Crushing Marshmallows By Daley King
S
ylvie loved the sound of cracking joints. She cracked her toes, her neck, her back, but most of all she loved cracking the joints in her hands. When she was anxious sitting in class, she squeezed her fingers together, rolling them into her desk until she heard a faint pop. Sylvie ignored the disgusted look from her classmates, they were reactions she had encountered before with her aunt and uncle, and Sylvie was very immune to them. «Oh you poor thing! Orphaned so young. Tsk tsk. Well you are just so lucky that the Montgomery’s were able to take you in.» This was the usual welcome Sylvie would have to entertain at her aunt and uncle’s parties. Taken in at the tender age of eight, Sylvie still felt like she was stuck on the outside. Whenever given the opportunity, Aunt Constance would tell everyone how her sister died in a tragic car trash, how she and her husband, Clarence took Sylvie in. Each time they received a round of sympathy and admiration, to which Constance pursed her lips proudly. Clarence would nod here and there, sipping his scotch and checking his Rolex every once in a while. Then, a few conversations later, Constance would brag about her niece’s talent and remind everyone of an upcoming recital Sylvie was to perform in. The Montgomery’s never planned on having children. Clarence was always busy with new investments, and Constance with the Daughters of the American Revolution. When Sylvie moved in with them, Constance decided it would be a good idea to find Sylvie an activity to occupy her time. Sylvie turned out to have quite a knack for ballet, and Constance would always relish in the fact that she discovered Sylvie’s talent. Sylvie resembled her mother, tall and thin, fair skin, blue eyes and long dark hair and she had her father’s loud deep laugh whenever she truly found something to be funny. The only similarity Constance and Sylvie shared were their blue eyes. Constance was small but fiery, pale with aging blonde hair. She married into money, and while her and Clarence made a fine pair, the Montgomery’s never engaged in public displays of affection, or affection at all really. They kept quiet about their relationship, preferring to broadcast their wealth rather than their warmth. Intimacy was not a commodity in the Montgomery home. Sylvie’s parents used to dance freely in their home, picking Sylvie up and showering her with hugs and kisses. There were no hugs in the Montgomery home. Not even a chair would be so kind as to offer some sort of support. And while the Montgomery’s were very generous with Sylvie, everything in their home was cold and hard, much like the stages Sylvie would dance and practice on. Sylvie would forever remember her first ballet class. She entered shyly; given a slight push by her Aunt Constance who told her she would be back in an hour to pick her up. Sylvie looked down and nodded, cautiously entering the studio and listening intently for her first instructions. The instructor, Natasha, commanded the room, gliding through each row of ballerinas. Pretend you are holding a marshmallow between your middle finger and your thumb. Natasha declared, striding by each girl and placing her fingers ever so carefully. Natasha lifted her chin, and stood in front of the two lines of future ballerinas. Like this. She insisted, gazing off into the distance and raising her
arms above the crown of her head. She bent her arms every so slightly and turned her wrists in to make them look slightly broken, but beautifully so. Her hands were soft, and she was holding her imaginary marshmallow. Ballerinas’ hands are soft. Whenever you are dancing, you will be holding these marshmallows. Whatever you do, do not crush the marshmallow. You are to look elegant my girls, and you cannot do that if your fingers are not holding the marshmallow! Sylvie kept her head still, but moved her eyes looking around the class. No one dared crush a marshmallow in front of Natasha. What would happen if Sylvie tried? She squeezed her fingers together while Natasha was on the opposite side of the room, crushing both marshmallows, and feeling the joints in her fingers crack. She heard a faint crack—a release, finally she felt a release. Again and again, Sylvie crushed the marshmallows in and out of the studio. While she was wandering within the Montgomery home, she would crush the marshmallows between her fingers. Sometimes she even felt her toes pushing in and crushing a marshmallow or two. The only way Sylvie was positive if she had crushed the marshmallow would be to hear a faint pop and crack of her joints. Then she could be sure. Her imaginary marshmallows were the only soft objects in the Montgomery house, and Sylvie carried them with her everywhere. Aunt Constance and Uncle Clarence told her this nasty habit of hers was not proper or ladylike, but Sylvie, for the first time, did not obey the Montgomery’s wishes. She cracked her joints all she liked, feeling a sort of high each time she did. When she was scolded she gave an absentminded apology, but a few minutes later she would crack her joints once more, rolling her hands and feet over the cushions of marshmallows. This continued on and on, and Sylvie collected more and more marshmallows throughout the years. For Sylvie’s high school graduation, Aunt Constance and Uncle Clarence rewarded her with a trip to Paris. Sylvie had the option to bring a friend, but she insisted on going alone. She wished to take her marshmallows as her companion and a travel book as her guide. Sylvie stayed in the junior suite by Le Louvre, in the first district of Paris. The Montgomery’s would not have their niece stay in anything less. In the first couple days of her trip, Sylvie stayed holed up in her room, fascinated by the warmth and ease of her bed and adjusting to the time difference. She rolled around on her giant bed as if it were one giant marshmallow, and heard little cracks in her back as she did. On the third day, Sylvie decided to go to Musee D’Orsay. Her travel book spoke highly of it, and it really was time Sylvie explored the city. She slipped on her oxford booties and a short white chiffon dress. A taxi was hailed for Sylvie almost immediately, and there was no wait to get inside the museum. Sylvie wandered aimlessly, looking at a piece of artwork every now and then but really she just tried to listen in on the other guests’ conversations. Sylvie had taken French throughout high school and picked up a couple of words through ballet. She was amazed that she could actually understand the language; maybe she would try speaking it with someone later. Sylvie stopped dead in her tracks as she came across Degas’s section. He had many pieces dedicated to ballerinas, and Sylvie found one piece absolutely breathtaking. l’Etoile—as in star, Sylvie thought, slowly gliding towards the beautiful painting. It was a piece that showcased a beautiful ballerina, fair with dark hair, the oil strokes meshing into the different colors within the painting. Sylvie reached for her camera only to drop it back in her bag, there were no photographs allowed in Musee D’Orsay. Sylvie crushed a marshmallow in her bag, and started
fiddling with her fingers; listening for faint pops each time she bent them. Sylvie checked her surroundings, making sure no one was watching. She crept up to slowly to l’Etoile, getting as close to the painting without actually touching it. Sylvie clasped her hands behind her back to keep her from touching the dancer. She squinted her eyes, examining the dancer’s hands, was she crushing marshmallows? It didn’t look like it. The dancer’s hands had been melted into the rest of the painting. Sylvie squeezed her fingers together, crushing the marshmallows in her hands until she felt them flattening into her palms. She slowly cracked every joint in her body, soon melting into the marshmallows. Sylvie wasn’t sure where her body had gone, and she didn’t care. She felt her self rise and fall into the painting, melting effortlessly into the different brush strokes of every color. Sylvie did not have any fingers or feet to crack. She no longer had to release herself. Sylvie was finally free. She was among a star.