Wings

The club was dark and hot and crowded with people. It was May and the humidity was near 100 percent; the air was like a membrane against Aaron’s face, sticking inside his nose, and mouth, and lungs. He wore a tattered t-shirt, the arms ripped off and the back cut out and replaced with fish

netting, revealing the tattoo of two angel wings that covered the entire expanse of his back. His jeans were loose, but not loose enough in the heat, and he was very glad that he’d chosen to wear flip-flops even though it meant he was going to get his toes stepped on. It was just after eleven, and Aaron could see the two girls waiting for them near the bar. He was a little sad to see them—part of him had been hoping that the girls wouldn’t show up, or would be late, and then he could go home like he wanted to.

Reluctantly, Aaron grabbed Jack’s and Ben’s attention, pointing out the girls. The first was Helen, Jack’s date, and he couldn’t remember the name of the second. He’d met her several times before at the bar, but somehow her name had never found it’s way inside his memory. Jack had brought Ben along in the hopes that the second girl would have someone to hang out with, which is how it usually went with Helen’s friends and Ben. Aaron had been invited as a last minute thought, mostly because he had nothing better to do and his friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was now regretting the fact that he had passed up a night lying under his fan on the wood floor in his kitchen for this.

Helen was gorgeous, in a typical way, with long blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and a bright smile. Her friend seemed shy and she would not meet any of their eyes as Aaron, Jack, and Ben wormed their way through the crowd. Introductions were quickly made and then Jack swept Helen out into the throng of people on the dance floor. The music was loud and the bass vibrated through the floor. If it had any words Aaron couldn’t make them out, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Once Jack and Helen were lost in the crowd and the semi-darkness, Aaron turned his attention back to Ben, who was now smiling at the second girl, telling her one of his stories that involved beer and his motorcycle. She didn’t look impressed.

Wings

Aaron knew that he could have just stayed home, with his fan and his wood floor, and Jack and Ben wouldn’t have thought twice about him saying no; at least after they finished raking him over left and right for staying home on a Saturday night. He wasn’t exactly sure why he had agreed to come—or let them convince him to come—and now as he listened to Ben recount his story he seriously began to reconsider the decision. The girl’s obvious discomfort and disinterest in the story only made Aaron want to bolt faster. Maybe I could just leave before anyone noticed.

As Ben’s story continued on and the girl began to look more uncomfortable, Aaron realized that in the hasty introductions he hadn’t paid enough attention to catch her name, again. For a few more minutes he listened to Ben rattle on, but Ben was engrossed with his own entertainment and showed no signs of stopping. Once Ben got going on a story his chances of stopping were infinitesimal. Aaron knew there was only one way to salvage the whole night, for himself and the girl, aside from fleeing.

So Aaron placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder, disgusted when his palm stuck to the sweaty fabric of Ben’s shirt.

“Why don’t you get us all some drinks, huh?” he said, pushing a twenty into Ben’s hand.“Sure dude.” Ben trundled off with his smile still in place, muttering the rest of his story under his breath.Laughing for a moment at his friend, Aaron looked back at the girl. She met his eyes steadily, almost

challenging him.“Sorry about him, um…” He imagined Jack coming up and smacking on the back of his head; it

might have actually been helpful if it had knocked the girl’s name loose in his memory.“Page.” She didn’t look angry, but she also didn’t look any more pleased than she had while Ben was

telling his story.“Page, right.” Ben returned at that moment, three beers in his hands. Aaron accepted one, but Page turned hers

down, saying that she didn’t drink. Ben shrugged at this and proceeded to take pulls from both bottles. Aaron knew that after two more beers, maybe three, Ben would be back to telling stories. Glancing out over the dance floor again, hoping to catch sight of Jack and Helen, Aaron wondered why Helen had even brought Page when she was so obviously out of place. He also wondered what Helen had been thinking knowing Ben; if she had been friends with Page for any length of time it should have been obvious that the set up would implode after thirty seconds.

He considered giving his beer to Ben, but that would just be inviting trouble, so Aaron took several long pulls on the bottle, mostly emptying it, and then deposited it on a nearby table. Turning back to

Ben and Page, the former bouncing his head to the music and already scoping the crowd for a better partner, and the latter looking uncomfortable, Aaron offered his hand to Page.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. Dancing was the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t think of any better offer. And he didn’t want to leave Page standing there alone, looking miserable. Where did that come from?

