The Choices We Make

Originally Written 7/25/2020

Dara spun in elegant circles as the sun beamed through the open window. Light cascaded over her and bounced off the three directional mirrors that reflected the image of her slight frame. No music played because Dara didn’t need it. She smiled serenely as Mozart played in the depths of her mind. It had been since she received the letter that sat on the nightstand. It had the words “New England Performing Arts” at the heading and throughout the letter, the word “accepted” was emboldened. 

She raised her elegant hands up high, causing the soft, sheer, baby blue sarong she wore to raise up on smooth tight-baring legs. She raised higher and her toes pointed in the hard, satin ballet shoes. She brought one leg up behind her with the elegance of a swan and dove forward with her body to point her toe up and over her head, balancing on her other toe. A soft wind wafted through the opened window and brushed russet-colored hair into her face. She smiled and though she was in an arched position, she relaxed her shoulders. Everything seemed to ease and a great boulder from between her shoulderblades lessened. She felt lighter at that moment than she had felt in years. Stillness hung in the air and she held her pose like she was a dancer in a music box that needed to be wound.

Her moment of calm was shattered by the sudden sounds of wheezing and coughing coming from down the hall. Her smile stopped in its tracks and her gazelle-like balance weakened. She reached out to grab the bar in front of her mirrors and caught herself with years of reflex. She bent over, breathing hard, and closed her eyes before she pulled her body up and set her jaw. She gazed warily at her door and sighed softly, a pang running through from her stomach to her chest, and steadied her breathing for a moment before she quickly unlaced her ballet shoes and padded out her bedroom door with purpose.

Her graceful feet made no noise as she made her way down the circular hallway. The sounds of wheezing and coughing got louder and louder as she made her way across the old hardwood floors. She canted her head as she neared the door closest to hers and peeked with heavy, tired hazel eyes inside the room. 

A man who looked as though he had been rabidly aged laid in a hospital bed, his form half up and in a medical gown. There was a sheet mostly on his feet as he shook and shuddered with aggressive coughing that he covered with a pale, knarled hand. Dara eased the door open with a creak and the man didn’t bother to look over at her. 

She moved with the actions of a factory worker, accustomed to their job and the processes it involved. Meaninglessly going through the steps of her assignment, having done it every day for the last 6 years. She moved across the room without speaking a word, the numbness started at the top of her head and wound down her form to the tips of her balanced toes. She turned to get his empty cup and fill it in his attached bathroom. Then she walked over to his bedside and picked up a medication bottle on his nightstand, taking out one pill and replacing the bottle on its perch.  She sighed softly and her shoulders sagged with that invisible boulder again. Dara eased down slowly into the medical bed beside him, staring like an exhausted zombie while he weathered out his fit. It eased after a few minutes and Dara held out the pill and water glass automatically. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and reached out greedily, taking the pill and glass of water from her. Downing both like a lost soul in the desert. 

He smiled at her and said in a croaky, heaving voice as he laid back down “Thanks. You were dancing again huh, Dara?” He looked her up and down with a brightness beaming through his sickly features. 

Dara’s heart fluttered a little, watching him there and she slowly nodded. She sounded so strained but his illness had made a fog around his head that blocked it out. “Don’t you worry about what I’m doing, you just rest Dean. You need it. You have to come to watch me dance at my first performance!”

Dean nodded “I will. I promised I would.” He reminded her “Did you hear ba-” His words got cut off at the loud sound of the doorbell ringing throughout the house. Dara’s lips pulled down into a little frown and she kissed her brother on the head. She got up and headed toward the door, the soft fabric of her ballet outfit trailed after her. 

Dara made it to the door quickly, the house was one story and easily navigated in a large circle hallway throughout. She peered through the panned glass window, feeling a lump in her throat. She hadn’t expected anyone today and they rarely received visitors.

The woman on the other side of the door wore a tight, black bun in the back of her head. She donned a black dress suit with a tie the color of blueberries. She grasped a large bag in one hand and tucked a clipboard close to her person with the other. Dara furrowed her brow and the woman raised hers behind the glass, raising her hand a little and waving as though thinking Dara had drifted off.

