| Out of Step |

Out of Step: Chapter 37

By Ariella Schiller | June 3, 2020

Maybe, just maybe, some good has come out of my no longer being able to dance

Atara bounces happily, her freshly blown hair swaying in waves. “I mean, can you be-lieve it? First remedial is not a total bust and now I’m color war dance head? High school has gone from torture to pretty fun.”

Oh, I’m sooo happy for you, I think sarcastically. Then I feel bad for my silent dig. I actually am happy for her, and besides, I’m the one who helped her get the dance head position. Not that I’d ever tell her that, not after she confessed to feeling like second best with the winter recital solo.

“That’s great, Tar,” I say.

She looks at me and then smiles. “And you’re the costume designer… It’s amazing how you had this whole other talent you never honed, no? Like, who knows what else you’re good at?”

I shrug. “Nah, that’s it, trust me.” I pat her glossy locks. “I wasn’t even that good at Fraidy’s course, though you totally aced it. Who has secret talents now?”

Atara flutters her eyelashes and we both laugh, although it feels a bit forced. I wonder if Atara feels it as well. So much has happened this year, to each of us personally, as well as between us. Will our friendship ever feel easy again?

And on that lovely thought, I say goodbye and head off to my sewing class.

***

Judy Cooperfeld might be the most surprising relationship I’ve ever had. “Eccentric” is a good word for the woman with the red sheitel. Mother of four boys, owner of three parrots, yet has the sharpest instincts about design of anyone I’ve ever met. I mean, if Goldie thinks I’m a natural, she should meet Judy. All I have to do is hold up a project and Judy can immediately point out three or more tweaks that will take it from nice to wow.

I show her my sketch for the Chometz team’s dance. I thought I would have the choir dressed as pizza delivery men, complete with motorcycle helmets and black jackets with a pizza emblem. The dance, though, I have outfitted in old fashioned peasant dresses with white aprons and white ruffled hats. Kind of like old-timey bakers. Just with a graceful feminine twist.

“Nicely done,” Judy says. “But what would take the aprons to the next level?”

I think about it. “A front pocket?”

“Nice. And how about some exposed stitching?”

I think some more about this. That makes it much harder to do a good job, but she’s right.

“Can you help me? I want to make one of each, just to show the committee.”

Judy winks. “Then let’s get to it.”

I put my current project — curtains for my room, yay! — on the side and we begin working on the jacket.

Judy looks at me. “You know, you have a great smile.”

“Two years of braces and I still wear my retainer.”

She snorts. “Or, you know, you’re happy? You enjoy sewing? Our time together is the highlight of your day?”

I blush but laugh out loud. “Oh, yeah. That too.”

***

I’m just getting ready for bed when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say, twisting my hair into a bun. I may not be a bunhead anymore, but sometimes, it’s just a practical hairdo.

Ma and Daddy tiptoe in, looking super sketchy.

I grin at them. “Hi, what’s going on?”

Daddy reaches out to give me a hug. “We’re just super proud of you,” he murmurs into my hair.

Oh. Really?

“Really?” I ask aloud.

Ma snorts. “Really. Is that so hard for you to believe?”

“I dunno, I guess I’m just aware that I kvetch way more than necessary. Especially lately.”

I sit on the bed and look at them. “You don’t deserve that.”

Ma puts her arm around me. “Hey, we were teenagers once. You know, like 100 years ago. And you’ve been dealt some tough cards.”

Daddy waggles his eyebrows.

I can’t help it, I giggle. “True, true. But still. I feel bad.”

Ma smiles. “Well, don’t waste all that guilt! Offer to clean the basement or something.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Okay, I don’t feel that bad.”

We crack up.

“But,” I say, hiccupping back to normalcy, “I will offer to sort the toys in the toy closet.”

“Sold.” We shake on it.

“So, what’s with the nighttime visit? Another hobby you’d like me to take up? Racket ball? Knitting?”

“Well, not unless you consider air travel a hobby,” Daddy says. “And please don’t, because that would be extremely expensive.”

My jaw drops. “Air travel?”

Ma beams. “Surprise! Two days after Pesach, you, me, and Goldie are off to Florida for a girls-getaway! And Effie, of course.”

I think I might be crying. Not because a trip to Florida is anything to cry about, but just because up until this very second, I hadn’t realized how badly I need to just get away for a little. The thought of a vacation is just so very welcome… I hug them both tightly and it’s only when a tear lands on my head do I realize Ma is crying too.

And that’s when my little selfish brain explodes. Because if I’m having a hard year, Ma, with her mother falling and breaking her hip and her daughter snapping her tendon and driving back and forth from appointments and doctors and physical therapists… Ma’s year has been Extra Hard, with a dash of exhaustion in the middle.

How can I have been so self-involved?

“I’m really excited to go with you,” I say sincerely, and when Ma hugs me again, I think that maybe, just maybe, some good has come out of my no longer being able to dance.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 813)

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