intermission/et finir

“Come on ladies, it’s already spring and we’re not ready.”

She stared blankly up at the ceiling as Miss Lavigne pointlessly directed the stretches she had done about as many times as she changed clothes. It was akin to praying, the 8 second intervals of calm pulling on muscle fibers that a few minutes earlier had been contracting vigorously to propel her into the air for sequences of great leaps. The ache reassured her that she had worked hard, and the lingering sting from the burn fluttered through her thighs the same way an excited teenage girl might get butterflies. Camille dipped into a split and leaned her head forward, straining to keep her forehead connected to her knee until the sweet “et” from Miss Lavigne released her from her clamp. 

She and the other girls got up, fluttering like a flock of swans towards the corner of the practice room where all their bags rested on the floor. Banana, boiled egg, greek yogurt. It was a routine she learned from one of the older girls. And despite how she couldn’t even convince herself into believing the meal was appetizing, she still felt full enough for the next practice. She opened up her bag, spotting the familiar arrangement of food that she had prepared ahead of time, but- 

Miss Lavigne’s voice rang out again, “I need you to push even harder these next few rehearsals, girls. Just because we won before doesn’t mean we’ll win again.” 

Ignoring her, she kept digging through her bag in search of what were supposed to be two large hard forms. She dumped the bag open, still unable to locate the white and blue sneakers she wore casually. Defeated, Camille heaved her bag onto her shoulder and began following the other girls out the room with her ballet flats dangling between her fingers. Quiet pitter-patters of elegant forms glided across the shiny wooden surface, she drifted out the door like a nymph amongst many others.

“Camille,”

The words seemed to linger on Miss Lavigne’s tongue, her lips slightly agape before deciding to close again.

“Keep up the good work.”

She stared at Miss Lavigne’s face for a bit longer than what would be considered socially acceptable, and then nodded politely.

The bare ground isn’t as bad as you’d think. Though it may mostly be attributed to the fact that this part of town was nice enough to have only smooth brick sidewalks. What bothered Camille the most was the fact that the bottom of her tights were likely pitch black by now, and that she still had a premonition to go to the grocery store before going home. Her sulking was interrupted by a soft chime. 

**you have one pending voicemail from “妹妹”

Hi Mill! Mom and I made dumplings last night. We made a plate with cilantro and pork instead of chives and pork because it didn’t feel right not doing so, even if you’re not here. But anyways, I hope you can be with us to eat it next time and I hope that this whole ballet thing is treating you well. Mom is worr-

She shut her phone and pushed past the heavy doors of the grocery store. She knew that she needed to buy something, but what specifically she couldn’t remember. Anything to satiate her mind, she thought, to keep company against the uncomfortable awkwardness of solitude of mind, would suffice. She removed her airpods, opting instead to listen to the faint chatter of grocery shoppers that all blended into one cohesive murmur. Camille had convinced herself that her browsing of the grocery aisles was just to remember what she needed to buy, but really, it was more self indulgent than anything else.

Eventually, she found herself embalmed in the sweet and slightly stale scent of the cereal aisle. She let her eyes linger over the cereal section, recognizing a familiar tiger imprinted on a box. This time newer, with more artistic designs flowing all around him, but still the same tiger from the frosted flakes box that could always be found in the pantry of her childhood home. Her sister and her often fought over the flakes, claiming one was more frosted than the other. In hindsight, it was a silly thing, Camille thought, but she remembered distinctly just how mad the two would become over such silly matters. Her daze in the cereal aisle was interrupted but the chime of her phone.

**one image sent from “妹妹”

Her thumb hovered over the notification for what felt like 2 minutes but was only one. Hesitantly, the manicured finger pressed down against the glass screen with a soft click of her nail.

Message from 妹妹: I let Stewart eat the rest of your dumplings! Sorry Mill!

Camille’s eyes comfortably rested on the message and picture, gazing at the two with great consideration as if she had the rest of her entire life to analyze the meaning of such a simple package of words.

…

She zoomed in on the picture, a selfie of her sister with a toothy grin in front of a yorkshire terrier sloppily gobbling down a plate of dumplings, her mother in the background with a roll of paper towels and a wide smile.

…

It’s been a while since I’ve had cilantro.

…

Slowly, she let out a light exhale and softly tapped her phone shut. She shifted her weight side to side, keeping her eyes trained on the cereal display before swaying her ballet shoes from her left hand to her right to reach up. 

It’s spring and I’m not ready. 

It’s spring and I’m not ready.

It’s spring and I’m not ready.