Re: Studio: Wren & Ryan
Ry, she didn't know nothing of narcissism. She knew names could be wishes, right. She knew her brother, her eldest brother had been named after a dead guy back in Mexico because her mama said it like a prayer and she loved him best just 'cause he had the name of that dead guy. She knew hers had been an anchor, a rope to keep some white guy moored tight to a family pressed tight together in a small, hot apartment except her anchor hadn't been quick enough or some shit, because he'd slipped the rope. She liked Wren; Ry didn't know nothing about birds but she liked the shape of it and it didn't sound like nobody else.
Coming back, that part Ry knew. Coming back or striking off someplace new, you had a start someplace and you couldn't get rid of that shit. Your start, it was in your blood. In your bones maybe. En su espíritu. You might go someplace else and you might pretend -- sugar-plum girls lined up, soft hands and arched back and pale-knit wraps and arched feet -- but you were what you were made of. She was sinew and ass and burned sugar and laughter and it wasn't nothing like most of the ballet girls.
"I don't try to be nobody, ñera. That's the whole point." Ballet subsumed. Ry, she hadn't seen nothing like the sea. Not yet, not an ocean crashing out there. She'd seen the water off of the city, the rivers but she hadn't seen nothing but water that you could drown in. But she knew what that was like. Letting go.
"Maybe lost. Maybe found. Both. It finds you where everyone else stops looking, right." The smile hadn't stopped glowing, but it folded in. Ry wore everything on the surface. Right up there, thoughtful. She didn't stop much, to think, other than class and class was mostly 'bout not thinking at all except how to stretch her muscles further. Ry was sleek in this class, like a cat. Limber, and she moved like she hadn't noticed nobody else moving slower or stiffer. It was natural, oiled muscles and easy stretch and her nose touched her knee as she bent.