Fractured Magic
ANNA CAHILL
Blinding lights and a risen stage were all that separated them from an audience sat in total captivation.
Her body knew the movements so well her mind could wander to the feeling of ecstasy every flawless movement gave her.
After almost two hours with barely a moment to rest, her and her partner were dancing the final pas de deux before they’d leave the stage. Three grand jetes with Dylan lifting her as she leapt. A series of turns into an arabesque where he caught her. Each movement cast a spell that stilled the audience’s breath.
Her partner pulled her into his chest, and Casey met his eyes. Their gazes held for only a moment, but that moment was all she needed to feel the familiar magnetic pull between them. The way Dylan looked at her every time they danced filled her with reassurance. With their bond, they could do anything.
As the music swelled, Dylan moved his hands to her waist and lifted her above his head. Casey held her pose, feeling her muscles tense and hold her in place. She glided through the air as though a pair of fairies’ wings had sprouted from her shoulder blades.
Playing Alice in the country’s first tour of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was a dream come true for Casey, and she was determined to give that magic to every single person sat in the audience.
Dylan paraded her around the stage, the two of them performing a couple totally in love, and Casey held her perfect position. With all eyes fixed on her, she flew.
1-2-3-4-5-
Dylan stumbled. She had no time to comprehend what’d happened, slamming into the ground and instantly feeling pain shoot through her hip. A shriek sounded through the auditorium, silencing the orchestra.
‘Casey!’ Dylan cried, dropping to her side. His harsh grip on her shoulder barely registered next to the blinding pain emanating from her left hip.
You have to keep going. She fought to push herself back up, sobbing as her body refused. This can’t be happening. She could feel the magic she’d called on moments before slipping away.
Others rushed onto the stage, crowding around Casey as she wailed. She needed air. She needed them gone.
She dully heard the company director trying to console her whilst yelling directions at others she couldn’t make out. Darkness crept across her vision as she felt her head fall back and then…
Nothing.
*
It was a fracture. When her doctor had first told her, Casey had been overwhelmed with relief. A fractured hip was far from unheard of. She could be back dancing within a year. As relieved as she’d been, the last six weeks of treatment had been hell. The surgery went well but then came the physio.
She was determined to get back to her enchanted world, to regain the mobility she’d lost as quickly as possible. She did the tedious stretches and exercises without complaint. When her body begged her to stop, she pushed a little harder.
Her physiotherapist had worked with dancers for most of his career. He knew the expectations and pressures more than most. He warned Casey that forcing recovery could send her back to the starting point.
Casey knew she should listen, but she kept pushing. She stood at a chair in her house, using it as a makeshift bar. Raising her left knee, she pushed it outward, opening her hip. She repeated the movement ten times, then brought her knee to her chest. She started to push her knee outward but froze as she felt a sharp sting.
No. She couldn’t breathe. No, no. Should she call someone? She couldn’t start again. It’s ok. She had to calm down. You’re ok! Fighting against the feeling of constriction in her chest, she dragged in a breath, then another. It was a twinge and nothing more.
Every time she’d felt that pain since she’d started her recovery, she found herself frozen and petrified, waiting for an unbearable level of pain that never came.
Casey missed dance more than she could express. She missed the smell of the studio, the feeling of her pointe shoes, even the blisters that proved how hard she’d worked. But there was something in her, a small voice that muttered in her ear, ‘you will never find that magic again.’
She couldn’t listen to the voice. Casey was determined that nothing would keep her from her passion.
*
It was a Tuesday morning when Suzanne Graiche asked Casey to join her for tea. The company director rarely made time for her students outside of rehearsal, a thought which worried Casey.
She hadn’t seen her since the accident. Maybe she wanted to yell at her for such a public spectacle. That’d be better than her telling Casey she wasn’t welcome at the studio anymore.
‘Good morning, Miss Nolan.’ Mrs Graiche greeted her at her door. ‘Please, come on through.’ She turned and glided towards the sitting room.
Closing the door behind her, Casey couldn’t help her eyes from wandering around the home’s interior. ‘Hi Mrs Graiche. It’s lovely to see you again.’ She smiled at the older woman who she’d known for so many years.
She invited Casey to sit while she poured two cups of tea. She moved the same way she did in rehearsal, appearing to float around when others would seem hurried in their movements. When they’d first met, a young Casey had asked her mum if Mrs Graiche was in fact a fairy. Her mum had just laughed, but all these years later, Casey still wouldn’t be surprised if she discovered Mrs Graiche was an enchanted being.
‘Miss Nolan,’ she started as she sat down, ‘I would like to talk to you about your future with the company.’
She knows you can’t dance. Your magic is gone.
She continued, ‘your position in the company has been taken by another student for the remainder of this year, however you will have a guaranteed place if you choose to return next year.’
