What a day!  What a day of opportunities and excitement and inspiration, a new beginning that may lead to a happy ending.  I am so full of emotion, exhausted by the journey of a single day.

It all began with a plan that would not have worked without Sabasa’s assistance.  The thought that I had, about having Myrtle watch Blake’s performance, stayed with me, until a new idea had come out of it.  I did indeed encourage Myrtle to attend the performance, which was difficult, as it was one of the first of the morning.  But I managed to get her there, and neither she nor I had cause to regret it.  From the moment the lights came on over the stage, with Blake standing motionless, his hand upstretched, he held us all spellbound.  At first his movements were so slow, one did not realize that he was falling until he was halfway to the stage.  What strength!  What precision!  Then he crumpled, so suddenly that the audience caught their breath, and it was at that moment that the music began playing, soft and subtle.  I have not the words to describe it all, but my memory of it is accessible in the Repository, and I am so honored to have been there.  Sabasa has done truly marvelous work.

Myrtle, too, was captivated, without needing any influence from me.  So it was no trouble to convince her to seek Blake out afterward—she had a bit of time before she had to get ready for her performance.

She found him in a small garden not far from the performance center, gulping water from a bottle and catching his breath.  Her arrival startled him, as he had gone there for the precise purpose of getting away from the crowd, but Sabasa draped her wing around him to soothe him, and he settled down again, nodding as Myrtle introduced herself.

“Your piece was incredible,” she said with absolute honesty.  “I couldn’t breathe.”

“Thank you,” he said, ducking his head.

“Really, where do you get your ideas from?  I would never have thought to do half the things that you do.”

He wiped his forehead, taking a deep breath and looking around.  The air was cooler than it had been the day before, the wind making the colored leaves shiver overhead.  “Inspiration is everywhere,” he said.  “In the world around us, in literature and art, in other people and the stories we tell each other.  It’s in the past and the future, our pain and our pleasure.”  Then he angled his head, in a gesture that reminded me startlingly of Sabasa.  “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Myrtle blinked, but Blake was reaching into his bag to pull out the program.  He flipped through it and found Myrtle’s entry.  “Myrtle Mills,” he said, reading out, “performing an exhibition of the power of memory and hurt on the strength one finds in the present.”  He glanced up with a smile.  “I saw that earlier.  I’m looking forward to your piece.”

I could see the colors twisting in Myrtle’s aura, embarrassment and worry at the thought of Blake seeing her performance to pleasure that he would want to.  Pleasure won out.  “Thanks.  It’s happening pretty soon—I better get to it.”

Blake got to his feet and offered his hand.  “Good luck, then.”

Myrtle eyed that hand, but did not take it.  “Thanks, but I don’t stand a chance against you.”

Blake shook his head and set the hand on her shoulder instead.  “Let me let you in on a secret, Myrtle Mills,” he said, his smile warm.  “I don’t remember who said it, but it’s true that in the end, art is never competitive.”  He patted her shoulder.  “Get to it—I’ll be in the audience.”

That thought warmed her, and it did more to soothe her nerves than anything I have ever done.  It reminded her of the reasons that she wanted to come to this competition in the first place—not, in fact, to compete, but to show her art, to give it the audience it deserved.

So she went to change, kissed Jaquinn one more time, and gathered her dancers around her.  Then, when the time was right, she strode out onto the stage.

Words will not be enough, but I will try to describe that performance.  It began with the four dancers together, moving in unison to music that was light and happy, music Myrtle loved as a girl.  Bit by bit, however, one of the four began falling out of step.  On the third or fourth time, that one began to drag the others out of place, until on stage was chaos, feet falling heavily on the wrong beats, bodies colliding and spinning in a nauseating whirl.  Hints of violence and turmoil drove the dancers apart, two and two, with Myrtle and Ashton turning their backs on the others and standing in cold stillness.  Suprima had a brief solo, spinning and jerking in wild, lonely dissolve, while Avery watched, pacing back and forth.  But then Suprima collapsed, and Avery darted forward in time to catch her, drawing her aside to crouch.  Then Myrtle returned for her solo, using everything of her skill and strength—I said that words would not be enough, did I not?  She was incandescent.

As she danced, behind her where she could not see, the other three gradually joined in, seeming to give support and following in her path.  At the last, when the music fell back to a single, sustained note, she spun, presenting her back to the audience, and held out her hands to the others.  They came forward, Avery on one side and Ashton on the other, with Suprima facing Myrtle directly.

That moment, in which Myrtle gazed right into the eyes of the representation of her mother, would have brought me to tears if I had tears to cry.  It gives me hope that one day, she may forgive Abby yet.

The applause for Myrtle was nearly as loud as it was for Blake.  Indeed, I saw Blake in the audience as he had promised, clapping as hard as he could.  I pointed him out to Myrtle, who smiled to see it.  That smile widened when she caught sight of Jaquinn, who was pumping his fist in the air, so proud of Myrtle that he lit up his entire row.

After this, nearly everything else is merely an afterthought.  Nearly everything.  Myrtle floated through the rest of the afternoon, half-numb with the relief of having it behind her, half-exultant from the feeling of having succeeded when she feared the worst.  There were only a few more performances, but she did not watch them, busy celebrating with Jaquinn and her colleagues, and then the awards ceremony was this evening.  Myrtle did not win anything, though I am pleased to report that Blake took second prize.  Still, she was very glad about the way she had performed, and she went to the reception afterward with a light heart.

It was there that she was approached by a plump woman in a smart suit.  “Myrtle Mills?” the woman asked, extending her hand to Myrtle.  “My name is Mariah Wallace.  May I have a word?”

Myrtle hastily passed off her plate to Jaquinn and stepped away with Ms. Wallace.  They spoke for a long moment, a conversation filled with brief exclamations from Myrtle and much eager nodding.  Finally Mariah stepped away smiling, and Myrtle returned to her friends in a daze.

“Who was that?” Ashton asked.

Myrtle took the cup from his hand and drained it, passing it back without seeming to see him at all.  “That,” she said, her voice faint, “was a representative of Jacob’s Pillow, who saw our performance and wanted to offer me a place in their dance program.”

There was a beat of astonished silence, and then the five of them silenced the room with an outburst of celebration that ricocheted from the ceiling.  Jaquinn seized Myrtle and spun her through the air, while Ashton kissed every one of the dancers except Suprima, who was doing a forceful victory dance.

“Myrtle, that’s amazing!” Jaquinn gasped, dropping her back onto her feet.  “Isn’t that one of the best programs in the country?”

She seized his face and kissed him with heat.  “Come with me,” she whispered into his ear.

He stiffened.  “What?”

She leaned back, her eyes glowing with satisfaction and pride and hope and all the most wonderful things I want to see in human souls.  “What, you think I’m going anywhere without you?”

And then all those wonderful things were in his eyes, too, and he kissed her again—in that moment, words were not enough for him, either.

I am so happy for them both, but especially for Myrtle.  This success, this victory, may just erase whatever fears she may have about committing to Jaquinn.  With this she may finally be strong enough to stay in one place with him, to allow him to stay by her side.  But whatever the outcome, it is a marvelous opportunity for her, and I cannot wait to see what art she will make out of it.