Always On Her Toes: Chapter 1

Dance, Karli, you’re depending on this show, I thought. I sighed, waiting for the music. I was dancing Lyrical today. The song was Dancing Queen by ABBA. It was seventies week this week, so I went with Lyrical. Lyrical was sometimes really easy and sometimes really hard. I’d contemplated not dancing, but if I was absent without an excuse, I’d be kicked out of my Dance School. If I didn’t dance, my PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) would kick back in. That surely wouldn’t be a good thing. Winding up in the loony bin is NEVER a good thing.

The curtains began to open, the music to play. I was used to this environment. I’d performed on this stage more than once. I was only afraid of the scores. Not the thousand people in the audience or the judges or that I’d mess up. Just the scores because I was depending on these scores more than my life. If I scored high enough, I’d stay another week. If I stayed another week, I could win, I win, and I get my own apartment and won’t have to bum off DJ’s. See that girl, watch that scene, she’s a dancing queen, young and sweet only seventeen…I pirouetted and flew. And finally the piece was finished. I could smell my own sweat. I felt the sweat on my arms under my costume, under the tights on my legs, and on my neck. I stood on the scoring circle and waited. Overhead somewhere, the narrator spoke.

Posh of the Pussycat Dolls.

“Seven.” She flashed the seven-card and put it down, “Karlina, you were great in technique, but dance is all face, face, face. You were frowning, Love.” I nodded in thanks.

Simon Cowell.

“Eight, Karli, you had a great step match up with the 4-count of that ABBA hit. Beautiful.” I think I smiled.

Britney Spears.

“Three.” I glared at her. Carson Daly came out from backstage.

“No explanation, Brit?” He smoldered, trying to get her attention. I didn’t care, she knew nothing of ballroom, tap, or jazz…She was a hip-hop breakdance kind of gal. Sure it didn’t matter that I got probably the lowest score of the night.

I exited stage left and smiled at the camera, said my feelings, ‘thanking’ Britney for her ‘honesty’. I continued to march to my dressing room. I put on my regular clothes. This contained a yellow halter top and low riding jeans. I had on my black velvet strappy stilettoes. Grabbing my bag, I walked out. When I stepped into the hallway, I felt cold and violated. The violation part I could deal with, though I can’t understand why Carson Daly was pinned in front of my dressing room door. As for the chill, I’d change at home.

“Hello, Carson.” I smiled, as I shifted my weight.

“Yes, Karli, we’d like to apologize, for Brit,” He was stammering, no clue why though.

“She doesn’t know anything of my type of dance, therefore, how could I be mad?” I left then and said goodbye.

“Karli, what’s wrong, you still have the one-on-one interview with me.”

“I don’t care, Carson. I’m aggravated. I mean, a three? I’ll be honest now, Britney’s ignorant self is bringing my score down.” I smiled, tight-lipped, and strolled out of the building into the parking lot.

I reached into my Prada bag and pulled out my keys. My Camaro’s head lights flickered. I smiled. The camera guy was following me. That’s not stalkerish at all, I thought angrily.

I pulled out after ‘nicely’ telling the camera guy that he’d better leave me alone. He was beginning to creep me out, like a stalker would. My mood eased as I heard Enya’s familiar voice on the radio. This song played on the radio, and it was sweet. Smooth. I knew it from long ago, when my mom and I would drive around at night, putting my brother to sleep. Who can say what road we take? The song ended as I pulled into my apartment parking deck. I got out and smiled for real.

“Hey, Deej.” I said noticing my friend in the corner.

“I’m here on a mission, Kar.”

“What type of mission DJ?” She refused to tell me, so I was upset. When I opened our door, I knew. DJ’s boy-toy, Hadley (actually they were going steady, but neither of them would admit it.) was on my couch, flipping through my photo album. On the other side of the room, was Hadley’s cousin, Bryce.

“Hadley, what are you doing here?” I said evenly.

“SOMEONE wanted to see you.” His eyes darted between DJ and Bryce. I glared at Bryce.

“How could you want to see me? Huh, jerk?” I was shoving him now.

“Carpet, I’m sorry for saying that, ok?” He’d always called me carpet. Even in middle school, when I didn’t know DJ or Hadley. That was a long time ago, in second grade. I was so young, as was he.

“There’s nothing you can do to fix it, B. I mean I don’t even know how you could even think that after all these years?”