She stared at him for a long while and he thought maybe she was going to turn him down with her silence. But then to his surprise she put her hand in his.

“Sure.” She said it with a little shrug, but her hand remained within his, and that at least seemed encouraging. It certainly wouldn’t be the best night of his life, but maybe he could keep it from being one of the worst.

Pushing his way towards the dance floor, Aaron waded through the first few lines of people, intending to make for the center in hopes of finding Jack and Helen, but he felt Page’s hand clamp down on his once the people closed in behind them. Stopping to look at her, Aaron saw that her eyes were now wide in fear.

Perfect. Using the hand that now held his in a numbing grip, Aaron pulled her up against him. While her hand was cold, the rest of her wasn’t, and within the first second he felt an unbearable amount of heat flare along his skin. It made him want to step away, but he knew that would probably upset her. Sighing slightly, he began to rock with the music, waiting for the heat to get worse with the movement. But every thought of the temperature and the crowd and how much he just wanted to be at home van-ished when he felt her move with him.

Her hips caught the beat without hesitation and she moved effortlessly in his arms; he had no doubt that she would not be stepping on his bare toes. He faltered in his movements, and she looked up at him. As soon as she met his gaze she stopped moving, her face flushing and her eyes falling away from his. She tried to pull back, but he held onto her hand now with the same force she had to his before.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just, you’re an amazing dancer.”She smiled, but it wasn’t for him—he could see in her face that she was thinking of something else.

“I guess Helen didn’t mention I’m a ballerina. The same way she doesn’t mention my name.”The sarcasm in her voice was not lost on him, but there was no malice in her eyes. “A ballerina?

Really, I—”“Well just a student. I take classes as the Western Ballet Company downtown.”Aaron nodded, and then slowly began to dance again. Once more Page fell into the rhythm as if she

breathed it. For several minutes they danced in silence, Aaron enjoying the fact that he had a competent

partner. Most of the girls he usually danced with at the club either were so drunk they didn’t know what they were doing with their bodies, or the only move they knew was the hip-sway-and-grind. Of course they were all fun, and the next morning they gave him, Jack, and Ben something to laugh over and say at least it wasn’t a wasted night, but this dancing, really dancing, was nice. He wasn’t sure he had ever really enjoyed dancing before.

*

Page felt surprisingly comfortable in Aaron’s arms. She always felt more confident when she danced, even if swaying to techno was about as far removed from ballet as you could get. Even Aaron seemed more at ease now. I wonder how often he dances with anyone who can actually dance.

Coming to the bar had been the last thing she wanted to do. She’d planned on sneaking over to the studio after Helen left, as was her usual routine. It had been almost six months now since she started visiting the bal-let studio after dark—sometimes practicing, something just dancing—and it had started to feel like second nature. However, Page’s mother had talked to Helen’s mom, and then Helen had insisted that Page come. Something about socializing and not spending all her time alone. Almost all Page’s communication with her mother now seemed to come through Helen; she didn’t mind this, she just wished her mother didn’t feel the need to meddle so much. Isn’t it bad enough that she moved me out, without telling me? Her parents were both successful and wealthy, and disappointed when their daughter didn’t show any signs of following in the family tradition. So they’d decided to “help” her along after she was accepted at the Western Ballet Company.

Stop it. It was easy to get lost in worrying and being frustrated about her parents; she usually spent a few minutes every day rehashing in her head, over and over, how she had been so blind when it came to her parents. But not tonight, not right now. She was enjoying herself and thinking of her parents was a sure way to ruin that.

“So what are you?” Page asked turning her attention back to Aaron, feeling as though her voice was fighting against the veil of music and heat.

“What am I?” He looked down at her, frowning.“Well I told you I was a ballerina, so what are you?” Page couldn’t help a smile when his frown turned

into pink cheeks.“An editor I guess,” he said. “My mom writes romance novels, and I proofread them for her, offer

suggestions. In exchange she pays my rent.” He smiled. “I majored in English, but I couldn’t get a job

after I graduated and ended up moving home. My mom suggested this arrangement when she got sick of me.”

“How long did that take?” She rolled her eyes as she spoke, smiling a little. It was flirting, and it surprised Page to hear the words come out of her mouth.

