Uh, okay then.

“Um, so I can sew?”

She raises an eyebrow. Okaaaay. “Um, and I like to design things. I think. And sewing, uh, can help me bring my designs to life?”

Huh. Only now that I’ve said it aloud do I realize how true it is. I do want to bring my designs to life.

I have so many ideas percolating, so many pictures flitting around my brain. I would love to bring them to reality, to create something physical, tangible, from my scattered, selfish brain.

Mrs. Cooperfeld is smiling. “I thought so. Moment I saw you, I knew you had an eye for design. There’s just something about you. I hear you used to dance?”

I wait for her to draw breath. When she doesn’t, I answer.

“Yes. Yes, I used to dance.” I look down at my burgundy two-piece, black tights, and black shoes. “But what do you mean, you saw I had an eye for design? I look so regular.”

Mrs. Cooperfeld smiles. “And if you could, what would you change about your outfit?”

I look down again. “A black ribbed sleeve by the wrists and collar,” I say automatically.

She winks. I wink back.

Who am I?

***

I wait out by the driveway for Ma to pick me up, shivering slightly in the approaching dusk.

Careful not to smile too much, I heave my machine onto the floor and settle into the front seat.

“So how was?” Ma asks the question in a super-casual voice, and I answer in the same tone.

“Nice. It was really nice.” And I can no longer hide the smile spreading across my face, like ice cream melting on a hot summer day.

***

It’s drizzling but I still head out for my walk. I miss moving, the sensation of flying, of weightlessness, that dancing used to bring. Now I feel weighed down, like I have irons clamped around my arms and legs. Walking helps alleviate the feeling of succumbing to gravity, and I’ve come to love my nightly jogs.

I shake back my hood upon entering the house and grab a tissue from the downstairs bathroom. I’m both sweating and freezing and it feels great.

“Bella Rena? Were you just out walking in this cold?”

I rub my hands together. “Yeah!”

Ma sits down at the kitchen table and motions for me to join her. “Bella, honey, I hope you are only walking to get exercise and not for any other reason?”

Eh?

“What would this other reason be?” I ask, confused.

“This isn’t about weight? Or emotional co—”

“MA!”

Mommy sits back, looking worried. “Yes?”

“I have many issues, but that is not one of them. I am walking purely for the sake of moving my limbs.”

I stand up and kiss Mommy’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me, Ma. I feel… really good. Love you!”

And ignoring the look of utter shock on my mother’s face, I take the stairs up two at a time.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 811)