Trinity
Trinity: (noun) 1. A group of three. 2. The condition of existing as three persons or things.
She remembers when she was younger and the only thing in the world she dreamed of being was a dancer. She wanted to be a ballerina.
She had been fascinated by their movements, by their constant grace. Her mother would take her to all of the local ballets and she would memorize their moves; and when they got home, she would practise for hours on end in her bedroom, imitating their spins and steps. She was never exceptionally good, and she fell down a lot, but she always lifted herself up and tried again harder.
She suspected that her parents always knew about her bedroom dancing, although she had never told them. There was only one person in the world that she would let in on her secret, and by then, she wouldn't meet him for nearly five more years.
Five years later, she sits on a beach on an island God only knows where, tending the camp fire. Inside the tent, someone is whistling (rather badly) and she thinks it's Eric, but she can't be sure. Suddenly, she has the desperate urge to get up and dance - so she does.
It's been years since she's done it, but she still remembers how, and so she lifts her heels, her toes sinking into the pale sand, and she twirls. She closes her eyes, content for the first time in ever, and just forgets for a moment … and oh, it feels like Heaven.
The whistling steadily grows louder, but she just continues, and when he sneaks up behind her, she doesn't notice. He lets out an amused chuckle, and she gasps, turning around, and blushes horribly when she sees him.
"Jackson! I was - I just … I--"
He grins, his face lighting up, and then he laughs again and plops hard on to the sand. He starts whistling again in invitation. She stands there stupidly, blushing, and she wishes that he didn't have that effect on her.
Not so long after Then (as she's come to calling their time on the island), she's in her bedroom hiding from the outside world. They had all promised they would stay in touch after they got home, and they tried so hard, but it wasn't enough, and she hates it. More than anything, she hates the awkwardness that has come up between them lately; on the island they could share everything, and it was perfect, but now it was like they couldn't say anything in fear of bringing up bad memories.
Also, she hates to admit it, but most of all she misses Jackson and the comradeship they had built up over those four weeks. Jackson had always been quiet and independent, but he seemed to have taken it to a whole new level lately and she has hardly even seen him since they got home.
Sighing in exasperation - she doesn't want to think about this now! - she turns on her stereo. Immediately, the soft, gentle notes of one of her favourites begins. She gets up, closes her eyes hoping to feel at least some sort of relief, and lets the music wash over her. Slowly, she lifts her heels, balancing on the tips of her toes. She twirls and spins and waves her arms like she always had, but it feels wrong now. Her toes don't sink in the sand, they stay solid on the hardwood floor; and the mixed harmony of the instruments in the song is ugly compared with Cody Jackson's out of tune whistling.
Melissa stops dancing, her eyes remain close, and she flops back on to her soft bed, feeling immensely unsatisfied and somehow … empty.
the end.