Page 149 of The Breaking Pointe
“It’s not just a box…” I say, pausing as I question my intelligence. “Is it?” I look to both her and her mother for confirmation.
Noelle’ssmileturnsintoafitofgiggles.
“Open the top and it’ll turn into something.It’s much bigger than a box, honey,” she says, pointing to it and fidgeting with what seems to be the lid. “See?” She shows me, kissing my cheek as the box expands into something much bigger, indeed.
I take over her grasp on the oak, expanding what I thought was a box into a tall painting easel, nearly matching Noelle in height, and perfect to take with me wherever I go.
“Now, tell me it’s not the coolest thing ever!”she squeals, reacting as though she’d received the present herself.
I would deem it more than just cool. It’s a symbolization of how much she cares about my hobbies and personal interests. When she gave me the robe and shorts, I knew she cared about what I put my all into. She showed that my career is just as important to her as it is to me.But this is different. The easel stands on a pedestal that sits above everything and anything. It stands for the real me—the guy who’s shy and judicious with most things, but because of that it gets hurt in nearly every situation he’s in. It stands for the guy who believes there’s nuance in every aspect of life, and that’s why he spends time trying to represent it through hours of tedious artwork and horrendous emotional expression.
I see the depth in life, she sees the depth in me, and I can’t admit to having any woman see more than my body and wealth before she has.She’s the first, and dammit, I want her to be the last. It is now, that the sound of fathering children fills my soul, and the concept of taking a knee before the woman I owe my life to, draws me in. If the universe has allowed me to, the way I think it has, this is my sign.This oak box turned art easel is the final preface to the story of us.
Stealing her from her place next to me, I slip my arms around her body, pulling her onto my lap and hugging her with a deep nuzzle of my head into her neck.
“You don’t know what you mean to me.” I muffle into her clothes, freezing in place.
She returns the affection with a tender kiss on my head, her significantly smaller frame holding me like a big baby.
“I have to open yours,” she whispers, using one free hand to give her best attempt at ripping her gift open, while still hanging onto me.
Sitting up, I let her use both of her hands now, begging for her approval with my eyes as I wait for the big reveal.
She calmly tears each piece until the pink shoe box is open to her grasp, and that’s when her big, green eyes become wider than I ever imagined they could get.
“Pointe shoes!” she announces, berating the air with her words.
My brows become tight as I shoot a concerned look at Robin, taken back by her on point prediction of what liesin the unopened box.
“How…” I ask out loud, meaning to have said it only in my head.
“It’s okay. She’s showing her years spent obsessing over ballet,” Robin says with laughter, watching Noelle whip each shoe out of the box.
“And they’re Filipa Julio—Mom, you can’t even findthese in America.Do you know how much they are?”she exaggerates, holding them up for her to see.
“A price I’m not sure I want to say out loud?”Robin raises her eyebrows.
Noelle rolls her eyes and looks at me. “How did you find these?” She waves the shoe around as she probes me with her words.
“That’s confidential.”I chuckle, looking at her.
The shock on her face overpowers any other emotion that might want to show itself, and as a result, her slightly dropped jaw is fighting to lift itself as she blankly eyeballs me.
“I have to put them on,” she says quickly, tossing her slippers off and stretching her long, slim legs out before herself.
She rushes to shove each foot inside each shoe, disregard- ing the tightness as she ties the ribbons up her calves.I don’t stop her, intrigued by her willingness to break them in so fast.She uses my shoulder, propping herself up and pushing herself from the rug to a standing position before leaning over to my head and cupping my jaw, tightly. Soft lips connect with my head again and stick there for a matter of seconds as she speaks against my skin.“I know that I will never want for anything ever again, as long as I’m with you.”
Her lips leave their placement on my forehead as she steps back to take a full look at me and smile. She then prances off, springing into her toes, almost instantly, tiptoeing away to the direction her father and Steven went.
I turn to look at the easel, one more time, sighing in solidarity at our already, very merry Christmas.
* * *
I take a lazy step down the stairs, one by one as I drop lower until I reach the door. As my first foot hits the bottom, two of Noelle’s cousins sweep past me, one chasing the other to the outside as they join the family snowball fight occurring in the front yard. Stopping at the bottom step, my attention follows them out the front door, shifting to Steven rough- housing with a few of them in a large pile of snow.Unable to take my attention away, I stand there, watching as he laughs uncontrollably and gets pelted with snowballs as he throws them back.
There are some days, while I find it troubling, that I look at him and I don’t always feel like a brother.Where there
should lie feelings of love from a brotherly place, most times lie a feeling of fatherly love.However, I’m not even physically or scientifically close to being his father,andI doubt he would like the idea of that.Still, I can’t help but to wallow in those perceptions of myself when he does innocent, childlike things.I see what I wasn’t able to enjoy being enjoyed by him, and it not only cures my empty heart, but heals the young boy I used to be.
