Ballet Exercises

Gay Toltl Kinman

Celeste did her cool-down exercises after the ballet class, dressed, quickly pulled on her cowboy boots and rushed to her car.

She'd make it in time for her night class in economics if there wasn't a delay on the freeway. With one hand, she rummaged around in her voluminous shoulder bag through books and the other paraphernalia of her life, searching for an energy bar she knew would probably be squashed beyond recognition by now.

She pushed the radio on. Tinny Christmas jingles followed by, "Only three more days of shopping days before Christmas. And now for the news. Police report finding the body of an unidentified woman who according to a Department's spokesperson had been knifed and raped..." Celeste pushed the button off.

I don't want to hear that, too depressing, she thought. She'd have to wait until the news was over to get any music, even it was just Jingle Bells and White Christmas interspersed with shopping commercials. She had no one to buy for, so it didn't matter how many days were left.

The traffic was hopeless, everyone was going somewhere. Sunday was Christmas. Her last class, then two weeks of vacation.

Eventually, she was able to get music, but only Christmas songs that sounded dissonant, jarring as though on a worn tape.

The parking lot at the community college was almost empty. Her class must be the only one in session, or else everyone had cut. The buildings looked deserted. She shivered in the brisk, bone-chilling wind blowing through the Coyote Canyon as she ran in. No time to go to the ladies room.

The instructor hadn't arrived and only half the class was there. After ten minutes he was still a no-show. The murmurings about leaving became louder. Then someone cited the heavy traffic, so they waited another five minutes before dashing off to their real lives.

Celeste ran to the ladies room. One of the double doors, the outie, was propped open. She ran in.

While she was in the stall she heard the door slam shut. She came out doing up her belt.

Santa Claus was standing by the sinks.

Janitor? Someone in the wrong rest room?

He was smirking. Fear gripped her.

"You don't have to bother buttonin' up, darlin', cause I'm going to be takin' 'em right down again."

Her mind splintered.

Cell phone? In the car.

Gun? Home in the nightstand.

He advanced—like a man who was going to get what he wanted.

She could hardly breathe.

When he was closer, Celeste swung her heavy leather bag with every ballet muscle she'd ever exercised, and connected. The large metal clasp caught him on the side of his head. He staggered and went down on one knee. She ran past him and pushed on the exit door that had been open.

Locked.

She threw herself against the other one, but she knew it only opened in and there was no handle on it. She scrabbled at the bottom but there was no space for her fingers to get under to pull it open.

Celeste pushed against the outie door again. It still didn't budge. She banged on it with her fists, screaming, "Help, help!"

Who would be left to hear her?

He had probably waited until everyone was gone.

Suddenly, there was a grip on her shoulder. His hand.