Aaron threw back his head and laughed, the strong lines of his throat outlined as they caught the light of a strobe overhead. “Oh two months or so. She helped me find an apartment and then told me she’d pay my rent.” His smile continued to twinkle in the darkness as he smiled.

“So she paid you to move out?” Page tried to keep any emotion out of her voice, but she saw a flicker in his eyes that told her she hadn’t completely succeeded. She had just gotten herself to stop thinking about them, and she didn’t want to begin a conversation about it with a stranger.

“Yeah. I think my dad wanted me to stay—I have three younger sisters who are all in high school—but I was just as glad to be out of there as my mom was. I live in the same building as Jack and Ben.” His eyes flicked away while he spoke, and a small smile curled around his lips. She envied him that ease of talking about his family.

“Jack seems nice,” Page said, resisting the urge to look around for Ben. The not-so-nice one. For those first few minutes after Ben and Aaron were introduced Page had been certain that some greater power really hated her. Otherwise why would I end up at a college bar on a humid Friday night, only to get stuck talking to a guy who was more interested in his motorcycle than me? But Aaron’s rescue had been a brush of cool air, relieving the sticky heat and tension of the moment.

Aaron didn’t respond at first, Bent’s unspoken name hanging in the air between them. He watched her face, waiting for some reaction she guessed. Then after a few moments he laughed.

“Ben’s nice too, but he’s not exactly good at dealing with girls.” Aaron’s eyes flicked sideways again and Page followed their track; she saw Ben through the crowd, gyrating against a very tall, very busty redhead.

“Well, girls like you,” Aaron said, looking back at her.“You mean girls who can do this?” With a nimble turn Page spun onto her toes, twirling around

in his arms. She swung herself backward deftly and posed with one arm arched in the air, the other extended in front of her, one leg bent up in the air so that her foot rested against the other knee. It was a simple combination of steps, but they were very showy. They were also the only ballet moves she could accomplish in her flats. If she’d been wearing flip-flops the pirouette would have been impossible. After a moment of pleasant tension, she released the pose. And abruptly felt more awkward than she had all night.

“No, not—” Aaron watched her with wide eyes. One of his hands, abandoned when she spun away, was still held out towards her. Moving back so that his fingers curled around her waist again, Page began to dance, drawing him along with her into the motions. Several songs passed in silence, but after the first few minutes it ceased to feel awkward. The more they danced the easier they moved together. For someone who probably had no training, Aaron was a relative natural. His hands were big and there was potential in the breadth of his shoulders. If he were a dancer he would have made an ideal partner; she doubted he would have any trouble throwing her weight around.

Page began to feel the humidity in the room again, but found she didn’t mind it too much with other things to distract her. Aaron rocked his head to the music, which Page noted had thankfully changed from techno to rock. I think this is the first time I’ve ever enjoyed myself here. It no longer seemed like such a hor-rible waste of a night; but she was still planning on heading to the studio as soon as she could leave the bar. Aaron seemed nice, but he was nothing compared to the solitude, and the air conditioning. Her and Helen’s apartment was still in the stone age: they had a rickety ceiling fan in the living room and large bay windows in their bedrooms, none of which ever seemed to help with the slick summer air.

Finally the heat did become too much to bear; over the course of a rowdy rendition of Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust Page felt sweat trickle down her back and between her breasts. There was no air conditioning in the bar and she really hated sweating this much. She pulled away from Aaron a little as the song neared its close and immediately she could breathe easier. A sigh from Aaron told her that he appreciated the space too.

When the song was over he released her hand. “You want to go get something to drink?” Then after a pause. “Water?”

Page nodded, smiling because he had remembered that she turned down the beer before, and followed him as he moved back through the crowd to the bar.

As they neared the edge of the crowd Aaron looked to his right and raised a hand to someone. Page looked through the crowd and saw Ben and the redhead again; Ben was coming their way. The redhead rolled her eyes at Ben’s retreating back and turned away into the crowd.

“Dude, did you lose ice bitch yet?” The question was spoken before Ben even reached them.Moments after the words were out of his mouth Ben’s eyes slid behind Aaron to Page. He froze,

embarrassment flooding across his face.It wasn’t the first time someone had called her that, but it still stung. While Aaron just stared at his

friend in shock, she stepped back, angling for the door. Perfect. Well, at least the studio won’t judge me. All of a

sudden she could feel the heat, pressing against her skin, the slick wet of the air rubbing against her. She was ready to leave and tried to ignore the look of apology that Aaron finally turned her way.

