En Pointe

By Alex R Price

Prom was to be that magical moment every young woman could enjoy; but this one was different. Trophies and ribbons decorated her pink wall. Smiling faces peered out from the glossy four-by-six cards. A mirror filled one wall from floor to ceiling. A purple satin dress hung neatly on the closet door.

Joycee’s personality had hardened as her mother darkened the skies around her over the past eighteen months. The wreck and injury caused finger pointing in all directions, they said it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but Joycee knew different. “Godhad sent down a bolt that severed her father from her and a support check from her mother.” That rumor wasn’t entirely true. Joycee knew what happened.

The thump of bass reverberated through Joycee’s body drowning out the excited chatter in the gymnasium and the plague of resentment her mother beamed at her. Joycee danced with her friends, laughing and capturing more moments for the four-by-six cards. She rolled her arms gracefully through the air as if she didn’t need the wheelchair.

The music drummed, the royalty selected, Joycee and her classmates danced into the night. Joycee rolled her chair up to the DJ, waving him down to her level. A brief conversation later, she returned to her friends. She glanced to the sidelines and spotted her mother waiting to take her home, but she wasn’t ready yet. On her cue, her friends escorted her to the center of the dance floor as the music died out. She waved Samuel over. He looked down at her, puzzled at her request.

“I want to dance with you,” Joycee said, “and not with my chair.”

With a friend on each side and Samuel holding her at the waist, Joycee wrapped her arms around Samuel’s neck. Together they hauled her to her feet for the first time in forever. As the Nutcracker’s “Waltz of the Flowers” began, the four of them moved to and fro in a slow circle. Students roared and applauded from the sides, but Joycee didn’t hear them. She wasn’t done yet.

“Will you catch me?” Joycee asked.

“Yes,” came his definite reply.

Joycee nodded and summoned every bit of strength and willpower she had and some that she didn’t. In one swift move, her friends stripped her dress entirely away, leaving her in a shimmering silver-and-gold bodice with white tights and a brilliant white tutu. As the song climaxed, Joycee jerkily moved her feet wrapped in her old pointe shoes to third position. Samuel held her waist tightly, keeping her from falling. She lifted one arm above her head, the other steadied on Samuel’s strong and steady arms. Flexing her trembling legs against pain and uncertainty, she raised herself a full six inches taller. Samuel let go and moved behind her, arms ever ready to assist.

Through the roar of the crowd, she stared her mother down. It was a silent message she wanted to send. “You will not break us.”