Page 13

CHAPTER 13

MUSCLE MEMORY BY KELSEA BALLERINI

Brianne Archer:

I put my bag in a cubby hole and start to put my hair up. Professor Laurent offered an opportunity for one of the freshman dancers to earn credit hours if they taught technique to one of our athletic students. I wonder if she will be a lacrosse player, or maybe soccer? Maybe she and I will be friends… I turn at the sound of the door opening and I freeze in my tracks. Parker Thompson stares at me with a duffle bag on his shoulder. I clench my jaw.

“What are you doing in here? I’m about to have a lesson with a student-athlete and I don’t need any issues before that,” I say, trying to tame my annoyance, but failing miserably.

“I’m the student-athlete, Brianne,” he mumbles and I swear my blood runs cold.

There are two ways I can do this. I can talk my face off, make this more awkward than it already is, and inevitably make myself wish I didn’t exist anymore… Or I could play it professional and then get out of this teaching thing when I see Professor Laurent tomorrow. I think that the ladder is the best option.

“Shoes off,” I snap out of my stupor and he just stares at me.

I tilt my head and he kicks off his tennis shoes, listening to me.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not seeming to be enthused at all.

I wouldn’t expect him to be. He probably thought he was done with me after our last encounter but here we are. I try not to let my thoughts of him infiltrate what I’m supposed to do here—teach him like anyone else.

“You don’t have to apologize. If you’re going to do these lessons, you have to respect this space. I’m not saying you wouldn’t but there are rules to the dance studio. The floors are cleaned every day. If you track outside dirt and mud or whatever onto it, you could damage ballet shoes or anything of the sort. It’s also dangerous, you could slip very easily,” I explain, almost like I’m teaching a child.

“Understood,” he speaks coolly like he always does.

That’s Parker though. No thoughts, no feelings. If he had them, he wouldn’t have done what he did.

“Where do we start?” he asks.

His face is unreadable but so damn handsome. His hair is longer. Even since my birthday, it’s grown. I wonder if he’s going to continue to grow it… I snap out of the thought and nod toward the floor.

“Never work your body without stretching first. I’ll talk you through some of the things I’ve planned. I expect you to remember how you need to stretch your body to get the correct work done. I’m sure that you’ll feel embarrassed doing this in front of your football friends, but if you do it, I’m sure it would make your game better,” I tell him.

He nods and sits himself down on the floor. I lead him through stretches, keeping a completely straight face as I master the stretch and watch him struggle. It’s no surprise that he’s not as flexible, but it does give me a sense of superiority over him. He reaches forward, trying to touch his toes.

“You can go a little farther,” I push.

“Not all of us are human rubber bands,” he mumbles and I smirk. “Press on my back.”

I stand up and walk around him. I push down on his back lightly.

“Tell me when,” I say behind him. I slowly push until I feel him let out a breath.

“Okay, when,” he groans. “How the hell do you do this?” He sighs.

I fight the urge to do the same. It’s easy to have a conversation with him, even if I’m fighting with myself over it. I want to give in.

“I’ve tortured my body for years to be able to get it to bend and contort the way it does. It doesn’t happen overnight but you’ll gain more flexibility as you work. You’ll never be on my level because men’s bodies don’t move the way women's bodies do. But you know that,” I explain and he nods.

“You know plenty about your body and how it moves and works in an intense and immediate way, but I want you to forget everything you know because this is different. For this… Your body is a vessel for movement,” I explain.

“O-okay,” he nods and stutters like he’s overwhelmed.

“It’s alright, Parker…” I tell him and he nods. “You can’t really fuck this up. It’s just us so if something doesn’t go right, no one will ever know. You can make mistakes, I swear.”

“Keep going,” he tells me and I do, ignoring the uneasy feeling he’s exuding off of him in waves.

“Ballet is all about symmetry. Your body is a line and it flows all together as one. The entire purpose of a ballerina is to appear graceful and elegant. You take up space, you elongate, you connect every movement together to be moved as one. Fluid, like…” I hesitate.

“Water,” he finishes. I hide my smile.

“Right, like water,” I tell him. I face him and he stands with his back against the bars.

“I know the thought of it… Dancing and doing ballet is so silly to some, but it requires a lot of strength, mentally and physically. It’s going to sharpen you up. It will enhance your focus on the field, your flexibility, balance, stamina, endurance, and honestly, your speed too. If you strengthen your knees and leg muscles through the practice, then you’re definitely going to increase your speed.”