Page forced a small, tight smile to her lips. “It’s fine, I should go anyway.” Pivoting—on the balls of her feet as was natural—Page surged for the door, wanting nothing more than to be free of the club.

*

Attaining the entrance to the club, Aaron pushed the door open, stepping out into the night. He was shocked when cool air, at least relative to the inside of the club, rushed along his skin. Glancing up, he saw the black and gray masses of storm clouds overhead instead of the spatter-

ing of stars against the heat soaked blue-black sky. Inhaling deeply he could smell rain and he spared a moment to smile, knowing that at for the rest of the night the heat wave would be broken. They might even get a good thunderstorm before the sun returned. Then turning his attention back to the street, Aaron spotted Page’s form moving away from him north up the block and followed her.

She wasn’t walking very quickly, so he caught up with her after a few minutes. The club was on the bor-der between what people called “the city” and the suburbs. The area was mostly filled with coffee shops, restaurants, some businesses, and apartments for students and the few young people in-between the pre-described stages of life. The building where he, Jack, and Ben lived was a little over ten blocks away, and from the direction that Page was moving, he guessed she must live in one of the complexes nearby.

She glanced back at him as he approached, probably hearing his footsteps in the quiet. He expected her to keep walking, or maybe speed up, but instead she stopped and let him catch up with her. Then once he was at her side she continued walking again, turning right onto Broadway, heading straight towards his apartment building.

“So you live around here too, huh?” It sounded cavalier as he said it, and as he watched her shoulders stiffen instantly regretted the words. “Hey, stop for a sec.” He put a hand on her arm and she froze. Slowly she turned to look at him, but her eyes did not meet his.

“I’m sorry about what Ben said. I figure you probably didn’t want to be at the club tonight and that didn’t exactly help. You probably don’t even want me following you, but I just wanted to say that.” He dropped his hand, and as he did so she looked up to meet his eyes.

A smile crept across her face. “No I don’t mind actually; I might have run out of their screaming earlier if I’d had to endure any more of Ben’s story.”

Aaron laughed, shocked even more than he had been at her smile when she laughed too. “I have no idea what you mean, his stories are the best.”

She stopped laughing, but the smile stayed on her face.“Okay, maybe they’re the best when you’re drunk, but I really did mean it when I said Ben was a good guy.”“I’m sure he is.” As she spoke Page began to walk again and Aaron fell into step with her.They walked for a few minutes in silence, still moving towards his apartment building. He’d always

been comfortable with silence, something that worked perfectly with being friends with Jack and Ben because they both loved to talk and expected no input from the audience aside from an occasional reas-suring grunt that you were listening. Yet somehow he felt the need to fill up the empty air between him and Page.

“So, uh, Helen mentioned that your parents well, forced you to move out.” He’d passed Jack and Helen on his way out after Page. He’d been a little shocked at how unconcerned Helen sounded when he told her about Page leaving. With a dismissive wave of her hand she’d told him that she’d only asked Page to come because Helen’s mom had insisted, and they were only roommates because their mothers were friends. Somewhere in there she’d let slip about Page’s parents forcing her to move out, and he’d thought back to when he told her about his own parents helping him move. He guessed it was a risky move to mention it considering he was a stranger, who hadn’t even been able to remember her name an hour before, but he was curious.

“They did.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke; it seemed more that she was talking to her hands, or possibly the sidewalk, but he was glad that she had responded. “I went to college—Art History—and I couldn’t get a job either after graduation. I’d taken ballet most of my life, just because I enjoyed it, so I came home and started taking classes with the Western Ballet Company. When I got accepted to their workshop class for the year I think my parents just expected me to move out. And then when I didn’t they found an apartment for me and moved my things.”

“Did you want to stay at home?”“No, but I wanted to move on my own terms. I don’t even pay my own rent; ballerinas in-training

don’t exactly have time to get jobs.”She reached up and brushed a strand of hair back from her hair. For the first time Aaron really looked

at her. Her hair was dark brown, hanging just past her shoulders in large curls. She was shorter than him, but as he was a measly 5’10” that wasn’t really saying much. In the silence she glanced at him and he saw that her eyes were a gold-brown. Definitely not gorgeous like Helen, but she was pretty.