“What do you mean? That’s all you do! You tease and toy with a boy’s heart, and lemme tell you: Not just I would say that in this room, a’ight?” I glanced at my surroundings, at the people. I didn’t realize so many people had thought of me slutty as I held so close, so in my denial, I didn’t believe it. Hadley had let himself into my art room, on the phone. He was murmuring swiftly, almost inaudibly. DJ was looking frightened at Bryce’s words, mid-sip of her soda.

“You honestly expect me to believe you?” I asked, incredulous. Bryce nodded, looking as though he didn’t regret his words.

“Well, you’ve gone through, like, nine boyfriends this month, Kar.” DJ said slowly, cautiously. I glowered at her.

“This doesn’t concern you Deej.”

“It kind of does….I mean, I do agree with him..” She stared at me, finding her fight. I gave her my best angry face. I looked at Bryce who was smirking at me. I separated myself from my friends and stepped onto the lame balcony. I could hear that voice in my head again; I tried to shake it off. I really did. There was a burning in my throat, an ache in my stomach. I knew that soon the tingling on my wrist would occur. That tingling would slowly morph into burning. Long and agonizing burning until it was extinguished.

I was not allowing this to happen to me, not again. It’s been at least a week. That’s long for me, I tell you. Miserably long, I might add. Then the burning on my wrist, where my scars were; then my ankles, and finally my new section on my stomach. I groaned, flopping in my lawn chair. I’m so tired of this whole almost-breaking-the-habit-habit. I needed to distance myself, back away from the bad feelings. By now I was gasping, drowning in my own self-pity. Then the sobs came, I couldn’t stop the tears now. No matter how hard I would try, there was no stopping my tears. Because at this point, though I didn’t know it, I knew subconsciously Bryce was right. I was terrible for men and boys alike. I knew why Carson was stammering. I was a beautiful girl and used as a weapon and when it came down to it, I felt pretty crappy about myself. Now I openly admit I was a shy girl who sought revenge one person who made me feel bad when I was twelve, in the process harming my loved ones. But at this moment, when I stood on the balcony, I didn’t openly admit that. I am a very Gorgeous Tragedy waiting to happen.

So many bad feelings I’ve had like this. Over and over. I remember the first time I did this, got my reason for hating the world. I was twelve, just hit puberty. I was fragile I guess. There was Diana, this girl who once was my friend. She didn’t like my face, I assume. One day, she was speaking in health about STDs and Sex and boys. She ended with;

“Some people won’t feel such love, she’s going to be alone forever. Her name is Karlina Phillipson. “ The worst part was that she gestured smiling at me. I glanced around me, seeing their faces close to dismissive. So I stood, trying to be proud of my ugly face. So then, when I faced them, I was semi-shocked. They wound back their arms, then threw paper balls at me. I left the room, remembering what I’d read somewhere. Something about Razers, then I knew, I remembered. It said that most girls were going through this. So, I asked myself why not? Then I was in there, the bathroom, dragging a razor horizontally across my wrist.

The beginning of my nightmarish addiction.

Coming out of the flashback, which I get if I forget or try to block a memory, I sighed. I was feeling the pencil sharpener blade in my pocket longingly. I stepped inside. Bryce was playing BS with Deej and Had at the table.

“Hey, Karpet. You cooled down enough yet?” I shook my head, giving him my best faux-glare. I headed into the bathroom and pulled out my paintbrush. I looked at it, it was stained. From years of use, I assumed. I lifted up my shirt, from left to right by my pant button were scars from previous events. Not caring that I was slowly killing myself, I slid the blade in the same direction. I felt myself sigh happily, the intense pain was a sick sort of pleasure, but I craved it. A small gasp escaped my lips as I realized that I was holding the blade in one spot. A deeper wound, a darker scar. I didn’t realize I was crying until I tasted the salt on my lip. I put the blade in my pocket, groaning as my tummy burned. At this moment, I didn’t know whether or not it was a good groan.

I reached under the sink and pulled out the roll of paper towels I had. Cleaning myself, I smirked as I heard DJ read the poem I posted on my poem-of-the-week board. I said it with her:

I don’t seek your approval

I don’t need your permission,

But when I speak directly to you,

I’d love it if you’d listen.

I smiled as I recited the words as if I’d written them. I walked to my bedroom and exchanged the halter top for an old Rolling Stones tee shirt.

“Are you fine now, Kar?” DJ laughed slash cried. I grew tense at her expression. Something had to have happened.

“What happened, Dana Jane?” I said her full name. Trying to figure out what to say when she replied, I bit my lip.

“Bryce. Sierra texted him 9-1-1. And you know how he is about Sierra.”

