“The Ballerina” by Shydel James, New Jersey

topic: BORDERS medium: TEXT

“The Ballerina” won the Borders Contest in March 2011

Get to know Shydel better by going Behind the Story

Mona opened her eyes slowly as she lay flat on her back in bed.  She stared blankly at the stark white ceiling that seemed brighter than usual this morning with the sun bursting through a small picture window and the sheer pink curtains that hung above it.  

Mona’s head made a deep recess in the pillow.  She was tucked in tight, nestled beneath a fluffy, pink and white striped comforter, which stopped where her neck started.  A chocolate brown ratty-haired teddy bear shared the pillow with her, its dark brown eyes staring at the same white ceiling.   Mona’s eyes darted across the room and landed on the wallpaper border that trimmed the top of the walls in her bedroom.

The pale pink border featured a ballerina clad in a white tutu covered in silver stars and a pair of pink satin toe shoes to match.  She floated on a cloud of pixie dust as she performed four distinct moves in succession around the outskirts of the bedroom.

The first move: the Coupe’.  Mona remembered that one well. Her very first ballet instructor, Mrs. Donaldson, taught her that one when she was 11-years-old.  She had been the first one in the class to pick up on it correctly.

But Mona never did perfect the ballerina’s next position: the Arabesque.  She could never keep both of her knees straight, something she didn’t have to worry about anymore.

The Sissonne: that step came easy. She picked up on that one with no problem during rehearsals for Swan Lake her junior year in high school. Her jumps were perfect; at least that’s what her mother told her. She had captured Mona’s entire performance on video. Mona couldn’t stand to watch herself dance, so she took her mother’s word for it.

Ah. The Grand jete’. It was the one move the ballerina on the wallpaper border and Mona had most in common: it would be their last. 

A quick knock at the door interrupted Mona’s trip down memory lane.  Her mom peeked her head in.

 “Sweetheart, you awake?” she asked. 

 Before Mona could answer, her mother pushed open the door with a wheelchair.

 “Okay, sweetheart,” her mother said as she positioned the wheelchair in front of her bed and locked it into place. “Let’s get you washed up and some food in your belly.”

 Her mother pulled the comforter back and locked her forearms underneath Mona’s armpits just like the specialist had showed her, and dragged her limp body from the bed into the wheelchair. The steal grey padding in the chair was scrawny. The silver metal was ice cold against Mona’s legs, but she didn’t feel a thing.

 “There you go,” her mother said as she got Mona settled in and began to unlock the brakes on the wheelchair.

 As her mother walked backwards, wheeling her out of her bedroom, Mona smiled longingly at the ballerina as she performed her four step routine around the perimeter of her bedroom.