“This workshop, you guys have a performance or whatever at the end of the year?” They were quickly approaching his apartment, only a block away now. He could almost feel the coolness of the wood floor against his back, the rush of icy air from the fan against his face. Coupled with the cold air that had come with the clouds, Aaron imagined it would be a very pleasant night.

“A recital in two weeks actually.” She brushed at her hair again even though it was still secure behind her ear.

“Oh that’s awesome. Maybe I could come watch.” It was one of those polite things you said, but Aaron was still a little surprised at himself. Page was bringing out some reactions in him that he hadn’t had to look at inwardly and go huh? for a long time.

She stopped, catching him off guard. Pausing a few feet ahead of her he turned back. Her eyes were fixed on the ground but then slowly she looked up.

“It’s already sold out. The recital’s the biggest show of the year, for ballet companies that is. They look for new recruits and basically it’s the best way to get a paying job as a dancer.”

“Oh, well that’s okay. I hope it goes well.” He started walking again, expecting her to follow, but she didn’t. He was glad to have disentangled himself from that slip, but at the same time a little disap-pointed. If she had danced that well at the club he couldn’t even imagine what she must be like with the right music, and the costumes.

*

Aaron started walking again, but still Page didn’t follow. She’d left the bar craving air condi-tioning, space away from all the sweating bodies. Aaron following her had been the exact op-posite of what she had wanted at that moment; but now that he was there again, standing just

a few feet away, she didn’t mind the company. It was strange. She didn’t have many friends—most of them were other dancers, a few from school—and she hadn’t dated anyone in over a year. In all that time she had never felt the lack of someone else’s presence, and now suddenly that year’s worth of aloneness was catching up with her.

Aaron stopped again when she didn’t follow and turned to look at her. He was backlit by the streetlamp, the dull orange light casting red shadows in his blonde hair. His shoulders were broad, as she’d noticed earlier, though he wasn’t very tall, perhaps only four or five inches taller than her 5’6”. His waist was very narrow, his jeans hanging from his hips, held up by a belt she assumed. Or sheer will power.

His legs were long, making him seem taller than he was. And his eyes were brown, surprising with his fair coloring.

Then there was the way he looked at her, curious and nonchalant. Normally she would have found such a look unnerving, but he’d been nice to her, even chasing after her to apologize for his friend, and there was something honest in his eyes.

“Would you… I mean, I was actually thinking of heading down to the studio right now. You could come if you want; it’s air conditioned, and I could show you part of the program.” Oh, my god. She’d never asked anyone to join her at the studio before; in fact she’d never had anyone watch her dance, just her, not someone who wasn’t a teacher.

He broke eye contact for a moment to glance up at the building across the street; sighing, his eyes rested on a spot about halfway up the structure. Probably his apartment. Which is probably air-conditioned and has no strange girls in it. Or maybe he just wants to go back to the club and join his friends. Or— Oh Page…

She expected him to look back and politely turn her down; she felt stupid and naïve, like a college freshmen that asks out the first cute boy she meets. But when his eyes came back to her he was smiling.

“Sure, let’s go.”A smile split across her face, unintended. She was suddenly excited to dance for him. “My apart-

ment’s just up here, we can take my car.”Aaron laughed a little when she led him up the apartment building just in front of them. He pointed

to the building across the way and told her that was where he lived. Page laughed, a little shaky with nerves, because she knew his building didn’t have air conditioning either. Going down into the parking garage they got into her car, a shiny silver BMW. Once they pulled out onto the street Aaron rolled down the window all the way; wind whipped with a howl through the car, blowing Page’s hair every-where. Laughing again, she rolled down her window too, and they chuckled all the way downtown.

*

Five minutes later they pulled onto NW Broadway and Page turned into the parking structure connected to the studio. Flashing her pass at the ticket station, she pulled through and down to the second level, parking in the very first spot, which had a sign reading: “Reserved for Direc-

tor.” In all the nights that she had come to the studio after classes, she’d always parked here. It seemed pointless to park farther away when the director was never there to use her spot. Well, except that one time.

Page couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the night the director had come in on her practicing after dark. One of the janitors had told the director about the lights on in the studio. She’d stood and watched Page dance for several minutes, smiled, and then left. It had been one of the better nights Page had had since coming to the company.

