at him with narrowed eyes. “It just happened naturally.” I nodded and noticed that he had clenched his jaw. I frowned, but just as I opened my mouth to question him, he spoke up, interrupting me.

“I understood. Well, shall we go? I need to stop somewhere before I go home.” He pointed with his thumb to the door. He was so agitated… “I'll close the other doors. It's time for you to take your things, okay?” He said and turned away, leaving the room.

What was that all about? Why was that…

As if I had been plugged in again, my whole body lit up. No, it's not possible. I have made a brief analysis of all the events from when I arrived in Sturgis until today, a few minutes ago, and I think I finally understand everything. I need to be sure before taking any action, but since it’s impractical to ask Matt directly, I’ll have to ask for help.

And I know very well who can help me with this.