Pas De Deux

• Hilary Saltis , Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2018

The TV rattled on in the silence of her new world. The screen played a slow and colourful pas de deux which entranced the blank and hollowed faces that filled the musty room. The beauty and flow of the dance told a story of life. The frail chair in which she sat covered in deep brown corduroy and marked with age was weary with it's years of use. It had watched a myriad faces come and go. It’s feet were cracked, splintered and chipped of it’s shiny auburn varnish. It stood as tall as it dared, or as tall as it could. I watched it sigh and lull itself to sleep softly.

I watched her gaze transparently at the pictures I brought. I knew nothing phased her anymore but still I hoped she would come back.

Stiff and silent we sat watching the world outside move at a contented pace. It was so alien compared to the one in which I sat. As I watched through the glass, what little hope remained in me rose gently, it danced and twirled throughout room then leaped out the window and back into the sun with the sounds of youth. It was almost as if it too knew that this was a lost cause.

Finally, she spoke.

“Who is that?”

“That’s you, when you were young. Ma, do you remember?”

“That’s me?”

“Yes.”

“And who are you again?”

“A friend.”

Silence again. That frustrating silence pierced my ears.

A familiar breeze breathed back into the room wafting the god-awful fume of mothballs around the room. The mirror on the wall hung dusty and scratched, a reflection of unfamiliarity sits still and cool. Her best days were the ones when she told me of her childhood, of the days she spent with her sister. She told me once about how they would walk through the forests that lay just outside their family property and sneak into the old abandoned house.

“We loved the outdoors.”

Of course, most of her stories weren’t true but it made her smile and it was the only time she would, so I always asked her to tell me more. As she spoke I could see she longed to be outside again, to be able to dance through long blades of emerald grass and glassy sapphire oceans. She didn’t belong in here, it wasn’t a home that was certain.

At lunch she ate half a cheese sandwich and a jelly cup then swallowed her pills with a barely lukewarm milo. I wheeled her into the courtyard and sat her in the sun and as I read her favourite book aloud - the tale of a dancing duo - a cool breeze began to wander. My tears stung as they crawled down my cheek and met the cold pavement with a heavy defeat. As I watched the sun fall lazily behind a blurred curtain of royal blue sky I understood - all our time will be like this, until she is gone.