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he tells me and I fight a small smile.

“Then let’s really get started,” I tell him.

I walk him through the barre movement, that’s mostly what we’re going to do all night. Just barre practice. I take him through an entire course of plié, demi plié, and deep fifths. He doesn’t complain, but he does start to sweat. I keep my smile to myself. When I have him turn away from the mirror and back to the front, I demonstrate.

“Rond de jambe à terre,” I speak.

“Bless you,” he jokes and I roll my eyes. I show him the movement.

“This. à terre means on the ground,” I tell him, showing him the circles my pointed foot makes as I hold the bar and face him. “Now, you.” I motion and he takes a deep breath.

“Don’t complain,” I mumble.

“All I did was breathe,” he argues.

“In a complaining type of way,” I fight back.

“I’m not complaining, I just suck,” he admits.

“I sucked on my first day too,” I tell him quietly, watching. “Can I touch you again?” I keep a soft tone to my voice. I know he let me push his back down but this will be different.

“I… Yes,” he speaks quietly, continuing the motion.

The tension between us doesn’t cease and it makes me want to scream. There are obviously things unsaid sitting between us. Both of us are failing at ignoring them. The minute he finds comfort in his movements, he will succeed here. If he puts his mind to it. I touch his stomach first and straighten him out, but keep my hand pressed to his hard muscles.

“Here. Keep it tight. I know it kind of aches, but when it feels uncomfortable, you’re doing it right. In this art, everything comes from your core. If you don’t keep it tight and straight, everything else fails to fall where it needs to,” I explain. “Breathe. You have to keep breathing,” I instruct, looking up to his face now. He’s concentrated and focused.

“Explain,” he tells me through trapped breaths that he’s working to steady.

“Explain what?” I ask, tilting his chin down so he’s looking straight ahead.

“Explain the breathing. In your words, explain it. Treat me like I know nothing,” he explains, falling out of his stance.

I look up at him, my chin slightly tilted, “I’m confused. You’re an athlete Parker, you know—”

“I know that I know. You said forget the stuff I know and I’m doing that. Even the basics. I want you to treat me like I know nothing about the body. Like I know nothing about what’s happening. This is not a way I’ve ever moved myself. Even if I know certain things, they’re going to be different in this… Art,” he explains.

“Okay, start over. Get back into position,” I instruct with my arms, angling them and stretching them exactly the way I need to so he can see me. “Tighten, chin up.”

I do both movements myself as I face him.

“Done. Now, tell me,” he breathes, trying to keep his exhale and inhale steady.

“When you work your body and your muscles, the amount of oxygen you breathe is important, especially in ballet. It keeps you calm and centered and like I told you before, finding your center and your balance is one of the most vital things. I remember my dance teacher back in my hometown. She was my teacher for years. She told me that when you make your breathing level and consistent, you’re triggering a part of your nervous system that calms you and allows for your body to relax which will in turn relax your blood flow. All over, it makes you better in the field,” I explain to him, keeping my breathing steady despite how hard it is with him this close.

My heart is haphazardly beating out of my chest. I’m standing at his front as he does the instructed move over and over again. He keeps his face steady, his breathing correct, and his form perfect. I can see the concentration and slight struggle in his features. It’s hard not to fall victim to how devastatingly beautiful Parker Thompson is. I fell victim to it far easier than I had thought I would. He looks down, only with a glance of his brownish green eyes and I know that I can’t do this again. The height difference between us is enough to make me fold, so I back away another step and nod.

“Um… If you don’t regulate your breathing, the soreness of your muscles can increase. It’s not ideal considering in ballet if we ever do it professionally, it’s going to be an everyday kind of thing. Sore muscles don’t help that. It’s a build-up of lactic acid in the body that could have that effect,” I tell him and his eyes haven’t left me since he caught me staring.

He doesn’t fumble in his near-perfect stance.

“Elongate,” I tell him, sweeping my fingers around the curve of his arm, making sure it’s perfect.

I step back, ignoring the screaming of my body as I step away from him. I don’t care what I want. It’s not what I need.

“And lastly,” I nod down to his butt. “Tuck in your tail. You’re not a mommy duck. You don’t have anyone following behind,” I joke and watch as he falls into a perfect form.

“This sucks,” he grunts his words out, his muscles trembling as I stare at them.

“I’m aware,” I smirk to myself. “But you actually look perfect. Okay, relax.”

He sighs and lets the position go.

