I felt as if I was flying as my leg whipped around me at lightning speed; something I never thought I would achieve. Pirouette, aerial, backflip. Pirouette, aerial…
Crack!
My leg twisted into an angle I never thought was possible. A thought crept in my mind, “Mother is going to be livid”.
Scream after scream ripped out of my throat until my voice went hoarse and raw. Sobbing I tried to sit up but another crack forced me back to the ground, the sound echoing off the plain walls.
Finally, Tommy burst through the door, his eyes widening in horror as he called for help. My face was soaked with tears as flashes of bright blue and red appeared in the window. A young looking lady placed me on a stretcher. Everything faded into a blur, then to black.
Sweaty, hot, and clammy, I opened my eyes a crack and my sobbing mother appeared in front of me, her eyes shimmering before the tears crashed onto the floor like a waterfall. She gazed at me, a shaking hand clasped to her chest. She perches on the edge of the bed and clasps my hand. I stare at it silently. Her raven black hair cascades down her back, a feature I was always jealous of. Instead I got a head of unruly brown hair from Father which resembled a bird's nest on my best hair days.
I had never wanted to dance as much as Mother did, she was a star. She used to look like those ballerinas that seemed so perfect, their movements were almost mechanical. But she’s changed. It’s as if all the light and happiness had drained out of her and she was trying to suck it out of me slowly but surely. I knew that she loved me so I danced until my heart thumped out of my chest, my feet were blistered, and my body bony. Every time I thought that this was the day. The day I would admit I had other dreams, other aspirations. Yet, when I opened my mouth it was like my throat constricted in punishing me from disobeying Mother’s wishes.
“Oh honey, your legs…your legs” she murmured, a fresh set of tears brimming in her eyes.
“Mother, I can’t dance. You know that right?” I questioned, slowly slipping my hands out of her tight grasp.
“You will dance Rachel...” The response was sharp, sinister.
“You know i can’t, Dr Singh said..”, i trail off as i watch her eyes lose all emotion, replaced with something more dark and dangerous.
“Rachel, do it for mummy.”
She averts her black cold eyes from my stiff body to the poster on the wall. It’s of a young girl wearing prosthetic legs. She’s running beside another girl, laughing and I gaze at her sun-kissed, rosy cheeks and her golden gift of hair.
“You can still dance with prosthetic legs Rachel”, she declared.
“I don’t want to focus on just dance. I.. I want to be a vet”. I twist my hands waiting for a response, the air is as still as ever waiting for the tension to pass.
“Are you trying to negotiate?”, she snapped whilst abruptly getting up and walking to the door. “ Know your place” she hissed.
I sit up, looking at my long limbs which don’t work anymore, the white, pristine walls which will be my new home until my legs work. Why did I think she would change?