Camille

The Routine Interrupted

I feel his calloused hand brush the hair away from my face as I lay in a morning haze. I smile before I can even see his face. I have missed that touch. 

"Hello Sunshine." he says, his voice still filled with sleep. 

I open my eyes and find familiar hazels before me. His smirk sits inches from my lips and he drops a single peck before wrapping his hands around me and pulling me into his bare chest. 

"I've missed you." I whisper into his skin. 

"I know." He squeezes me a bit tighter. 

"Don't go" I plea and tilt my head to look upon his face one more time. He begins to disappear before my eyes, his skin turns to dust and escapes from my open bedroom window. 

The bed shifts and I know Bailey has come to wake me from my dream. 

"Good Morning Mama"

Bailey whispers into my face while she pokes at my eyelashes. The same way she's done since she was 8 months old. Here we go. Time to get going in our routine. Breakfast. Bailey's determined to pour her own milk. I supervise as she pours sloppily into her Cheerios. Her grip loosens when her little arms can't take the weight anymore. I reach out and grab the handle from her and she scowls at me. Her disapproval for not allowing her to spill milk all over the kitchen floor. I bring my tea and toast to the table and watch my daughter in all her perfection. I know every parent thinks there child is God's gift to humankind, but Bailey's beauty is genuine. Her olive skin is flawless, her soft brown waves fall with grace around her face. Her pouty little mouth reminds me of cherries and her cheeks of the pink roses that grow in front of my parents' house. Her bright green eyes are her winning feature though, they often stop strangers dead in their tracks. They take my breath away.

"So Bay, what's on the agenda for school today?" 

"Today we're learning about adding and subtracting and Mrs. Mendoza is bringing pie." 

I'll never be able to match a five year olds excitement at 7am, ever.

"Wow," I smile

"big stuff." 

"Big stuff" she repeats around a mouthful of Cheerios. 

I see Bailey off to school where I avoid contact with other mothers. They all glance my way with the same heartbroken look. It's infuriating, I know it shouldn't be. It only serves as another reminder that my husband is gone. They think briefly of their lives sans husband, and feel sad. They will never know the intricacies of my life, or my daughters. How our loss has formed our lives. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. If they could stop looking at me with those sad eyes, I might be able to hold a conversation with one of them.

It's a Monday, and I'm off to open the studio and work in solitude for most of the morning. The way I like it. The spring showcase is coming up and that means more tasks to distract me. I'm giddy with the gift of work. I nearly burn rubber leaving the drop-off line from the elementary school parking lot.

I pull up to the studio and feel, as I normally do, a sense of ease as I enter. This abandoned, run down building won my heart when I first found it. I'm extremely prideful in the work I've put into my company and this morning bring my laptop into my favorite room instead of my small office. The huge windows that overlook the town below are covered with heavy burgundy curtains. Floor to ceiling mirrors reflect the elegance of this antique room, allowing the sunlight to play across the floor. The wood floors are beginning to show wear from years of slippers gliding across their paths. Chasaé here, glissade there. The baby grand piano in the corner for the once a week classes that are accompanied. I love my studio. I slink down to the floor and pull my laptop from my tote, along with a pile of mail. I sit, and in true dancer fashion, automatically stretch into my middle split. My elbows drop forward as my face sits only a foot away from the screen displaying my emails. I click through, responding to parents requests for extensions on payments for classes. I slide the pile of bills before me and tackle them. I find my toes flexing and pointing, my body inviting me to dance. My subconscious needing an escape from that dream. I can't shake the lingering pain. I miss him more today. I open my music and in just a few taps music fills the room through the wireless speakers. I take a deep breath and appreciate the moment. Here I am just me. I am not mom, widow, teacher, business owner. Here I am just Camille. I use my palms to walk my torso back upwards. I slide the fingers of my right hand down my leg and raise my left arm over my head as I lean into my right leg. Aging is a cruel fate. I feel the stiffness of my thirty-year-old muscles. I need to set aside more time to stretch. I chuckle at the thought of finding regular free time. Once my limbs are loosened "Across the Universe" glides through the speakers and my heart is pulled to the center of the room. My arms rise and fall, as my legs carry me into releve, padobra, soutenus and my mind is lost. The worries I carry are lifted if only for this minute. The phrase, "nothing's gonna to change my world" chants into my movements. My movements replicate that chant. I try and not think about the words, I try not to connect them to my life. I fight back emotions brimming. It becomes too much. I stop dancing and stop the music. The only sound that fills the room now are the breaths being heaved from my chest. I physically shake my body, like the motions will rid the painful thoughts lurking in my brain.