Paati’s bed creaks as she shifts.
Her breathing sounds harsher than normal.
I mustn’t wake her.
My frantic fingers
grope through the blackness
searching
for my crutches—or my leg.
At last I find
my leg under my bed.
A sputter of relief.
Tacking it on,
bladder almost bursting,
I hurl myself toward the bathroom.
Yank at the door.
My leg isn’t
on properly.
I slip
on the cold tiles
of the bathroom floor.
Between my legs
a shameful trickle
I can’t
control.
Lying in a yellow pool,
wetness seeping through my nightclothes,
I yank off the thing pretending to be my limb.
Shove it away
into the darkness.
I strip, clean myself, crawl,
find bleach and a sponge,
swab my mess off the tiles.
Naked. Wretched.
I notice Ma hovering—
holding my leg aloft
like a banner begging for truce.
How much of my degrading drama has she seen?
I fling words at her like shards of glass,
aiming to slash her apart.
“My accident was the answer to your prayers, wasn’t it?
Happy I can’t dance anymore?”
Ma lays the leg down beside me.
Cups my chin so I can’t turn away.
Crouching,
she brushes the top of my forehead
with a kiss.
I don’t remember the last time
Ma kissed me.
Long ago
maybe.
When I was a baby.
I’m too startled to pull away.
THE BEHOLDER
Jim’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise
as I enter his office on crutches
and crumple into a chair.
“My dance teacher threw me out of his dance school.”
“No way,” Jim says.
His jaw clenches.
Then he bursts out, “What a fool.
What a poor excuse for a teacher.
You’ll be an amazing dancer one day
and he’ll regret his stupidity.
His loss, not yours, kiddo.”
Hearing Jim’s voice shake with anger
on my behalf,