Colette Dubois's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Six weeks ago, Colette Dubois had headlined the biggest cabaret in the city. Now she woke in a hospital ward and reached for a leg that was gone. Her right arm ended above the elbow. Her left leg ended above the knee. She had been the star of that stage. She meant to stand on it again, whatever it cost. The ward held ten doors, all shut, all bright and clean. Machines beeped behind them. Colette pushed her blanket aside with her one good hand. She had a plan. If she could stand, she could dance. If she could dance, they would take her back. She swung her body to the edge of the bed. She pressed her palm flat and pushed. Her stump grazed the cold floor. She had no second hand to catch herself. She had no second foot to land on. She toppled and hit the tiles hard. Her shoulder cracked against a door. She tried again. She hooked her good arm over the bed rail and hauled. Her body swung up a few inches, then dropped. She could not balance. She could not even kneel. A dancer who could not hold her own weight. She lay on the floor and shook. A door opened. Marcus came in, her husband, still in his work boots and red flannel. He had spent the morning looking for carpentry jobs that no longer existed. He saw her on the floor and dropped to his knees beside her. "You fell," he said. His hands hovered, afraid to hurt her. "Colette, you have to call me. You can't do this alone." "I have to dance," she said. Her voice broke. "If I can't stand, I have nothing." Marcus lifted her back onto the bed. He was gentle, but his jaw was tight. "You want to prove you belong on that stage," he said. "Fine. But you can't rehearse a step. Not yet. Look at you." Colette looked at her body. He was right. The old routine was gone. Every move she knew needed two arms and two legs. She could not rebuild what her body could no longer do. Then she saw it. On the bed rail hung a metal grab bar, bolted for patients to pull themselves up. She stared at the bar. She thought of the pole she used to climb on stage. Not the same. But a thing to grip. A thing to swing from. "I don't need to walk the routine," she said slowly. "I need to hang it in the air." Marcus frowned. "What?" "A new act. Off the floor. My arm, my leg, and a bar to hold me." She gripped the metal and pulled. Her body lifted, steady this time, swinging clear of the tiles. She held herself up. Marcus watched her hang there. "They cast you out," he said quietly. "They won't just let you back." "Then I'll make them buy a ticket," Colette said. She did not let go.