Breaking Skin (5 page)

When I told Deedee I was going to the shelter to get one, she expected me to return with a carbon copy of Brandi, a pint-sized puppy who rides in purses and daintily nibbles snacks from your hand. Siegfried is the anti-Brandi. He’s more likely to eat your purse and leave a gallon of slobber behind.

At the shelter, Siegfried stared at me with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen, tracking me from the moment I walked in. My heart actually beat harder when his dark, watery gaze connected with mine, as if he was silently asking me to give him a home, not to leave him there the way so many others had done. The woman at the shelter didn’t have much hope of anyone adopting an older dog like him. His former owner was elderly and passed away, which was the only reason Siegfried ended up there.

When she told me his name, I knew his lucky day had arrived. Prince Siegfried is the name of the lead character from my favorite ballet,
Swan Lake
. It felt like Siegfried was meant to be mine. I know it sounds silly and sentimental, but I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving that place without him, and I feared what could happen to him if I did.

It’s been a week since Siegfried moved into my tiny apartment, and we’re still getting to know each other. For example, Siegfried is learning that I will not get up in the dead of night to give him snacks, and I’m learning that he likes to trip me. My apartment may be too small for the both of us because he tends to step directly in front of me when I least expect it, forcing me to stop abruptly in midstride or nearly tumble over him. Once I actually did trip over him and landed hard on my side. He then proceeded to whine and lick my cheek as if it wasn’t all his fault.

I fill the dog bowl in the kitchen with food, which I know will disappear in under ten seconds, and then I hit the shower. After I’m dressed, I make sure to put my pointe shoes in my bag. The kids love to watch me dance in them. There are a handful of girls around my niece’s age at the center on Sunday mornings. They always ask me to teach them a new ballet step when I come in.

Familiar regret washes over me when I think of my niece, Langley, and my sister. It’s been almost four months since I’ve seen them. I’ve spent just as much time trying to see them, but Renee always has an excuse.

The fact that she doesn’t want to see me is painfully obvious, although she never says it so bluntly. What’s worse is she keeps me out of Langley’s life too. She goes so far as to plan Langley’s birthday party each year when the company is traveling for a performance. It’s as if she looks at my schedule on the company website to ensure I won’t be in town.

Now I finally have plans to see my sister and niece, and each time I receive a text or a phone call, I’m afraid it’s Renee canceling. After keeping her distance for months, she called out of the blue and invited me to stay with them next weekend. I’m so thankful for the invitation, I don’t want to ruin it by questioning her too much. Instead, I’m determined to enjoy my time with Langley and wait for the right opportunity to talk to Renee.

Yesterday, the gift shop I pass on my way home from the studio had a pink jewelry box in the display window, and it made me think of Langley. When you open it, Princess Aurora from
Sleeping Beauty
pops up and pirouettes. It’s the perfect place for Langley to keep the necklace I sent for her birthday, and I plan to give it to her when I see her next weekend.

The familiar sound of Siegfried’s food bowl hitting the wall tells me he’s still hungry. He likes to lick the bowl clean, and the force of his tongue pushes it across the floor until it hits the first impediment. Then he continues to lick it until I remove it or refill it.

It would be too much of an imposition to bring Siegfried to my sister’s house, but I hate to leave him so soon after bringing him home. Thankfully, Deedee agreed to keep him while I’m gone, something I’m sure she did grudgingly, although she pretended she didn’t mind. I’ve taken Brandi enough times to earn some goodwill.

Once Siegfried’s leash is clipped on, I grab my shoulder bag and an envelope addressed to my sister. It contains the monthly check I send her to use toward our mother’s care. I could probably afford to live somewhere nicer if I didn’t send her money every month, but Renee handles everything. The least I can do is contribute financially.

But I’m always careful to make the check out to my sister and not my mother. If Renee decides to spend the money on herself or Langley, that’s okay with me. As a single mother, she may need it sometimes. If so, I hope she uses it.

All I know is Renee cashes the checks each month, which takes the edge off my guilt.

“Siegfried, no!” I shout, but not before Lisanne, the lovely middle-aged woman who runs the youth center, walks right into Siegfried’s unmoving mass and tips the tray of snacks she was carrying.

“Are you okay?” I rush toward them, already bending to pick up the spilled packages of cookies and fruit.

“Where did he come from?” Lisanne asks, scratching her head.

Maybe it’s not my apartment that’s too small for Siegfried. Maybe it’s the whole world.

“He has a knack for stepping right in front of you when you least expect it. I’m so sorry.” Awkwardly, I balance the oranges in my arms. While I’m still hunched down, Siegfried approaches and licks my cheek.

I roll my eyes while Lisanne laughs softly and shakes her head. “Was he a service dog?”

“A service dog?” I ask, standing with the oranges piled in my arms.

“For a visually impaired person, maybe? I hear they’re trained to step in front of their owners if there’s some kind of danger in their path.”

I squint at Siegfried curiously. “The shelter didn’t mention that. They just said the owner was elderly and had no family that wanted Siegfried. I would have thought they’d mention it if he were a service dog.”

“Well, he seems like a nice dog. Keeps you on your toes.” She chuckles, eyeing the pointe shoes that hang from my shoulder.

