PROLOGUE
THE THIRD JETÉ
“T’was grace that taught my heart to fear...”
Monday: The Sparkle Motion National Championship
Even the lightning tried to stop Janie’s dance. It webbed and pealed thick ivory streaks in a terrifying display of power, but her father could not be moved.
The Amphitheater sat on a plateau above the Brandywine subdivision. The town’s inhabitants were gathered in a crescent around The Theater, roaring with the thunder, unaware that The Stage was binding them in the glow of its electric foot-candles.
A row of sequined girls shivered in the lee of the cinderblock wall. Their teeth chattered behind made-up cheeks as they whispered in unison after every bolt, “One-watermelon, two-watermel--” then trembled when a thunderclap cut them short. The chorus room would have kept them warm, but they wouldn’t--
--they couldn’t use the chorus room.
Forty-two tents were erected along the perimeter fence to provide shelter from the impending rain. The torn white plastic ignored the spectators huddled below, flapping and whirling in a desperate plea for surrender. The only tent that didn’t bend was reinforced with two rolls of duct tape and tethered to the ground with stakes and sandbags. It housed cameras, monitors, and reporters from the local news.
Any earthly production would have been cancelled at the slightest suggestion of rain, but this was William’s Stage--it was William’s call--and if the children danced and the congregation remained transfixed, the show would go on.
Chase--Sparkle Motion’s fifteen-year-old stage manager--zip-zagged again with his push broom, sweeping the glitter, feathers and wetness from the wooden floor of The Stage.
The peppy voice of the announcer blared through the overhead speakers to introduce the next dance. “Next up we have competitive ballet, age fourteen. Please welcome Janie Carmel performing ‘An Elegy for Miracles!’”
Janie’s fingertips brushed the meshwork edge of her cream tutu. William released his fingers from his daughter’s temples, kissed the twirl of brown hair secured tightly atop her head, and backed into the shadows of the right-wing as his daughter took her position on the dance floor.
A crack of thunder signaled another surge of applause as the girl assumed her stance. Her arms were poised above her head and overexposed in the spotlight. For an instant her eyes met her father’s. He mouthed “Thank you,” but her stoicism refused a smile.
Her decision was final.
As William awaited the music, his cinnamon gum began to lock his jaw, already overworked from a month of grinding teeth. He didn’t care; he chewed more furiously and reveled in his stiffening cheeks and the sound of every squished chomp. If his muscles cramped, he would gladly take the pain.
William didn’t know it yet, but The Stage he built was about to take his daughter’s life.
* * *
Tonight marked the first day of Sparkle Motion’s National Dance Championship. Janie’s ballet was one of three-thousand acts that would grace William’s Stage in less than a week, and the event marked the third Sparkle Motion show in The Theater’s two year history. Will remembered the humble roots of his enterprise; how it housed recitals for children, church services, local and national theater troupes, country and rock concerts, operas, and more.
YOU ARE READING
The Brandywine Prophet
General FictionSuburban life has turned William Carmel from a drug-fueled creative prodigy to a gentle husband and father. When the voice of God commands him to construct a million-dollar amphitheater on the hill behind his home, the budding prophet obeys and unle...