‘Next year?’ Casey struggled to stop herself from yelling. ‘Mrs Graiche, I need to get back to classes.’ She couldn’t wait another eight months when every day without dance her fear got worse.
‘You may return to regular classes as soon as your doctor clears you, however the health of my dancers is important.’ Mrs Graiche placed a hand softly on hers. ‘Your company position will still be there next year. For now, your focus should be ensuring you’re ready for when you return.’
If she tried to speak, Casey knew she’d cry. Everything she’d worked for was slipping away. The voice in her ear was right.
Mrs Graiche pulled a tissue from her sleeve and handed it to her. ‘I understand it must be hard to hear, my dear, however we can discuss some alternative ways to keep you involved in the meantime.’
Casey’s gaze dropped to her cup, and she nodded mutely.
*
Her first time in a studio was when she was a five-year-old. She’d felt awkward and nervous, but it had become her home; somewhere she felt safe and free. The past two months, she’d felt just as out of place as seventeen years before.
Walking in, she shrugged off her jacket and placed it along with her dance bag in a cubby. Moving to the bar at the back of the room, Casey took her place. She rested a hand on the bar, with the other hovering just off her thigh. Closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath, she waited for the music she’d set to start.
She slowly lowered herself into a plie, pushing back her knees and focusing on the feeling in her hip. Straightening her legs, she rose to her toes and raised her left arm over her head. Lowering her heels to the ground she repeated the movement. It was mechanical, nothing more.
Plie-rise-plie-rise-grand plie-rise-hold-point à la seconde-lower heel and repeat.
Casey continued through some simple warm up exercises, then moved to centre work. She felt no pain, and she hadn’t in a while. There was nothing physically holding her back anymore, only her own mind.
The magical feeling of dance was one Casey had experienced since she was eight, dancing her first role in her ballet school’s production of Cinderella. She remembered the electric current crackling through her veins, and the thrum of the music syncing with her heartbeat. The simply painted set had transformed into an enchanted and opulent world as she flew across the stage.
It was the first time she remembered thinking that she wanted to dance forever.
Now she found herself glancing at the clock hung above a mirror, willing the hands to move faster so she wouldn’t have enough time to test if she could still do a grand jeté. The last time she’d tried, she’d had a panic attack severe enough to scare her away altogether.
Skills she’d spent years mastering were getting weaker because she was terrified of feeling a hint of the magic she’d been without for so long. Reinjuring herself felt inevitable, like the moment she reached for those wings and flew, they’d falter, and she’d come crashing down again.
She couldn’t let the voice that still plagued her be right. Every day she went without dance, her body ached to move. Watching recordings of old productions left her more restless than ever before. She could see every wrong step and turned in foot, and wanted nothing more than to reach through the screen and correct them.
Mrs Graiche’s suggestion had seemed absurd at first. During their tea, she’d told her, ‘Mr Haddon has requested you to assist him in running his primary classes. He believes you could be invaluable.’
Casey had wanted to say no. How can I teach when I’ve no magic to share. She’d tried, but Mrs Graiche wasn’t an easy person to refuse. That was how she wound up agreeing to teach three times a week for the remainder of year.
While odd at first, Casey found each week easier. She learned students’ names and what they struggled with. It couldn’t compare to dance, but it helped with her restlessness, and she enjoyed feeling useful again. She had six more months to be ready to dance, but until then, teaching would have to be enough.
*
‘Stephanie, that was fantastic!’ Casey exclaimed. They were preparing for a ballet exam, and the eleven-year-old had just finished her variation almost flawlessly, only wobbling on her last position.
Stephanie’s face lit up, and she rushed to stand with her friends so the next student could take their place.
Watching her dance moved something in Casey’s chest she couldn’t quite explain. They’d spent weeks correcting the same things repeatedly, and when she’d finally retrained her body to listen, Stephanie had performed a variation that captivated the room.
She could see how hard Stephanie had been working, and seeing how she danced made Casey feel overjoyed and proud of her effort. There was something else she couldn’t quite place, a familiar sort of energy crackling through her.
There were only a couple of weeks left until the students took their exams and classes would be over for the year. She didn’t know what would come next. She had a guaranteed position as a company dancer, but she was still nowhere near where she had been. She couldn’t fly yet or transform the room around her for onlookers.
Casey wanted to dance more than anything, and every day she spent in the studio brought her closer, even if she wasn’t yet there. While she slowly felt her magic strengthening and coming back to her, helping Mr Haddon to teach those young students sparked a new kind of magic in her.
She had time. Her career was safe, and it would be for a while. For the time being, she could explore the new magic she felt as those she helped succeeded in her stead.
Anna Cahill is a Sydney-based fiction writer whose stories often focus on the performing arts and fantasy. She has two decades of experience as a dancer and performer, and finds that her love of the arts and writing inspire one another.
