Stalking the Dancer || 18+

Part Sixteen - Questions

I swear I feel it.

I tried to convince myself that I'd been manufacturing all of the goosebump incidents in my head, but now I'm convinced. It's been a week since the first time I felt them and I've gotten them every day since, sometimes more than once. Susan said it could be several things: my body's reaction to anxiety, a slight case of PTSD, or the most disturbing option in my opinion– he's really here, watching me. She offered to involve the police department, like a good therapist should, but I waved her off amid my denial. That appointment was two days ago and holy shit how I've changed my mind in forty-eight hours.

I'm being watched; I'm sure of it.

Balancing on my crutches outside my old dance company, I'm covered in bumps and sweating like a lamb headed to slaughter. It's taking most of my attention span to keep the shakes from being too obvious. My eyes scan the cars scattered around the lot but none of them are running and from my vantage point, they're all empty.

He has to be here, there's no other option. I just can't figure out why he's keeping his distance. Is he trying to figure out if I can feel him stalking me? Is he punishing me for running from him? My thoughts reel through any and all possibilities of why he hasn't made himself known and they all seem to come with negative details. Will he kidnap me again? Is he just toying with his food before he puts me out of my misery?

Gravel crunching under car tires snaps me out of my anxious haze and I make eye contact with Marie, the woman I'm meeting here. She's been a dance mom here since I was a kid, her oldest is a year younger than I am and her youngest is still in middle school. She contacted me a few weeks ago and asked if I would be interested in tutoring while I was in town and, always open to a side job, I quickly agreed. She parks and jumps out of her car, her youngest daughter not far behind her as she makes it to the front door and pulls out her keys.

"It's great to see you, Dorothy! This is Marielle," Marie and Marielle? Interesting. 

I look at the young girl standing beside her mother. She's dressed in black, head to toe, aside from the oversized, faded Pearl Jam tee she's wearing. I smile kindly at her, "I'm Dorothy, it's nice to meet you." She nods curtly before adding, "Call me El."

That makes me smile wider. As we walk into the breezeway I make sure to lock the front door behind us. "I'm excited to work with you, El. Go get changed and I'll meet you in Studio B, A looks like it's set up for ballet so we'll leave the barres where they are." She nods and ducks into the dressing room while I take in the changes they've made to the place in the years I've been gone. The place looks good. It looks better than it was before and that makes me happy for the little community I grew up in. These dancers deserve every chance to get ahead and that starts with a safe, well-maintained space to practice.

I hobble into Studio B and feel instantly relaxed, the tension leaving my body almost immediately. I find a chair in the corner and wait for a few minutes before El walks in on her own. I never wanted my mom to sit in on practices, either.

We get to work and over the next few hours, we work out a lot of technical errors in her routine. Perfecting every detail is crucial for competitions because each judge watches for something different. If you mess up someone, if not all of them, will catch it. Good thing for El, perfecting the routine has always been my favorite part of dance. Being meticulous about each movement and forcing each mistake to be a learning moment awakens a feeling in me that I love to chase. I also know how hard it can be to correct your technique when your teacher won't explain it to you in an understandable way. 

Most of El's mistakes just needed explanation and she seemed to be a perfectionist after my own heart because she corrected beautifully. For the first time since my injury, I'm enjoying dance practice again, even if I'm not the one dancing. Watching her and helping where I can isn't the same as nailing a routine or winning an award, but a different sense of satisfaction flutters to life in my chest and I want to hold on to it as long as possible.