Aerial

The Second Chapter

"Focus."

The word hisses past your clenched teeth when you give yourself a stern reminder to stay calm and collected. To overcome the tremble in your fingertips that is making it impossible to buckle your metal roller skates to the sole of your almond-toe patent loafers. To breathe past the paralyzing malady of anticipation, "Christ's sake, melvin. Focus."

"Did I just hear you call yourself a 'melvin?'" Nettie pokes her head out of the kitchen, a spatula in one hand and her lengthy hair wound up in empty orange juice cans to give the ends their trademark flirtatious flip, "go easy on yourself. I've seen you practice. I can't imagine anyone getting this part over you."

She watches you lean against the wall in the foyer as you fumble with your skate attachment, the burnt orange leather strap that loops around your ankle giving you some difficulty as you try several times to shake out your hand and ground yourself. Nettie tosses the egg-coated spatula onto the counter before pacing towards you and dropping to her knee, swatting you away in protest as she slips the tail end of the strap through the frame of the buckle. She rises to her feet once your skates are secured and smiles in an effort to calm you, your appreciation slipping out in a quiet "thank you" as you tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

Nettie licks her fingertips and slicks back a couple flyaways from your forehead before brushing off your peter pan collared blouse. She takes two steps back and admires how put-together and adorable you look with your pleated mini skirt grazing your bare thighs, "that skirt is choice. You look like sex on wheels."

You blush when you gather your lime green shopper bag from the ground before slinging it over your shoulder and digging around for your habitual sweet treat from the front pocket. Inside the bag you've neatly packed and double checked all of the necessary items for your audition; your resume and photographs, a bodysuit and tights, a pair of soft-soled ballet slippers, warm ups, bobby pins and about a half dozen lollipops. The hard candy nestles in past your teeth as you twirl the stick between your fingers, the flavor of artificial cherry soaking your tongue and aiding in reducing your stress with a breath of familiarity, "it's not too much?"

Your roommate shakes her head and decides not to add any more information to your already whirling thoughts, "nope, it's perfect. You sure you don't want a ride? Or a cheerleader?"

You consider her offer for a moment before pushing it to the back of your mind. You need space to mentally review your choreography and the points you plan to express in the interview in order to win over the famed aerialist with a notorious and impressive reputation in just a matter of minutes, "nah, I need the time to clear my head." You roll your lips into your mouth and pause, powerless in stopping the waterfall of doubt from trickling out, "Nettie, what if I uprooted my entire life and moved here only to be rejected-"

"Don't. If you're rejected then a better opportunity will present itself because that's how life works. But that's not gonna happen because you're outta sight. You're getting this role. Okay?"

You try to forget how you tossed and turned the entire night, how you could hardly keep any breakfast down this morning and remind yourself that you've performed under similar dire circumstances in the past. Without waiting for a response, Nettie springs forward and wraps you in a hug, the cold tin cans in her hair pressing against your cheek before she backs off again with a soft squeeze to your shoulders.

You spin on your wheels and crack the front door open before taking one last look at your newfangled living space, "okay." You want to have faith, but at the same time it feels dangerous to get your hopes up, "root beer floats on me if I make it."

"I can already taste them."

The wheels under your feet repetitively click over the wooden slats of the boardwalk as you careen a path towards the location of your upcoming audition; a static circus building that includes the theatre and rehearsal space just two miles north of your duplex. The sun is risen and people are out enjoying the perpetual sunshine of the coastal California city, dog leashes wrapped around their wrists or their hands entangled with loved ones.