OCTOBER 12th, 1991 •VENTURA, CALIFORNIA• GRANDMA'S HOUSE __________
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˗ˏˋ SERAFINA 'ˎ˗
~౨ৎ~
The human body could never compare to a well-oiled machine. I could feel my toes trembling in weariness while remaining in en pointe for minutes straight, anticipating to perfect my balance— which was already at its finest. But I needed to be more than just fine. Victoria Primrose wasn't a fine dancer, she was an absolute one. I could remember my mother practicing for hours on end, with me mimicking her movements as if I stood any match against her. I was the human and my mother was the machine.
"You've been twistin' and turnin' all day Fifi," grandma Bernadette noted while neatly folding a pile of dish towels that would soon be stored within the chipped drawers of our kitchen. "Sit down and relax a little."
"I will in a bit," I reassured her for the umpteenth time.
"Mm, just like your mama," she shook her head. "Never knew when to get off her toes."
The mentioning of my mother knotted my stomach in the worst possible manner and the elevation of my height had declined. I was no longer en pointe and my toes ached in agony as they attempted to regain integrity. Seeking immediate support, I stumbled onto the couch and released the tension that I had been suppressing.
"I'll run an ice bath for you with some Epsom salt but seriously baby, you need to stop bein' so hard on yourself. Grandma's only tellin' you this because I love you and I refuse to let you go through the same strenuous shit your mom put herself through."
"I know grandma," I strained, trying to endure the tingling sensation that my toes were currently feeling. "I'll ease up on myself."
"Good, you work too hard. Anyway, I wanna know why my phone bill went up a whole five dollars."
Too dumbfounded to release even a syllable, my mouth bawled as my grandmother gave me a knowing look while teasingly raising and lowering her thick brows. The stammering rise of a smile forced my right hand toward my mouth and my grandmother snickered with amusement.
"Oh," she emphasized, placing the last of her folded cloths onto a wooden accent table. "So, you got a lil' boyfriend."
"No," I shook my head in denial. "Just a friend grandma— but yes, he is a guy."
"And does this guy have a name? I wanna know who to blame for my bill bein' raised."
