Like clockwork, he’s coming up the sidewalk alongside the auditorium as we approach. The look on his face is of concern for me. I hug him quick and ask for time in the theater. He’s never questioned my needs before, and he doesn’t now.
Sam heads to the light booth in the back as I take my time in the near dark to walk down the aisle to the stage. I can hear the key in the lock, the lights as they fire, and the buzz they make as the beams make it show ready.
“Viper, you still haven’t told me what we’re doing here.”
I toss my crutches to the carpet at the base of the staircase and begin to climb them one by one without assistance. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to dance.”
“What? Dylan, you can’t.”
“Why not? Why can’t I try? You’ve been encouraging me for weeks to do just that. I want to try today. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing is wrong with that. I just don’t want you to get hurt worse.”
“Eli, I’m already hurting. I want to feel something out there, even if it’s pain. My physical therapist said I should do what feels good. This feels good to me, Eli. It’s the first time I don’t feel terrified. If I’m terrified, I will get hurt. If I’m only scared, I know it’s the right thing.”
Eli stares at me from the first row for a few seconds before joining me on stage. My limp is still noticeable, my limbs are tight. I roll out my neck and my ankles before I ask my husband for one thing. “Play something you know will make me move.”
Chapter 33
Elijah
I know why she wants to be here in this place. I know why she’s passionate. I don’t know what the significance of today or this exact moment is. I pledged her my support. She will have it.
Dylan pulls the sweatshirt off her body. She’s left beautiful as always in her bralette and leggings. She ponders removing her flexible brace, but stops short. The freedom that could provide could be a miracle or a disaster. I know she thinks she won’t move as well, but I think her walking is a work of art.
I don’t want her to think I’m staring. I keep an eye on her movement while I’m dialing through the music on my phone. I have a special playlist in here that is just hers. Every piece of music she’s ever danced to in group, solo, or simply for me is in one place. I use it as a catalog of memories to be with her when I can’t be.
I could use the piece from the first time I saw her in the Hamptons. I could use the piece she created for the charity luncheon. I could use the sad lyrical piece from the first time Wes, Hayley, and I saw her in her senior show. As the lyrics state, something always brings me back to you. That is true with this campus, this auditorium, these feelings, and this song.
I cue up “Gravity” by Sara Barielles. The lilting two first chords have Dylan looking in my direction. Her face is a mix of so many emotions. I can see the joy at hearing something familiar. I can see the faintest smile at the connection to this stage and us. I can clearly see the questioning of why this song then the over-arching emotion reads as pure fear.
“Move, Viper,” I tell her.
I don’t want to give this kind of tough love. I want to be able to watch her soar back to life on her own. I need it to be her choice. However, I won’t stand by and watch her give up either. That’s not who she is, and I won’t allow it to become her.
She doesn’t move by the beginning of the chorus. I stop the music before I set my jacket down. With my phone in my hand, I cross the stage to her. She’s barely moved from the spotlight and she’s crying.
“Viper, if you’re crying because you are in pain, I’ll accept that. What I can’t let you do is cry out of fear. You’re my fearless wonder. You do things people only dream of, including me. When I think I can’t, I think of you. Your picture is next to the definition of perseverance.”
“Maybe it shouldn’t be.”
I whisper in her ear, “Yes, it should.” I place the phone down on the floor in front of us. I press play one more time and turn the volume up. At first, I take her hand with the first beats of the music, then I move behind her. I press my body tight to her back and place my hands at her hips.
“I am your partner. Let me be your partner here. I can be your other leg. Lead. I can follow.”
Dylan lowers her head, continuing to cry. This time she does move. She raises to her toes. I help keep the weight off by helping my wife to hold position. I feel like she’s trying to repeat some of the same choreography this dance originally held for her. It’s my turn to remember. I’m not going to be graceful by any means. Me trying to chase her perfection isn’t something that can be achieved in a few moments.
I know in the beginning she’s very still. Her upper body, face, and hands are what drives the feeling initially. I feel her begin to reach. I hold on and push her hips forward as she does. Then as the lyric begins about something bringing you back, instead of the connotation of sadness she had before, she spins on her good leg to face me.
Her cheek buries itself in my chest. Her hair flies around like it’s whipping in a hurricane. For a moment, I let go of the good side of her body and cup the back of her neck. To let her know the depth of how I have her, I wrap my arm at her waist and drop her upper body back in a bend. When I can feel she’s able to do this without pain, I let her hang like she’s weightless. Her dance world has been upside down, now she can see it from there and know it’s not going to stay that way.
She wraps her injured leg around mine and forces her core back to my chest. Dylan’s glassy eyes greet me as she cups her hands over my shoulders. “Lift me and turn, Eli.” I press her over my head. She lets her head fall back so her hair drapes all down her back. All of her toes are pointed against my thighs. I can feel them.
We spin slowly in a circle until she lifts her head and looks down at me with a nod. I put her down to plant on her good leg. “Let me go,” she commands. I let her pirouette a few feet from my hands, just in case. Her physical strength is still something to marvel at, even with being sidelined for a few weeks.
She’s still able to push off and retract on the same leg into the most interesting shapes. She can still freeze and contort in the most beautiful ways. Dylan only needed to see that she still could. She can.
My Viper is not leaping breathlessly into the air and tossing herself to the floor, but she is dancing. The contemporary form she’s used to is stunning. I want to have her, just for a moment, go into the classic partnering with me. Dylan turns back to me. With a roll of her fingers, she freezes.
Her lips are parted and waiting for me. I stalk toward her, cupping the sides of her neck. Our noses press together like each is on one side of a pane of glass. Her hands wrap over my wrists as we rotate together. The part of the song that I’ve always found very angst filled and angry, I want now to be the moment when she takes it all back.
I can feel the music build. This time, I have a request. “Do you trust me?” I ask. She nods in simple agreement. I spin her in my arms like she’s my marionette or muse. Her hands remain on my wrists as I lift her over my head. I’ve never done this before, so I don’t have a frame of reference, other than simply watching. I can feel the gorgeous arch in her body. Her arms are outspread. To anyone else, she might look like she’s flying. I certainly hope she feels like it.