Page 27 of Give Me Strength

Finally, I find myself standing before a door I know all too well. The dance studio. Our sanctuary. The place where I could escape everything, where the music would take me away. I push the door open and step inside, the familiar scent of wood and rosin greeting me.

The studio is just as I remember it, with mirrors lining one wall and the barre standing sturdy and inviting. My feet move of their own accord, carrying me to the small closet in the back of the studio. Upon opening it, I am surprised to find a few pairs of pointe shoes and tulle skirts still there. I pick up a pair of shoes, their satin worn but still beautiful, and slip them on. They fit, barely. Oh well. No pain, no gain.

I walk over to the corner where the old entertainment unit sits, a stack of CDs beside it. My fingers hover over the titles before selecting one — Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet.” Tragic and beautiful, it’s a piece that always resonated with me.

I pop in the CD and press play, and the room fills with the hauntingly beautiful strains of Prokofiev’s “Montagues and Capulets.” I take a deep, steadying breath and close my eyes, letting the music wash over me, drowning out the world. My body moves instinctively, muscle memory taking over.

Doing this without properly stretching is a bad idea, and I know I will pay for this in the morning. So I ease into it, starting with a few tentative steps, my feet sliding out and snapping back together in perfect fifth position, the precision drilled into me since childhood. The music swells, and I rise onto pointe, feeling the familiar strain in my calves. I move into a series of spins, each step precise and deliberate, my body whirling gracefully.

As the music transitions to the mournful “Juliet’s Funeral,” I let the sorrow of the piece flow through me. My arms extend into a graceful port de bras, and I execute a series of arabesques, my leg lifted behind me, reaching for something just out of grasp. I can feel the weight of the tragedy in every movement, the story of love, loss, and vengeance echoing my own.

For a moment, I’m not in this house filled with ghosts. I’m just a ballerina, lost in the beauty of the dance. As I leap across the floor, my body soars through the air with a controlled elegance. Each leap feels like a release, a moment of weightlessness in the midst of my heavy heart. I finish with a series of pirouettes, my body spinning faster and faster, the world blurring around me.

The final notes fade, and I come to a stop, breathless and trembling. The silence rushes back in, but it feels different now. It’s less oppressive, more peaceful. I look at my reflection in the mirror, seeing the girl I used to be and the woman I’ve become. The past and present blend together, and for the first time, it feels like I might be able to carry both with me.

The decision to stay or leave is still there, but it no longer feels like an impossible choice. I feel lighter, hopeful.

Maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to make this house a home again.

A place where memories of the past can coexist with hopes for the future.

There’s movement in the doorway, and I turn to find Aunt Bonnie and Gilbert standing there, watching me with expressions of awe and sorrow. I hadn’t realized I had an audience.

I wasn’t doing this for an audience.

I was doing it for myself.

12

GILBERT

The spell breaks the moment Ashlynn notices us watching her. Her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability, and she averts her eyes, her breath still coming in short, uneven bursts.

I step forward, my voice thick with emotion. “Ashlynn,” I manage, struggling to keep my composure, “that was… breathtaking.”

Ashlynn’s eyes return to mine, and she manages a small, fragile smile, the exhaustion evident in her eyes. There’s a vulnerability in her gaze, a silent plea for something I can’t quite decipher.

Bonnie nods, unable to speak, her tears saying what words cannot. She too steps forward, wrapping an arm around Ashlynn’s shoulders, and she sags against her aunt.

“Let’s get you to bed, Lynn. You’ve had a long day.”

Ashlynn nods silently, allowing herself to be led out. I want to offer to carry her, but there’s clearly more happening here, something raw and heavy that they need to discuss. I follow a few feet behind them, the sight of Ashlynn’s weary form stirring something deeply protective within me. The soft murmurs of their conversation and the creak of the stairs echo through the house, each sound a reminder of the weight of the responsibility I am about to take on.

Because I already decided, I’m doing this. All that’s left is for Ashlynn to say yes.

As I make a detour for the living room, the haunting strains of Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet” still linger in my mind. The depth of Ashlynn’s pain and the rawness of her expressions stay with me. I know that this guardianship is not just a legal responsibility; it’s a commitment to help her find her way through the darkness.

After a while, Bonnie joins me. Her eyes are red-rimmed and weary but determined. The room feels heavier now, burdened with unspoken concerns.

“She’s asleep,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Also, she’s staying.”

I nod, my thoughts racing. “It’s late, you should stay too.”

Did she just tense up, albeit slightly, or am I imagining it?

“That’s a tempting offer, but?—”

“No hidden motives, promise. I just thought… maybe seeing a familiar face in the morning would be good for her. She’s incredibly strong, but she’s also deeply hurting.”

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