Adieu Warm Sunshine by C.E. Case

Adieu Warm Sunshine by C.E. Case

Author:C.E. Case [Case, C.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Supposed Crimes
Published: 2016-08-01T06:00:00+00:00


Chapter Eight

Her memories became a jumbled blur of nothing, sinking down within herself, into a white haze.

"What do you remember?"

The voice was far off. Outside herself. Somewhere in the murky grey her eyes couldn't quite see.

She felt nauseous all the time, wasn't sure if she was eating, in and out of the darkness into grey, but never white.

Never focusing.

"What do you remember?"

She remembered dancing. Her first audition after college. For a Broadway show, why not, it was all A Chorus Line all the time.

One singular sensation she was not.

Rejected, relegated to Off-Off-Broadway.

She tried dancing for the ballet and contemporary companies. Found them stodgy. Too physical. She wanted to act.

She wanted character.

Not sunflowers rising from the garden. Arms wide. Head down, then up.

Sunflowers?

"What do you remember?"

She remembered her first job, union minimum. Bringing home a check for under $200. Taking a picture with it. That would show mom and dad.

She remembered dancing. Thirty seconds of dancing on the stage, costume change, fifteen seconds of dancing.

That wasn't dancing.

In the dancing troupe she could dance for an hour at a time.

No one would come see her.

She tried out for the Rockettes, got a job there. It lasted six months before she landed her first Off-Broadway play. Not union minimum anymore.

She'd gotten sick. Used her health insurance for a flu that left her puking for a week.

Lost her job.

Rockettes took her back a month later. Or was it a year?

"What do you remember?"

She remembered the first time she took heroin.

The grey focused into bright white light. She blinked.

A woman sat across from her. Not Sarah. She remembered Sarah.

"I remember heroin," she said and drank from a straw. She couldn't move her arms. She was wrapped in a sheet. No, a straightjacket.

"What do you remember about heroin?"

"Finding God," she said.

"Really. Heroin's not usually the first choice for God seekers."

"It was the first time... the first time I ever calmed down."

"Anxiety disorder?"

Pamela shook her head. The room spun. The nausea rose up in her.

A needle pricked her arm. The nausea subsided.

"Tell me about the heroin."

Only a minute had passed.

"I thought it would just be that one time. That one glimpse into a life I wasn't leading. Because I liked—I liked what I was doing."

"What were you doing?"

"Dancing."

"Is that a thing? That people do?"

"I was moving my body. Working my muscles. I was... was..."

The heroin would calm her. Maybe she could ask. "I was flexible."

"Did you ever try for one of those reality TV shows?"

Pamela shook her head. Saw grey. Was blind. "I was too old."

"You're not very old even now."

"I wasn't hungry enough. I could see it. I didn't want... stardom."

"What motivates you as a person, Pamela?"

Heroin.

"I don't know," she said.

"Freedom?"

Pamela shook her head. She couldn't say no. Didn't know what no meant. Not really.

No means no.

She laughed.

"Pamela? Is this about your parents?"

Ballet and tap at three years old. That's what kids did. She followed direction well.

"I follow direction well."

"Does that mean... Okay, what does that mean?"

"Who are you?" Pamela looked up into the woman's face, found her grey and aging.



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