Flicker Pain

[19] butterflies

"What are you doing right now?" Conrad asked, his mellow voice delicately caressing my ear. My eyes fluttered close. With just the right amount of sweet, undisturbed concentration, he was here — beside me — whispering his same words; ones I'd waited to hear for days.

My face stayed perfectly still, afraid to touch the soft green feathers that begged to tickle with each little sway. My eyes stayed close, for there was no need to look. My body complained from the bed that was not as gentle as my own, and relaxed slightly with the occasional breezes. Few, tiny voices made giggles and screams sound like a charming lullaby — the kind that never, ever put you to sleep.

"Laying down in the park," I replied. "My mom said it would be good for me to get out of the house."

"She's probably not wrong about that," He said, "It'll help to take your mind off things."

I smiled in amusement at the complete weariness of the words: it'll help take your mind off things. The phrase had been used so much — it barely carried a meaning anymore.

"Yeah, take my mind off things."

"When I come back, we can do all sorts of things together," He said, his voice bubbling with an excitement that was meant to be infectious. The only thing his words brought was a reminder of just how lonely and grim the days until then would be, so I stayed silent.

He began to list things off — from movies to skydiving (which was highly unlikely) — and I would come in with an occasional yes or that sounds like a lot of fun. He promised that he would be back soon, and he told me to wait for him.

I told him I would.

He continued on and on, and eventually it felt like it was more for him than me. I merely listened, opening my eyes so I could watch the clouds pass by.

"...still going to ask my mom if we can leave earlier — "

"You know, I had a dream once." I found myself interrupting him with a casual drawl.

"Huh?"

"Actually, I guess I had two dreams of what I wanted to be," I sighed, "The first was being a figure skater — I quit when I was seven. I couldn't handle the isolation that came with seeking a professional career at that age. Plus it was cold."

A quiet chuckle was heard on the other end.

I continued: "The next dream I had was being a dancer — a ballet dancer. My first year, my mom bought me a DVD of Swan Lake. I couldn't remember a day that I didn't watch it."

I paused.

"Things were so much easier in the beginning. I thought all I was doing was pointing my feet and dreaming about tutus. It stayed that way for a few years. I only saw my goal ahead of me — nothing in my way, just hard work."

I stopped again to catch my breath.

"Later, that changed. It began to be clear — life wasn't fair. Neither was ballet. There was so much bias along with predetermined aspects that decided who you were, who you worked with, and what training you got. No one ever gave me a chance. And as years passed, the gap between me and other kids my age widened."

I shook my head, a bittersweet smile forming on my lips, "I look at it like chasing butterflies. You'll never catch them, but you're too caught up in their beauty to see the reality of your endless quest. I was never going to make it in ballet — that much was determined by the teachers as soon as I set foot in the studio. But sometimes I wonder what would've happen if I'd realized it and just worked harder."

I sighed and finished, "But life has a mind of its own. I just hope we'll agree on things someday."

Silence followed. It was nearly sundown now, and all the families that had come out to enjoy the warm day were gone. I supposed it was about time I took my leave as well, so I slowly climbed to my feet. Just as I began to walk, Conrad spoke:

"You're not a failure, Maya, I want you to know that."

My heart squeezed painfully as I whispered, "I never said that I was."

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