I smile at the pun. With the snacks back on the tray and an innocent-looking Siegfried following behind us, we walk into the common room where the children are gathered.

Their chatter pauses when they spot us, and my heart warms at their welcoming smiles.

Lisanne and I hand out the cookies and fruit, but my eyes continue to dart in Siegfried’s direction. I wonder how he’ll handle a roomful of noisy, rambunctious children, and I’m relieved to see that he maintains his usual unflappable demeanor as the kids approach. In fact, as more children crowd around Siegfried, I realize he has the perfect temperament for this, sedate and gentle. All the noise and attention doesn’t bother him at all.

“What’s his name?”

I glance over to see Mia standing there, holding a chocolate chip cookie in one hand as she points at Siegfried with the other.

At twelve years old, Mia is tall, graceful, and perfect for dance. I suggested to her mother that Mia apply for a scholarship with the company’s youth division, but she never filled out the paperwork. When I went so far as to show up at her house and offer to help her mother with the paperwork, the woman flatly refused.

Mia was there and so was her brother. He had a hockey stick in his hand and was dressed in padding and a uniform. I couldn’t help but think,
She’ll let her son play hockey but she won’t let her daughter take dance?

When I went to Lisanne and asked what more I could do, she told me that interfering in these children’s lives is not part of the center’s mission, and neither is subverting or trying to go around their parents. In other words, I’d already done all I could. It was an answer I had trouble accepting.

“I just got him. You can pet him if you like,” I tell Mia.

She grins at me as her hand skims along Siegfried’s sleek back.

“Will you walk on your toes for us again?” Mia asks. “And could you do that pose where your leg goes all the way up and almost touches the back of your head?”

I laugh because what fascinates her so much is a simple arabesque. When I push my leg higher and lean forward into an arabesque penchée, Mia and all the girls gasp in awe. If only Dennis were so easily pleased.

“I’d be happy to.” I smile at her. “Should we go to the music room?”

Mia nods her head before leaving to gather her friends for the impromptu ballet lesson.

After I let Lisanne know where I’m going, I walk down the short hallway to the music room with Siegfried by my side. The music room used to be the break room for the company that once occupied this space. There’s a counter with a microwave that stopped working years ago, and several round tables pushed over into the corner.

After putting on my pointe shoes, I take out my phone and smile at the handful of girls as they file into the room. Just as I’m about to play “Dance of the Little Swans,” I change my mind and skip further down my playlist to something a little more relatable.

A moment later, “Uptown Funk” blasts out of my tiny phone speakers, and I pirouette around the room, much to my audience’s delight. The girls screech as they jump up and down, trying to balance on their toes while they follow me around the room, tumbling to the floor in giggles and springing back up again.

As I watch them, my smile grows so wide my cheek muscles ache with it, and I can’t stop smiling as we dance and laugh. Being with these girls helps me remember how happy dancing used to make me. I still get a thrill when I perform in front of an audience, but I don’t enjoy the cutthroat competition or the dressing-down I often get from Dennis at rehearsals.

My grin gradually fades as I think about Renee. She’s a dance teacher at the old studio where we trained, but I have a feeling she doesn’t experience what I’m feeling now when she teaches. I think she’s envious of me and my career, but as I take a look around the room, for the first time I feel a little envious of her too. These girls keep me grounded and remind me why I chose this career. I wish I could spend more time with them and bottle some of their spirit.

I resolve to try harder to find the joy I lost, not just in dance, but in so many other things too.

W
hen I first rode the bus out of Cooperstown after high school graduation, I was filled with excitement and anticipation. Everything good was in front of me, and everything I wanted to forget was behind me. Each time I retrace that route in the opposite direction, it feels like rocks are gathering in the pit of my stomach.

I release a breath, something between a sigh and a groan, when the tiny Cooperstown bus station comes into view. How Renee can still live in this town is beyond me. It would be healthier for her to live anywhere else.

When the bus comes to a stop, I look for her ancient light blue Subaru in the parking lot, but I don’t see it anywhere. The lot only holds a handful of cars, and none of them are hers. A quick glance at my watch tells me the bus is ten minutes late, so Renee should be here by now.

I disembark along with the other passengers and pull out my phone. Within seconds, I feel moisture form on my back. The warm, dry air of Cooperstown feels stifling compared to the chilly San Francisco air.

After ten more minutes of waiting with no sign of Renee’s car and no reply to my multiple calls and texts, worry creeps in. If she were simply late, she would text me back. Wouldn’t she?

Using my phone again, I search for a taxi company and dial the number. Not long after, I’m riding in a yellow cab to my sister’s house with my hand wrapped tightly around the strap of my overnight bag as I try to control my temper. Renee’s blowing me off at the bus station isn’t exactly the welcome I’d hoped for.

I look out the window, spotting landmarks I recall, but many more I don’t. Cooperstown is southwest of San Francisco and northwest of San Jose. It’s an in-between place, too far away to reap the benefits of overinflated real estate in both cities. But that is slowly changing. Real estate in the surrounding area has become so expensive that Cooperstown is now a viable option for some. But it would never be one for me.

Last time I was here, I went by our old neighborhood. Our house is gone and a much larger, more modern home stands in its place. I felt relief when I could find nothing recognizable at our old address. I always wanted to erase my childhood, and I supposed that was as close as I’d ever get.