“At least he’ll be with her,” I said, seeing DJ’s face sunken with worry. Sierra was like my dancing for Bryce. He needed her, enjoyed her. He was with her most of the time. I was exactly the same way with dance.

I remember when I started dancing. I was eleven, my mom made me take the class. At first, I hated it. Then I grew accustomed to the routine. The summer before was bad for me, my mom enrolled me into it so that it would take my mind off things. And it worked. Each day I’d follow the routine. Stretch, warm-up, piece one, snack, stretch, piece one, and stretch. I began to need it, mentally. Sometimes, in a stressed situation, I’ll catch myself doing swing tap steps. You swing your leg back, tap the ground with your foot, and then when your back foot lands, and step backward with the opposite. That year was one of the best years of my life. I was a first-year and the other girls and guys were 2-8 years. The choreographer though, said I was the very best she’d seen as a first year. So I was moved up to a second-year and excelled more than I did in first- year. I was too good for first-year. I was told it came naturally. It was an awesome experience for me. I was so excited I picked the first six chairs for family and one chair for non-family members. The play was The Nutcracker. I was a toy that stayed with the Nutcracker. A small role but I was still acknowledged. My mom yelled for me the whole time, unless the choreographer shushed her. So you can see dancing became a vital part of my life which is the second issue I have. My mom messed up by putting me in dance so soon. Because of the traumatic event during that summer, it had become a bit of a leg to stand on. Which leads to, what will I do if I break a leg or tear my ACL? I’ll be having anxiety attacks right and left. I’ll wind up in the nuthouse.

I also remember that event very clearly, I wish I couldn’t. I wish he didn’t do that to her or me for that matter. I wish it wasn’t my brother who caught him. To this day, he doesn’t look at me the same anymore. How someone could bring himself to do that to a person is bizarre.

Coming back to reality, I saw DJ’s face as she looked irritated with me.

“Look, Kar, I know you’re irritated with us, but you can’t just shut us out.”

“What? I’m not irritated with Hadley and you, just Bryce. What gives him the right, you know?” I pushed passed her to the kitchen. I pulled out a bagel and blueberry cream cheese from the fridge, grabbing a butter knife in the mix.

“That’s not what I meant Karli. You guys were perfect before you did that honesty thing. Plus, since Bryce hasn’t “expanded his social circle “, if you know what I mean. And you have. He has faith in you and you need to be there for him.” She put air quotes around ‘expanded his social circle’. I did know what she meant.

“Look Deej, the thing with me and Bryce has nothing to do with you.”

“It kind of does. Your health and his are on the line.”

“Fine, I’ll call him.” I’d just started putting my cream cheese on. When that was finished we walked into the living room to find Hadley alone. I collapsed into my easy chair. Taking a bite of my bagel I turned to Hadley.

“Did he-" Hadley shook his head no. So I finished my bagel and called his cell. Once, twice, and three times it rang. Nothing. I sighed, punching in the number again and walking outside.

You’ve reached Bryce Mathodix, leave the info and get on. If you’re Kar, I’m so sorry I missed you. I’ll call you soon as possible. Much love.

Growling into the voicemail that he’d better call me and tell me about Sierra, I hung up. I tried him three more times. I wanted to hurl, that’s how nervous I was. I stepped back in and sat back on the easy chair.

“Do you guys want to come to the studio? I’m feeling a bit high strung. “We arrived at the studio in the same second that Bryce called me.

“Karpet?”

“I’m here B, what’s going on?”

“She’s hurt, real bad.” The panic and obvious emotional pain in his voice put a lump in my throat. Pushing the lump down, I spoke again.

“What happened?”

“She fell down the stairs out the landing window onto the alley street as tow trucks were doing rounds.”

“What’s the damage?” My voice broke on ‘damage’ and I tried to shove the lump again, almost failing.

“She could be paralyzed from the waist down.” I hung up the phone and stepped back, shocked. DJ gave me a look of confusion, but at that moment, I ignored it. I went to my office in the front of the studio. In my swivel chair, I pulled my knees to my chest. I wondered why this bugged my so much. I thought over my options, coming up with three in conclusion. One, I could feel bad for Sierra, so bad that I wanted to cry. Two, I was PMSing and was just emotional, so I’d be better in like ten minutes. Or three, which I did not want to be it. Three stated that I missed and yearned for Bryce and at the same time I knew that he was hurting because of Sierra. This, in a nutshell, meant that I still loved him. Hearing his voice catch was too much. Hearing the news was too much. Today was too much.