She led the way up the stairwell, Aaron following along behind her, up the five flights of stairs to the student studios. Page opened the fifth floor door onto a narrow hallway and went into the first door on the left. She could hear Aaron panting behind her and couldn’t help a little smile. She’d sounded just like that for her first three weeks.

The left side of the room was a long row of floor-to-ceiling windows, and the right all mirrors; the barre was along the wall directly opposite them. Page flicked on the lights near the door, flooding the room with the soft glow of the overheads. They were fluorescents, but with special covers to dispel the harshness of the light. Half of ballet was about creating the right mood with lighting, adding smooth-ness and shadow to the dancers. Thankfully the lights didn’t produce too much heat, and as soon as they came on the vents in the room started up as well, filling the space with the wonderful chill of air conditioning.

Page left Aaron standing at the door and went across the room to the cabinet; inside she reached up to her shelf, pulling out her slippers and costume angel wings. Balancing on one foot, then the other, she switched her flats for her slippers, pulled off her t-shirt, leaving only the thin white tank top that had been underneath, and then rolled up the cuffs of her jeans. She had taken her iPod out of her car and now she plugged it into the stereo, flicking it on to her ballet playlist. The first song was the piece for the upcoming recital where they used the wings. Page fluffed the feathers on her wings, the soft material faintly shimmering, pulled the straps over her shoulders, and then turned to face the windows. She’d learned months ago to distrust the mirrors, with their harsh reflection despite every effort to gloss the lighting. Just look into the darkness, and dance.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Aaron’s eye widen for a moment in shock. Looking back over her shoulder at him she saw that his brow was furrowed, his eyes fixed on the wings on her back.

“We’re doing parts of Swan Lake for the recital,” she said, “Our instructor thought it would be fun to use wings.” She twirled around, spinning up onto her toes, the wings fluttering behind her. When she stopped and looked at him again his eyes were fixed intently on her. Everything in his gaze was guarded and heavy with emotion—she just couldn’t read it. The intensity of his eyes was unsettling for a moment. He’s waiting for you to do something stupid. Dance.

With a flick of her right foot Page flew into a carefully choreographed move, her arms sweeping, feet twisting and stepping with precise snaps, all the while the wings floating behind her. The steps carried her from the far corner near the cabinet to Aaron, and with a final leap through the air she landed before him. But she only stopped for a second, noticing that the look on his face had not changed, before the music moved her again and she continued to leap and twirl around the room, her mind almost detached as she stepped through the motions.

After several minutes the music came to a close; it was a short number and not one of Page’s favorites. The only thing she liked about it was the wings. If they hadn’t been doing that piece for recital she never would have found them, and probably would have dropped out of the program months ago.

On cue, the music began again, a new song, starting with chimes and a soft hum, then the roll of drums and the soft whisper of deep voices in the background. It was placed as number two on the playlist for a very particular reason: she needed the practice for Swan Lake, and she needed the wings for this song.

The voices grew louder, growling low, and then the guitar rolled in, distorted and strong, reverberat-ing around the room. Again out of the corner of her eye Page saw Aaron’s expression change to shock, but she was moving before she could turn and fully look at him.

Five months ago she had been practicing late at night, tired and desperate. She’d been in the program four months and had met frustration and humiliation every day. The instructors had seen “promise” in her when they accepted her into the program, and then no improvement. Determined not to give up so soon, not when every time she saw her parents they couldn’t hide their looks of disappointment, Page had devoted almost every waking moment dancing, stealing into the studio after dark, trying to find the passion that would make the dancing come alive. It hadn’t been until this song has unexpectedly come up on her iPod one night that it had.

Now she danced the routine that she had mapped out over weeks of nightly practice, all in her head, catching every battement, every pirouette, every leap perfectly. The music was angry and power-ful and unforgiving. In her first attempt to dance with it she’d fallen after a leap, earning bruises that had stayed with her for weeks. Another night she had tripped, tangled in her own feet, so intent on keeping up with the tempo, the ferocity. But eventually she’d found the rhythm, found that passion inside her while she danced to this so wrong, so un-ballet song. Because what ballerina would ever admit she practiced to metal?

About a week after she had first danced her routine to the song perfectly was the night the director had come and watched her. And it had been after that night that the side looks and barely whispered

remarks from her instructors had stopped. Now she owned the music, owned the dance, and it felt so wonderful. She even forgot that Aaron was in the room.

