Pieces of a Life

Inside were the remnants of their little pint sized party; a few people Leila didn't recognize or vaguely remembered were there, either participating in festivities or staring pensively, trying to decide if they were sick or not. Leila's body was telling her that it was time to sleep, for God's sake, just please get some fucking rest, but Leila couldn't think of where to go. Really, she just couldn't think. And then, from some girl on the couch, "Oh my God. You're—you're Leila Willows!"

The girl stood up. She was taller than Leila, and darker in color. She was lean and toned, with long graceful limbs and a thin, elegant face. Built like a dancer. The dark girl blinked at Leila with full lashes, sparkling eyes that seemed unhindered by alcohol while Leila was practically unable to function. Leila blinked back, puzzled by this polar opposite before her. The machine of her brain groaned and slugged along unproductively. This girl may have known Leila, but Leila did not know her. The dark girl noted Leila's lack of reply and continued.

"I work at your old dance studio; God, you're like—you're like a goddess!" Leila's face scrunched like a confused dog's. Goddess? What? "I mean jeez, we've got pictures of you everywhere—posters, even. You're a legend!" Leila's face felt broken. Things weren't moving right. Her expression must've been strange, but she had no idea what it looked like. "You've got to come to the studio. It would be unreal!"

Leila's face reassembled into a blank canvas. She stared some more, confused, and replied, "Uh. Okay."

The tall, dark girl babbled more but Leila's brain had given up. She'd agreed, stupidly, to show up at the studio, and that was her limit for processing information. She became a Technical Support Center maze of conversation and the girl eventually left, awkwardly, and Leila just stood there. "I'm so drunk," She turned slowly to Alex, who raised his big eyebrows. "I feel like a potato." He nodded in agreement.

"You are a potato."

"Jesus," Leila sat down. "How did this happen?"

Alex wasn't quite sure to what she was referring and neither was she, so they both sat there, the potatoes they were, on the couch. The television in front of them was somehow playing Castaway, and they found themselves entranced. They were too drunk for real life. They didn't notice Jack asleep on the floor or that there were still a handful of people in the kitchen—more people Leila didn't know—being loud. Leila had said "how did this happen?" but it was too deep of a statement for either of them to process at the time. Somehow, the back of her mind had sputtered and produced that statement and they both tossed it aside. Drunk though they were, they somehow knew Leila wasn't asking how she became a potato.

Drunk on the sofa, mesmerized by Castaway, something that had been buried and hidden was moving in its sleep.



Leila had woken up the next morning late, her mouth hanging open from sleep and her body uncomfortable from sleeping on the couch. Or, more accurately, sleeping on Alex. He was laying sprawled out on the cushions and she was sloppily flopped on top of him, both bodies twisted and tangled in uncomfortable positions that, somehow, they slept in. She sat up and knew she looked like a party monster: hair tangled, makeup smeared, eyes tired and barely focused, and alcohol still on her breath. And aside from that, that stupid promise she'd made came rushing back to her as her head sloshed around and tried to focus. She groaned at remembering. Such a stupid promise, to visit the studio. She could blame it on being wasted at the time, but she'd have made that promise sober, too. She felt obligated to go.

Alex began to wake up, still underneath her, and she looked at him. In all honesty, if she hadn't grown up with him, he would've been so intimidating to her. He was so different. He was good looking, outgoing, talented; he was confident and loud and had tattoos and was full of energy. He was friendly and happy. And Leila was small and quiet and sad. She spent all her time dancing. She had lots of money. She could still fit in her N*Sync No Strings Attached Tour t-shirt from when she was younger. She was so flat and he was so dimensional. She sounded like such a pathetic person, but her personality had withered away since she'd up and left. Which was her fault. She sniffled through her nose and Alex woke up, blinking and frowning.

"Ew, get off." He teased. He didn't sit up or shove Leila off though, and he rubbed his face. For the first time, she noticed the tattoo on his hand. The rose with the initials T.E.G. The tattoo for his brother.

She snatched his hand to look at it and her lips formed the slightest smile. "I like this," She murmured, tapping his hand with her finger. She raised her eyes to look at him.

"Yeah," he mumbled, not making eye contact. She didn't bother him about it. It was a nice tattoo, it really was, and she admired his strength for having it. The reminder on his skin forever of someone he loved so much who was lost. She wasn't strong enough to do something like that. She couldn't even get through an animal cruelty commercial with dry eyes. She rubbed his hand and let go.

Evelyn showed Leila to her bathroom and gave her fresh clothes and told her she'd better watch herself. Leila ignored her statement and showered, feeling much better once she was clean and in fresh clothes. The jeans were tight and probably stupidly expensive and she had a suspicion that the shirt was Jack's, but they were clean clothes nonetheless and she was content. Mouthwash burned away the taste and smell of alcohol on her tongue and Evelyn's makeup helped hide the exhaustion on her face, and Leila knew it was time to pay a visit to the studio. It wasn't something she could put off. She'd made a promise to that girl, and at least the studio was far less ominous than her house full of angry relatives. So Alex drove her, just like the old days, to her former dance studio.

