When she wakes up Nina feels sick and heavy, her mouth sour, tasting of vomit. Lily is asleep, her head on Nina's lap.
It wasn't a dream.
Nina flips her (pink) phone open and gnaws at her (pink) nails through the first four rings, until her (not pink) mother picks up. "Nina," she says, "where were you?"
"I'm at the hospital," Nina whispers. She feels like a robot. Lily doesn't stir. "Didn't they call you?"
"I don't know," her mother says, and there are a few moments of silence as she searches through her phone history, her breathing coming heavy through the line. Nina puts it away from her ear.
"Why are you whispering?" her mother asks, and then: "Come home."
"Okay," Nina says, and murmurs a mechanic I love you before hanging up. "I'm not whispering," she says to the silence.
You are, the silence answers.
Lily doesn't wake up when she leaves. It's just as well. Nina can't believe she kissed her; can't believe she doesn't remember the taste.
*
Her mother could as well be saying "Bedrest is for the weak." It's what Nina hears anyway.
"I know," she says, and pushes herself up in her bed. She feels her skeleton acutely, every bone pushing against the skin, trying to break out.
"A friend of yours called," Nina's mother says. Her eyebrows are furrowed, you don't have any friends.
"Really," Nina says flatly, no interrogation point.
"Yes," her mother says with hawk eyes. She starts tidying up Nina's room, even though it doesn't need tidying. She re-folds a folded sweater, spider fingers stringing along the seams.
Silence – the silence of the before-shows, the rise of the curtain imminent, adrenalin starting to boil in scrawny arms. Silence, like before the storms, heavy and hot.
no subject
When she wakes up Nina feels sick and heavy, her mouth sour, tasting of vomit. Lily is asleep, her head on Nina's lap.
It wasn't a dream.
Nina flips her (pink) phone open and gnaws at her (pink) nails through the first four rings, until her (not pink) mother picks up. "Nina," she says, "where were you?"
"I'm at the hospital," Nina whispers. She feels like a robot. Lily doesn't stir. "Didn't they call you?"
"I don't know," her mother says, and there are a few moments of silence as she searches through her phone history, her breathing coming heavy through the line. Nina puts it away from her ear.
"Why are you whispering?" her mother asks, and then: "Come home."
"Okay," Nina says, and murmurs a mechanic I love you before hanging up. "I'm not whispering," she says to the silence.
You are, the silence answers.
Lily doesn't wake up when she leaves. It's just as well. Nina can't believe she kissed her; can't believe she doesn't remember the taste.
*
Her mother could as well be saying "Bedrest is for the weak." It's what Nina hears anyway.
"I know," she says, and pushes herself up in her bed. She feels her skeleton acutely, every bone pushing against the skin, trying to break out.
"A friend of yours called," Nina's mother says. Her eyebrows are furrowed, you don't have any friends.
"Really," Nina says flatly, no interrogation point.
"Yes," her mother says with hawk eyes. She starts tidying up Nina's room, even though it doesn't need tidying. She re-folds a folded sweater, spider fingers stringing along the seams.
Silence – the silence of the before-shows, the rise of the curtain imminent, adrenalin starting to boil in scrawny arms. Silence, like before the storms, heavy and hot.
"Who is she?"
Nina closes her eyes. "She dances," she says.
"Oh," her mother answers.
It's enough. Dancing is always enough.
*