*

Aaron watched Page dance to Swan Lake with only half his attention. He was transfixed by the wings on her back, paralyzed by the reference to the marks on his own skin. But after a few moments he forced himself to watch her, noting the tight form of her body,

the precise way she moved. His only experience with ballet was going to see The Nutcracker with his family every Christmas, but even from that one show every year he could tell that she was amazing. And the wings…

The song reached its end and Page came to a quivering halt across the room, where she had started. He saw the glint of her eyes, reflected in the black panes of the windows. And then a new song began, and shock rolled over him again. He recognized it instantly. The band, Kamelot, was one of his favorites, and while the song wasn’t one he had listened to in a while, he knew it by heart.

You know just who I am Don’t be so distant ‘Cause when you’re lost I am solely there To share your grief…

Yet his shock over the song was nothing compared to what he felt as he watched Page dance. He’d always thought about ballerinas dancing to music, but Page was dancing with the music. It was almost as if the music was a force in the room with her, a silent partner, flinging her around, almost too fast to seem real. The wings whipped behind her, pulled along in the torrent of her motions, so much more alive than they had been just minutes before. Suddenly they were an extension of her body, instead of a simple prop.

The song was longer than the previous, and he could see a sheen of sweat on Page’s face, but still she moved, never missing a step. She was so … fierce. Everything about her motions were exact and strong; there was nothing soft in this dance. The same twirls and leaps he had watched her perform in the first song were now faster, tighter, almost frenzied. And yet she never moved outside that realm of perfect concentration, perfect execution. Music rolling to a close, Aaron watched almost in a trance as Page

arched around in a last spin, curving over backwards farther than seemed possible, before coming to a stop in a graceful slump on the floor, her feet still perfectly pointed.

For several long moments she lay on the ground, panting, then she opened her eyes and genuinely looked startled to see him. Slowly she stood and moved across the room towards him, a little hesitant. The dancing had energized her, wiped away that uncomfortable girl he had met in the bar, but still she was wary. He knew it had to be because of whatever idiotic look he had on his face. He wasn’t even sure himself. And he knew it didn’t help that he wasn’t looking at her face, but at her wings.

As she continued to approach him, he pivoted so that his back faced her, keeping his head turned over his shoulder. She gasped, stopping a few feet away, and he knew that she had seen his tattoo through the fish netting.

A few moments passed, the music from her iPod now a buzz in the background, though the volume was unchanged. Page’s eyes finally slid from his back up to his face, and he had no idea what she was thinking. He watched her, wary and wondering what the hell he was doing, as she closed the space between them. He felt her fingers against his skin and he shivered.

“Are those, wings?”He nodded. Her fingers fell away and he started to turn back around, but then he felt her hands at

the hem of his shirt, and before he could think she had lifted it up, pulling it over his head. He barely heard her second gasp as he fumbled to pull the shirt off his face.

“They’re beautiful.”He looked at her over his shoulder again; her eyes glittered, highlighted with shivering tears, but there

was no sadness anywhere in her face. Instead, her eyes were wide and her lips parted. It was a look he knew too well: it was the same look he caught on his own face sometimes when he saw a reflection of his wings.

“Why did you get them?”Gently he turned, her hands sliding away from his back. “My first my year in college my friends nick-

named me Cupid, cause I kept setting everyone up together, not really meaning to, but anyways, then I started dating Amy and I’d been thinking about getting a tattoo, and I’d always wanted wings, so she drew these for me, and I got them.”

Page’s eyes fell away from him. “So where’s Amy tonight?”“We’re not together anymore,” he said. “Just after a year I found out that she was cheating on me.” His

voice trailed off as he spoke. He couldn’t mention Stephen without picturing Amy drawing the curving lines on his back, letting someone else have his wings.

Page reached up to push at that same strand of hair as before, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes met his again, and she was biting her lower lip. “Do you help your mom with the endings?”

The questions caught him off guard, and it took him a moment to remember he’d told her about helping his mom with her romance novels.

“No actually, I like the beginnings, and then the part where the guys inevitably loses the girl. My mom does the endings—she’s a hopeless optimist.” He watched her as he spoke, waiting for some rec-ognizable emotion to cross her face. Fleetingly he compared her to Amy, thinking about how easy it had been to know what Amy was feeling and wondering again if he had only imagined being able to read her. I damn well couldn’t tell when she was cheating on me.

