Hanging by a silk
It’s just her and me.
She and I.
The coach. The student. And the silk.
It hangs, bright red, from the ceiling.
Red, the color of fire and excitement and sunsets melting into sea voyages.
Red, the color of our new velvety couch cushions that will always cheerily remind us of our friends.
Red that has been following me like a lantern bobbing on a boat in the dark.
She is matter of fact and doesn’t blink that much. She has seen a lot.
She tells me to plank, to ab crunch, to tuck and straighten in an upside down handstand.
“Now, 10 more times” she keeps saying.
The inside of my head is now also turning red. My thoughts are a mush of orange lava; my hands burn.
“You’re really strong already” she says, and I buoy up a bit. I can do this.
My muscles scream and my hands are so cramped I keep flexing my fingers in and out like they will shed their old skin and give me fresh hands.
She says, now you’re going to learn the first routine.
I stare at her, but she isn’t looking at me. She quickly demonstrates the moves and hops off.
I close my eyes, breathe, and get on.
As I go, I realize I can remember the sequence. As I pause and go slowly, I realize I can execute it.
Four more times, she says airily.
I continue on. She adds more. Then says five more times.
She knows how to motivate me. She takes out a camera and points out where I can refine. I point my toes so hard and bend so much I can’t tell if the red is behind my eyes or in front of them.
And then she spins me.
I am immediately transported to the most childlike state I can imagine. Dizzy, nauseous, curled up inside a cocoon of red silk, thrown back to a day I can’t really recall of a roller coaster I can’t imagine I let myself be put on.
I still execute the routine, but I am sick to my stomach. I shakily climb off the silk.
I pad softly around the room, willing it to go away, helplessly queasy and just wanting to lie down.
She waits for me to come back. She adds more to the combination.
“All that dance training" she says, “You can remember the combination!” She sounds truly impressed. There’s nothing in me to explain to her that I’ve never been able to remember a dance combination this easily.
Or a silk combination.
Or a locker combination.
Five more times, she says again. I am so dizzy. I go up once, slowly. Even a little sway in the silk throws me. I just want to lie down.
The next time I go up she says, Okay now I’m going to spin you faster. There’s no time to say anything before I’m whirling in the air.
Breathe, breathe, breathe, I tell myself. I’m losing grip in my hands, I’m losing stamina in my arms. I’m losing focus in my head.
The silk is so red.
I breathe deeply and land steadily— and wearily.
She gives me a high five and suddenly I feel hopeful. And about 13 years old.
Wary of what’s to come— and absolutely exhilarated to transform.
with joy and confetti,
Alexa