Dara shook her head subtly and blinked She unlatched the many locks on the door and eased it open slightly. She stared out of the crack like a child when their parents were sleeping midday. 

Her voice was soft with a gentle tremble to it. “Hello? Can I help you with something?” She knitted her brows deeply again and looked very pointedly at the “No Solicitors” sign displayed prominently on their door.  

The woman smiled a bit and pulled out a badge, she held it out and showed Dara while she spoke in a crisp, but caressing voice “I am looking for Dara and Dean Monroe. My name is Constance Kelly and I am with Palliative Care of New England. I have been assigned as Dean’s caseworker.” She clarified.

Dara eyed the badge as Constance spoke and when she finished she jolted her eyes up to the woman’s and nodded, her voice much friendlier “I’m Dara. Dean is in the other room… We haven’t tidied up in a bit but you’re welcome to come in to talk with him” She stepped aside and added with a little smile “I’m hoping when he gets his full-time nurse we’ll be able to keep up a more.” She blushed a bit. She held down the urge to bounce up and down at the prospect but it was hard to keep the excitement that glimmered in her eyes from showing.

Constance adjusted her bag and walked in with polite steps. Wearing the flat, black shoes of a professional. She smiled but when Dara mentioned the nurse it fell “Ah, yes.” She cleared her throat “Coincidentally that is why I am here. I am afraid there is some bad news. Your insurance denied your claim for an at-home nurse. Unfortunately, if you require one for your brother you will need to pay for it out of pocket.” She frowned a little deeper, though tried to remain steely. Delivering bad news was often part of her job.

Dara stared at her as she walked in and listened with the intent ears of a scholarly student. Her eyes slowly widened and her smile turned down. She looked at her stockinged feet, the floor, and then Constance. In that order and repeatedly as she processed this. A stone stuck in her throat for a few long moments before plummeting down into her stomach and wedging itself there like a tick. 

Her voice trembled violently and she said something she knew was both selfish and entitled, with the tone of a child getting bad news. “But you don’t understand! We need that nurse! Without it, I can’t attend the Ballet academy. You have to understand, the cut-off is 25 and I’m 25 in just a month.” She had started to breathe very hard as she spoke. Her hands coming together and wringing violently. She heard the sounds of glass shattering in her head where Mozart once played. Tears sprung in her eyes and she stared at Constance “Please, is there anything you can do?”

Constance looked away and cleared her throat once more. She maintained her professional demeanor as Dara broke down and resisted the urge to reach out and hold her. It wouldn’t do any good anyway and she knew it. Her voice held no judgment when she said “I am sorry. There really isn’t anything I can do. The department ruled on it. Your brother’s condition is crippling, but it is not life-threatening. He can still function with some assistance. Which I am afraid will have to be yours... Unless you have other relatives?” Her voice perked up in hope.

Dara shook her head slowly and lowered it. The stone that had wedged in her gut was now crushing her between the shoulders again and the weight of it threatened to bring her to her knees. Wary, wet eyes, so often reserved for her brother, looked up. Drained and hollow she asked, “Was there anything else?”

Constance shook her head, voice very soft “No. Unless there are any other claims you would like to-”

“No. Thank you. Have a good day ma’am.” Dara cut her off and waited with her hand on the doorknob, her form slightly slumped as though she held on for support and nothing else. Constance adjusted her large bag, tucked her clipboard under her arm, and nodded before she walked out the door.

She paused as she was through the threshold. She looked back at Dara and said in a strong voice “You are a very good sister and person for what you do. I am sorry I could not do more. Please, if I can-” the door shut in her face and Dara had already turned around, her back curved as she headed to the other room and toward the sounds of renewed coughing.

Constance stared long after the tulle-covered femme had slammed the door and turned toward the sounds of haggard lungs. She lowered her head and took a breath. Constance hitched up her bag once more, head raising as she did, and turned on her heel toward her beige sedan in the driveway. Her lips formed a thin line and she ground her teeth together as she got into the car. Maybe she could do more for her next client, but she highly doubted it.