“I like beginnings too,” Page said. “But only because I always read the last page before the rest of the book, so I already know how it’s going to end.”

She was smiling at him, biting her lower lip again, her fingers pushing at that strand of hair. Crap. He knew that look, and he wished it were a different one. Over her shoulder he could see the wings on her back fluttering in the air conditioning.

“Uh, it’s kind of late, I should probably get home.” He turned away and saw his reflection in the mir-rors. His bare chest was pale in the florescent light, and the black lines of the tattoo coming up over his shoulders and around his biceps stood out starkly against his skin.

It had taken a while, but he had managed to learn to look at his tattoo without thinking of Amy. He had wanted to get a tattoo as a way to claim his skin, to mark a bit of who he was in that moment to remember when he was old and crotchety. The months he had endured to take possession of the ink wings away from Amy had been almost more painful than the breakup. Then of course there had been the night he had actually tried to scrub the ink from his skin. There were two thin white scars on his left shoulder from that desperate attempt, reminders of the failure and success of that night. He no longer wanted to purge the ink from his skin, but the pain was still there.

Remembering the wood floor and fan waiting for him at home, he was more than ready to leave. But then he looked up in the mirror and saw Page standing behind him, small and shy.

Why did I even come here? He didn’t really have an answer, except that he liked Page. And he didn’t have an answer to that why either. The whole night had started with him just wanting to be home, and he did want that, but now looking at this strange girl in the mirror he felt the desire to comfort her surge in him. And the wings fluttering just over her shoulders, mirroring the ink engraved on his own skin, pulled at something in him. She wore those wings the same way he wore his, like a mark of who she was.

Images of her dancing, the wings like extra limbs, flashed in his mind. He remembered seeing the wings on the page of Amy’s sketchbook just after she had finished drawing them and thinking that they were perfect. They weren’t perfect anymore, but they were his.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, preparing himself to walk to the door and back down the stairs. He didn’t want this; he didn’t want a pretty girl looking at him with all those expectations and hopes held up in her eyes. He wished he hadn’t agreed to come.

“Aaron?” Page’s voice surprised him and he turned before his deep breath was complete, before he could take that first step away from her. “I like your wings.” And while he was still breathing, and pre-paring, and wondering again what exactly he was doing, she kissed him.

It was soft and brief, just a brush of lips. She was backlit by the lights along the windows, and her hair and the feathers of her wings glowed. Her eyes lifted to meet his, but he didn’t see any expectation in them, no judgment. She looked a little nervous, and almost as surprised as he felt.

He looked again at the wings peeking over her shoulders and then he glanced down and noticed that she was tugging at the bottom feathers with her fingers in the same nervous twitch as she’d done with her hair.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “I like them too.”She didn’t smile, but the quirk of her eyebrows, the twitch of her mouth, told him that she knew

exactly what he meant. “Let me take my slippers off and we can go.”He watched as she walked back to the storage cabinet; there was no bench, so she balanced as she

switched her shoes, never once wavering. The start of the night now seemed very far away, but as she moved he wondered why he hadn’t noticed at first that she moved like a dancer. Again he remembered his fan and wood floor and that he hadn’t wanted to go the club at all and he’d only danced with her because he felt sorry for her. And you came here because of the promise of air conditioning.

As she moved the wings fluttered, glinting in the light. Watching the quiver of feathers he reached a hand up and rubbed the ink on his back, running his fingers over intangible lines. He remembered Amy and watching her draw the tattoo over and over again for days before she declared that it was perfect. He remembered seeing the black lines on Stephen’s back, clumsily drawn in sharpie. He remembered trying to scrub the lines of ink off his own back because Amy had let someone else have them.

Placing her slippers on a shelf, Page then reached to remove her wings.“Don’t, leave them on.” His own voice surprised him. Page turned, her fingers still on the laces of the

wings. “Please.”

Nodding, she smiled and let her fingers fall, then bent and rolled down her jeans. Slipping her shoes on, she walked back to him, the wings fluttering behind her, her t-shirt slung over her arm. At the door she bent down to grab his shirt and offered it to him; he draped it over his arm like hers as she turned off the lights. Together they walked down the narrow stairwell and into the parking garage. Climbing into her car, they rolled down the windows again as she pulled out onto the street and turned towards home.