STEPPING STONES Ruchi Mashruwala

photography

breakable (I), Lana Swindle

The bubble was fragile. Breakable. One harsh movement and it would vanish forever, disappearing without a trace. Only the memory of it would remain once it was gone. It sat on my soapy hands, large enough for me to blow it off with the right amount of air speed. I brought my hands up to my mouth, blowing gently. The bubble shifted slightly, moving to the tip of where my hands were cupped together. I exhaled slowly, and it lifted off, floating in the air for a moment before drifting into the sink, where it sat. It remained standing despite being so fragile. I tilted my head at it. Some lasted longer than others.

I blinked at my reflection in the mirror, dark hair falling into my eyes. My shirt was sticking to my stomach; I was sweating. We had been at it for hours, but our choreographer still wasn’t satisfied with our performance. It was a difficult dance, and our angles didn’t match up; our movements were too sudden or too sloppy. That’s what Michael said, anyway. I was regarded as the dancer of the group, the one who was supposed to be leading the group in the choreography, yet I was the one who received the harshest insults. I wasn’t sure why.

The door opened and I jumped, expecting to see Michael. It wasn’t beyond him to enter the bathroom if we were taking too long. The truth was, I wasn’t in here for necessity; I was here for a break. But when Sumiko emerged, I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. She was the one friendly face around here.

“Hey,” she said in her usual quiet voice, which was now laced with exhaustion. She wasn’t a dancer, never had been, and didn’t take the insults well. She took them to heart. “You’ve been in here a while.”

I nodded slowly. “Just trying to get away for a few minutes, I guess.” “He’s going to notice soon, you know.”

“He probably already has.” I closed my eyes, able to feel the goosebumps rising on my arms. It was cold here. “I’ll come back in.”

She seemed to acknowledge this, but didn’t break her gaze from my face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” My response was quick, unnatural. “Are you okay?”

Sumiko shrugged. “As okay as the rest of us, I guess.”

She was lying. I could tell. I didn’t say anything after that, only washed my hands, splashed water on my face, and returned to the main room. My shoulders were tense, almost squared, as though I was preparing myself for the blow that was to come. The mental, emotional blow.