𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐏𝐒 - MBAPPÉ, BELLINGHAM, FÉLIX

Chapter Eight

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

Things with João were certainly not smooth sailing, but in the midst of such a fantastic day, that tiff with him was the last thing on my mind.

Often, I saw the boys share negative emotions. Ballet lessons with me usually had them fighting for air and groaning though their barre work. Positive emotions, all at once, were much more rare.

Yet, on that day, when Kylian, Neymar and even Grealish announced the news to their teammates; the joy that filled the room was exhilarating, and the celebrations were just as great a marvel.

"Today, lads - we celebrate victory!" Said Richarlison - rallying his peers. "This tournament is ours! With Kyky, Ney, and Grealish we're gonna make those other schools wonder why they ever dared to challenge us!"

His words were met with cheers, as everyone moved to the centre of the room for a team huddle.

"Listen up boys!" I called. "Today, we were meant to relevé, but instead, let's fucking rave!"

The cheers grew louder, and Erling ran to the speakers - blasting 'Party Rock Anthem' on the highest volume. As we broke apart from the formation, Neymar and Grealish slung their arms around me, and laughter echoed through the room as though it were surround-sound. I'd never felt 'collective' victory in the same way those who played team sports did. Dance was about an overall performance, and small, individual victories that saw you rewarded with a solo or a principal role. The exhilaration of being on stage was, of course, incomparable; yet in that moment, joined together by a seemingly trivial victory that meant so much to every one of the boys in that room I felt ecstatic. It was like a drug, and I wanted more.

We spent the whole session wrapped up in giddy celebration, and humoured ourselves with (pretty awful) dance moves. Even I forewent my usual precision in favour of careless and free expression. In that room, I had nothing to prove to anybody; I was just Ronen.

And that felt amazing.

By the time it all stopped, it was the late afternoon, and the boys all went to lessons and conditioning while I went to my physio appointment. I hated physio.

There was nothing they could tell me that I didn't know already. At first, it was the most painful thing in the world to go to those appointments because the hospital had instilled a deep fear within me about an uncertain future which could no longer involve dance. It made me spiral into a unique kind of desolation that tore my dreams apart. After being discharged, my weekly physio appointments were designed only to help me walk again, which was beyond challenging.

It was only following months of rehabilitation and hard work that the therapists dared to entertain the idea of me dancing. So when I was told that I was completely recovered, it was hard to believe. Sometimes, it still is.

"Ronen, I don't understand the problem."

My current Physio-Therapist, Dr Knight, was a perfectly agreeable man with staunch morals. He believed in helping people, even if they didn't want to be helped, even if they didn't deserve to be.

I was his project. It had been nearly 4 months since our appointments began and I was physically 'fine', but there was something holding me back from jumping back into dance.

"I told you I can't do it." I finally answered. "Every time I try to dance, my right leg won't co-operate. If I go any further than barre work or light jumps I freeze up. Clearly there's still something wrong with me."

"Well the issue definitely isn't in your leg."

Dr Knight, sighed - pulling his chair closer to where I was sat on the treatment bed.