"Just like old times, right cupcake?" He smirked and gently punched Leila's shoulder. She smiled.

"Yeah, I guess so. Do you want to come in with me?" The question came out of nowhere. He'd never asked and she'd never invited him. He'd never seen her dance, ever. He'd never come in to drop her off or pick her up. This was not a question that would've crossed her mind under any circumstance. So what just happened? They stared at each other, both equally shocked. Leila's brain had sputtered again like it had the night before, and produced something from the back of her mind that neither of them knew how to deal with.

"Uh. No thanks." Alex chose the correct answer. They relaxed now. "I'll wait out here."

Leila nodded and patted his cheek affectionately. He crinkled his nose and she tried to think of a witty goodbye but couldn't. She left his car to enter the familiar building and the first thing she saw was a wall of framed pictures—glossy, large prints of different classes, groups, recitals, whatever. One picture was visibly older, a photo of a young ballet class. The girls couldn't have been older than four, if they were that old. And there, round faced with curly hair, was little three year old Leila. The elder Leila stared blankly at her toddler countenance frozen forever on stage with a similar blank stare. The tiny toddler mouth was a round cherry of lipstick, chubby cheeks flushed with blush and long baby eyelashes plush with mascara. It had to have been one of her first recitals. She still had the typical poor technique of any baby dancer, she noticed with a small smirk, but she'd loved it from the second she had started at two years old. Most of the other girls in her class were there because their moms had put them there to keep them busy. But Leila, little baby two year old Leila, had fallen in love before she knew what love even was. In the beginning, before anyone really knew technique, that was what made Leila different.

Leila glanced up and found herself looking at a large poster for the Royal Ballet. The poster advertised one of the past seasons at the Royal and bore a picture of none other than herself, Leila as Aurora in Sleeping Beauty. Oh, she loved that role. She stared the poster down, the picture of perfection that the Royal was known for. Aurora was her favorite role to dance. She had danced in Romeo and Juliet, Cinderella, Giselle, Swan Lake, Sylvia. She had done La Beyadere, Coppelia, Don Quixote…she had done her time in the corps de ballet, she had danced solos and principle roles. And Aurora was always her favorite.

Leila sighed contentedly and looked back at the wall of pictures. With each photo she saw she grew increasingly uncomfortable: every picture was of her. It was like a shrine to Leila and her successes, and she felt very awkward looking at all those pictures. Pictures of her growing up and growing as a dancer, recitals, rehearsals, competitions. Even recent pictures of her with San Francisco or featured in other performances with other companies. Leila turned around quickly. She didn't deserve a shrine. She quietly walked into one of the studio rooms where a pointe class was rehearsing.

The girls were young, preteens or young teenagers, but definitely no older than 14. It was an age group that recognized Leila. She flushed pink and awkwardly waved hello. A young teacher she didn't know was instructing the class. Leila's former teacher stood by and smiled at her knowingly.

"Oh," The young teacher gasped. "Oh goodness." She scurried over to Leila. "You're—you're here. I can't believe it." She looked over her shoulder. Leila's old instructor walked over. The class of girls was whispering, rallied up.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, I was invited by someone and I promised I'd visit." Leila said softly, looking around to find that dark girl anywhere. She was nowhere in sight, unsurprisingly. The whispering girls strained to get a good look at her. She could hear them, some of the things they were saying.

I heard she turned down Julliard. Companies from everywhere, like, beg her to dance with them. She dances with San Francisco now. I heard she does ads for Gaynor Minden. I wonder what she eats? She dances principle now. She's shorter in person. I thought professional dancers were like, anorexic. I heard she could do a triple pirouette when she was like, seven. Do you think she has a boyfriend? You know, her favorite role is Aurora. I wonder what she'll do when she's done dancing.

"Would you mind helping us out?" The young teacher beamed, excited. She was probably younger than Leila was. "We could really use a professional take." Leila looked uneasily at her old instructor.

"Oh, sure. Why not?" She surprised herself in reply and stepped up beside the instructor, who was visibly excited. With Leila stepping up the class snapped back into formation, silent now and seeming almost afraid to move. Leila didn't say anything to put them at ease. Fear was power, and she often didn't have that upper hand.

The two instructors went back to their exercises, turning on their music and counting off for the class. Leila watched, out of habit, for flaws. Although this was a young, non-professional class, she was still scrutinizing. There was room to learn on any and every level, she thought. She watched them intently, a small frown of thought on her face. She didn't say much, just an occasional murmur of "relax your hands" or "fix your turnout"; mostly, they fixed themselves when they saw her single them out. And she'd give a slight nod and move on to a different dancer.

Leila's former instructor stood beside her. "Leila, I remember when you first started dancing." The woman chuckled. Leila offered a nostalgic smile. "We knew you'd be good when you first started; you couldn't get enough of it." The two stood, speaking quietly as the class continued around them. "But you really just blew us all away. Think about it—easily one of the best dancers in the world," Leila looked at the ground, embarrassed. She wouldn't disagree though because, really, it was true. The entire world knew her. "And you came from right here, our own little studio. God knows we can't pull that off again." She chuckled again.

