She had shin splints and what felt like a sprained ankle. Her head was throbbing from basically landing on it twice on top of all that, she could barely walk from fingering herself silly nearly all night long. After lunch, there was intensive tumbling work, and at one point Alex, the physical trainer, pulled Stacey aside to look at her ankle. After a quick exam, she determined it needed some attention. “I can tape this up here, or we can take the cart to my training room and I can fix you up properly, your choice.” “Cart. Room. I’m hurting.” Alex went and spoke to Natasha, who quickly ran over and checked on her. “Oh yeah, that’s swollen. Do what you can and I’ll come and take a closer look later.”On the ride to her room Alex explained that being as small and flexible as she was, she was by far the best candidate for the flyer. She needed to keep her healthy as such and would do everything she could to fix her up. She helped her to the exam table in the room and had her. We were the music and the music was us, our bodies so in harmony and moving faster with the music then harder, faster, deeper, trembling, the music rising, taking us closer to exploding, the music rushing to its climax, soaring and suddenly we were there, reaching for the highest notes, climaxing, coming together. It was a miracle how our first night of making love became something we would never forget. I was sobbing and he held me close and we lay together on the couch. The music had stopped and it was quiet, no sound or movement other than the candles flickering in the dark. That night was five years ago. I went to the University of Vermont that fall and we talked on the phone and e-mailed every day, and he sent me new poems and I told him I was spending most of my time in the pottery studio at school and had a great teacher. I had a few other good courses but my main interest was learning how to be a potter. I loved it and learned that he was right. When you find what you love.
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