“Now the other side,” I tell him and watch as he clenches his jaw, but listens and starts on the other side. I can tell this is harder than he thought but I do see an appreciation for my sport growing in his features.

* * *

Parker and I finish and he sits on the ground, crouching to put his shoes back on. I stay, my body hovering toward the stereo system, not wanting to signal that I don’t plan to leave anytime soon. The stress this one single lesson alone has caused me makes me want to stay and let it out. My body wants to reach for him but I question if I should. I want to step closer but I know it’s not what I need. I should do it, to teach him better, I should. I… I need to control myself but it’s hard when I don’t know if it means something different. Parker Thompson only slept with me to prove something. I never should have slept with him in the first place. So this can’t continue, these little lessons, I’ll beg one of my classmates to take over.

“Brianne…” I turn to look at him. He’s standing by the door, his shoes on, his duffle hanging from his shoulder.

“What’s up?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

“Can we talk when I walk you to your car? Please?” he asks and I look at my phone still attached to the stereo.

“I… I wasn’t going to leave just yet, actually,” I admit.

“Oh. Are you working on something?” he asks and I shake my head no softly.

“When something doesn’t feel right, I get rid of that feeling and come here. Dancing never feels wrong,” I explain in the simplest way possible.

“Doesn’t feel right…” He breathes the words out, looking at me with kind eyes. I don’t need this. This conversation, this… this potential argument.

“I know. I know that this is not what you had in mind and it’s weird and hard and kind of awkward that I was the one who said I would help you, I know. I am going to go to my professor tomorrow and I’ll get someone else to teach the class, okay? You don’t have to deal with me or be near me anymore, I promise. This wasn’t what either of us expected, honestly. I just thought the extra credits would be nice and my professor never mentioned it was a football player. She just said athletics. I’ll drop tomorrow so—”

“Don’t. Please, don’t drop me,” he cuts me off.

“Don’t?” I ask, taking a single step away from the ballet room stereo.

“If… If it’s not bothering you. If being my teacher isn’t bothering you, then I’d rather you not…” he tells me.

“W-why?” I ask, confusion stumbling my words.

“Why? Because I need this. I told you a part of my story, I didn’t lie. I…I needed football to survive and I still need this sport. I could lose it if I don’t do what Coach Corbin says. He says I have to do this and if I can avoid any… issues, then I’m going to,” I let him explain, but feel a sting at the way he looks at me when he says issues.

“I don’t want to be an issue,” I speak just above a whisper.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he fights back but I speak right after.

“It’s weird. For me, this feels weird,” I admit.

“What can I do? To make this work, what can I do?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

I can hear the desperation in his voice. My heart clenches, the empath in me waking up. I can’t let him suffer, even if it’s a struggle for me.

“Pretend it never happened. Just move forward. I don’t want to think about what we did. I don’t want to think of you in that way ever again,” I tell him, wanting to make sure he knows that nothing will be an issue. Considering that I was his idea to start with, it’s annoying he’d see me as a problem but if he needs my help… Who am I to stand in the way of his career when in the long run, it can also help mine?

“Why can’t it be someone else?” I ask him. “My classmates are good dancers. I can lie to my instructor. I can just tell her that my schedule is more hectic than I anticipated.”

“If you really need to do that for yourself, you can, but I prefer you because I’m comfortable. Here in this unfamiliar space, I feel comfortable because I trust you. I don’t know the others and I feel like it would be hard for me to… Do well if I… If I’m not comfortable,” he explains. “But that doesn’t matter if you… I mean if you’re not—”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

I shake out my thoughts, ignoring that nagging thing in the back of my head that’s yelling at me. It’s saying that just because he’s comfortable in this space, doesn’t mean I need to feel uncomfortable, especially since this is my safe space. This is my place to feel comfortable. But once again, isn’t it ideal to push both of our careers further? Living in comfort has never helped anything or anyone, including me. I need to get over it.

“Brianne.”

“No. It’s fine. I’ll do it. Just pretend. I know you said you didn’t want to pretend it never happened but we have to. For this to work, we have to. This is strictly professional.”

I slice my hands in a line but I smile. It’s a fake smile that feels wrong and tight. Parker clenches his jaw.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees.

“Okay, maybe not that professional,” I joke but he barely smiles.

“Be safe.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but he only looks for a second longer and then backs away, not saying another word. He leaves me to get every ounce of feeling I have out on this dance floor before it’s cleaned and left for the next class in the morning.