Leila frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think greatness can be taught," She explained. "Especially with something like dance, something so built by passion and emotion. You can teach technique, you can teach someone to do things that look nice, sure. But you can't teach someone to feel, or to express what they feel that way." Leila nodded. That was true enough. "You were always different that way. I keep waiting for someone else to show up and be able to do what you could do," The teacher smiled sadly. Leila was embarrassed again. "But I'm always disappointed. I'm not the head instructor anymore, you know, and I think I resigned because I could never be satisfied after you left."

Leila felt very uncomfortable with that rather one-sided conversation. Yes, she knew she was good. Sure, she was world class. She knew that. She was humble, but not stupid. Studios all over America—maybe even the world—would have posters of her, not just her hometown dance studio. Yes, yes, yes; she knew that. But still, the teacher's reverent words made her feel uncomfortable. Had she ruined teaching for her by being too good? That wasn't fair to Leila, her instructor, or the other dancers that had been "disappointing".

And really, she shouldn't count. Her mother died a slow death when she was only five, for God's sake! Her father was never home, always working. Dancing was the only thing that was constant in her life. Of course she loved it; of course she was good at it. She had nothing else.

"I think I'll get going now." Leia said, almost mumbling. She began to leave.

"Oh, don't!" Her instructor walked with her out of the studio and into the hall. "Well, if you've got to go, I won't keep you. But you should come back again while you're here! I'm sure everyone would love to see you; you're practically a celebrity." She smiled at Leila, who forced one in return. She had forced enough smiles in her day to be convincing.

"Oh, Leila!" It was the dark girl from the party. Of course it was. Leila felt the corners of her mouth tug down involuntarily in annoyance. She really just wanted to go. "You came! I can't believe I missed it, ugh." The girl was so bubbly and Leila felt herself shrinking in front of the two people before her. It was too much and she didn't like it. She needed Alex.

"You should totally come back again, we're—"

"I don't know," Leila interrupted. Very out of character. "I don't think so."

"But we're working on Sleeping Beauty! I know you love Aurora!" The dark girl smiled. God damn it, she got her. Leila could not turn away from Aurora. It was her absolute favorite part. The girl had to know it, and she had to know she'd get Leila with it. Shit.

"I really don't have the time." Leila replied curtly. God, she couldn't give up Aurora. But she had to; she couldn't just stay in Baltimore forever and ever Amen because her old dance studio was doing her favorite ballet. She had other things to do, other roles to dance. She had a life outside of stupid Baltimore, as much as it was sucking it out of her.

"Well, even if you can't do that," The girl just kept pressing. "You should really give a little solo performance! I don't know, an excerpt from Sleeping Beauty, or whatever. It'd be educational and enjoyable!" The dark girl beamed.

Shit, shit shit. "You should be a salesman," Leila groaned. "Alright. I'll do it. Whatever."



Alex was fiddling with his phone when Leila walked back out, very blatantly wearing her stress on her face. Alex burst out a laugh. Typical Leila. She heaved a sigh when she sat in the car and she looked at him with wide blue eyes.

"Poor baby." He smirked and patted her leg. She made a groaning noise and slunk down in her seat.

"Things are getting different, Alex," She looked at him again with those blue eyes. "I feel it and it's…it's weird." She said quietly. "I can't say I don't like it, but I don't know that I like it, either. But regardless. Things are different."

Alex was silent for a while, because he knew Leila well enough to know she needed that. Silence, that is. She tended to be a quiet person, but he didn't mind. They were at a red light. Yes, things were different, he thought. He felt it too. Leila's return wasn't at all like anyone could've thought. It wasn't bitter with years of grudges, it wasn't sappy with years spent apart. It was just different.

"I know what you mean, Lei," He murmured, nodding. "I know."

She looked at him desperately. Luckily the light turned green so he didn't have to participate in one of her miserable staring contests. Being quiet the way she was, Leila did a lot of looking. Alex wasn't particularly quiet and got restless with her stares. Anyone would. She was such a dramatic, emotional person, but still lovable. And when she stared at you, big eyes that were unendingly blue, you just melted for her. He doubted Leila even knew she could do that to people. But she could, and she did it a lot to him, and it was getting harder for him to pretend she didn't affect him.

"I guess I'm doing some private performance or something. That girl from last night really knows how to sell." Leila looked out the windshield and hummed a single monotone note for a second. "I have no idea what I'm doing anymore."

Alex knew she didn't mean dancing. "I know, Lei," He repeated. "But that's okay. You've got to find yourself sometimes."

She gave him one of those looks again. "Have I lost myself?" She blinked her big blue eyes.

Alex exhaled, staring out the windshield. It was overcast again, of course. The weather knew what it was doing. He gripped the steering wheel and didn't look at Leila beside him. "Yeah, Leila," He fussed with his hair with one hand. "Yeah, you really have."