Maverick Chase


I am a student in Manila, Philippines. My hobbies include writing, and watching TV shows and movies, acting, singing, and basically anything artsy. Thank you so much for your support!

Message to Readers

This is an excerpt from a book I'm working on. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly welcome!

Wheelchair Dancing

April 10, 2017


“Hey, Bella, can I talk to you?”
She didn’t move.
Dumitru cleared his throat. “Bella? Bella!”
She pulled out her earphones and he could hear the Les Miserables blasting through them. “Sorry, Dumitru, I didn’t hear you. What is it?” She noticed his sullen look on his face. “What’s wrong? Is it trouble with Ivanna?”
“Not exactly,” he said, his freckled face unreadable.
“Then what?”
He was quiet for a moment, maybe two. Then he took a deep breath. “I need you to teach me to dance.” He said this so quiet that Bella couldn’t hear him.
“What was that?”
“Ah. I see. And what do you want me to teach you how to dance?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe a waltz. I don’t really know about this kind of stuff.”
Bella put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Dumi. I’ve gotcha covered.”
She took his calloused hand and led him to the living room, wheelchair rubber squeaking.
“Okay. First we need to get the position correct. Now, put your hand on my waist. No, no. The other waist. There we go. Now, hold my other hand. Good. I’ll put my hand on your shoulder. I have to stand to the side to you. All right. Now, I’m going to pull you to my right, while I move to the left. Now you’ve got it.”
Dumitru smiled. This is a rare one. A genuine smile, thought Bella. She decided then and there that she would do everything and anything in her power to keep that smile on his face.
She paused and walked away from him to retrieve her iPhone. Clicking on Spotify, she went to Classical Waltzes and tapped the first one. Gentle notes floated out of the phone and into the room. By herself, she waltzed over to Dumitru and assumed the same position from before. They twirled to the melody and their feet and wheels clipped staccato notes in floorboards, prancing over fermatas and whole notes and rests.
“Where did you learn to dance, Arabella? LIke this, I mean.”
She looked down at her shoes as they slowed to a stop. “When I was little, I was in a number of foster homes. One of the families I was with. The husband was a dance teacher at the Performing Arts. After work, and after I was home from school, he would teach me how to dance. Street Dancing, Ballet, Tap Dancing, Ballroom, anything really. His name was John Watson, like the Sherlock character. Maybe that’s why I loved him so much; John Watson was a hero to me. I remember...I remember looking up into ocean eyes, that’s what I always called them. He would let me step on his feet. He said it made me taller than him, and I would be looking down on him. Soon, I was. He died two years after he and Trixie took me in. Drunk driver. It broke Trixie’s heart. She committed suicide six months later. After that incident, me and my brother were separated, and I haven’t seen him since,” She let go of him and stepped away to the window, looking down from the ledge to the quiet street below her, a few tears dripping on the window pane. Dumitru wheeled over to her.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“You didn’t need another burden, Dumi.” Arabella said, voice wavering.
“It doesn’t matter!”
“Yes is does, dammit!” She said, slamming her hand on a table. Just for a moment, Dumitru can see tears in her eyes. His start brimming too when he realizes that this is the first time she has ever cried in front of him.
How strong she had been, that girl. Slowly, slowly, her heart became more callous than muscle, more skin than soul. And that little girl’s heart never got a chance to grow. Her heart was forced into the little girl ballet shoes but was never given room to be a child.


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  • April 10, 2017 - 5:45am (Now Viewing)

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