I imagine my mother's face. I see her warm eyes, the nose with the tiny bump, and the dark hair cascading in wild waves over her shoulders. I feel her rough hands on my cheek, worn from working in the olive grove. And I smell her scent of dry earth and orange blossoms.
For you, Mama, I whisper in my mind. In my imagination, her lips turn up. Her cheeks glow rosy, and fine lines extend from the corners of her eyes to her temples.
A heartbeat later, lively music starts playing. Maxime's grip tightens.
I lift my head, looking directly into the faces of the judges. Despite the never-ending abdominal cramps, I know I’m ready. Because I want to be ready.
Maxime and I will leave all eleven judges sitting in front of us breathless with our jive. And my mother will beam with pride.
Here we go.
The most important dance of my life begins.
On one, I stretch out; on two, I swing my hips to the side. Three, shifting my weight to the left side; four, the hips follow. We dance in synchronized movements toward the judges.
The rhythm of the music is faster than I feared. After a few seconds, my heart rate soars. I maintain the radiant smile they want to see. It has to appear effortless, as if dancing is pure joy and has nothing to do with exertion.
Maxime lets go of my hand, and we separate to dance in a semicircle. I nearly collide with couple number three on my way, as I am so preoccupied with controlling my nausea, but I manage to avoid it. We come back together, and Maxime's gaze flickers to me. For a moment, he lets me see the worry in his eyes.
He shouldn't be worried. He needs to concentrate! I respond with a warning glance and stop a yard away from him.
The music picks up pace. I swing my arms, lift my knee, and kick my leg.
Again, to the other side.
Slightly bend forward. And back.
My muscles feel stiff, and my feet are as heavy as if trapped in lead shoes.
Nevertheless, I keep fighting.
Don't give up, Aurora. You can manage these few seconds!
I keep repeating these words to myself, but my stomach cramps more and more. When Maxime reaches for my hand again, signaling the turn, I wish I could crouch down and curl my upper body forward so that I look like a small sparkling package.
Fire shoots up my esophagus.
The turn feels different from usual.
Soft.
The ballroom, with all the elegantly dressed couples and the intensely scented floral decorations, seems somehow distorted. The music becomes muffled.
I can’t keep my smile up any longer. A loud groan escapes my mouth.
Suddenly, a searing pain shoots through my middle.
Oh. My. God.
I can no longer keep myself on my feet. Like a marionette whose strings are suddenly released, I collapse on the dance floor.
Everything comes to a halt.
The smile on my mother's face vanishes. Her features turn gray and dissolve rapidly.
No!
Stay with me!
My plea remains unsuccessful.
Whimpering, I curl up on the floor.
This is the end. We have failed.
And it's all my fault.
"Aurora!" Maxime's sweat-drenched face hovers over me. His eyes are supernaturally wide, and he cups my cheeks in his hands. "You're bleeding!"
