The Spectacular

by Fiona Davis

Finally, there’s the memory-care floor, which is a laugh because for most folks behind those locked doors, there aren’t that many memories left to be careful about.

to stop and appreciate what it felt like to lift my leg effortlessly high, what it was like when my limbs and mind were rich

“You and your sister have two choices, as far as I’m concerned,” he’d said when they were young girls. “You can either get married or you can take up a reputable, secure job that’s fit for a lady.”

“They’re sent here to learn discipline and grace,” said Miss Beaumont. “They can run about like hooligans at home;

“You should have told us the truth,” said Marion. “We deserve to understand who our mother really was, not some made-up version of her that suited you.”

“Miss Average Rockette,” read the headline. “There are 46 full-time Rockettes, with 36 of them in the line at any one time. Topographically, they average out like this—” “ ‘Topographically’?” said Marion, wrinkling her nose. “Keep reading.” “Bust 34”, Waist 24”, Hips 34½”, Wrist 6”, Ht. 5’ 6½”, Wt. 118–122 lbs.”

In that moment, it felt as if gravity had released its grasp, that Marion had risen into the air like a cloud, free from the constraints of mere mortals.

she’d have to go back to her old life and figure out how to fix it. Figure out what would make her happy. The energy drained out of her at the very thought.

But she loved the challenge of transforming words into motion.

What was it about the synchronicity of movement that created a swell of emotion, one that couldn’t be helped? It was a strange kind of alchemy.

She hadn’t realized until now what a passive participant she’d been in her own life, gliding along with everyone else’s desires for her future.

I really love the way it feels when you come home after a long day and your muscles are sore but your mind is still humming

I’m having a hard time, and if I walk away, it’ll mean that I’m not up to the challenge. I don’t want to have to live with wondering what might have been. This is an opportunity for me, and I need to embrace it.”

a tiny flame of excitement at having made a decision and followed through. She was in charge of her own life now, for better or for worse.

“The man is a textbook narcissist, so I used what I knew about his behavioral tendencies to get him to do what I wanted,” said Peter. “It’s a matter of outmanipulating the manipulator.”

“Part of growing up is striking out on your own path, doing what you think is best,”

“Our lives aren’t set in stone. You can do anything you want.”

Manhattan’s never been welcoming. It’s our perception that changes. In fact, it seems to me that whenever a person comes to New York, the year that they arrive gets coated in amber, in a way. Frozen for perpetuity. You walk around memorizing every block, every corner, because it’s all new and that’s how you navigate the neighborhoods. That’s the year everything is perfect. From then on, as the city changes—and of course, the city has always been changing—we yearn for the past and fight against anything new.

Marion preferred to imagine that alternative universe, where things were still going along like they had before. It was better than dealing with the real one.

Everyone can be analyzed. Everyone has quirks. Even strangers.

You have a confidence in your bearing, a sparkle.

“Unfortunately, these days, when a patient arrives, they’re prescribed Thorazine, which is hailed as a wonder drug but, in fact, turns them into zombies, roaming the halls, useless and unhappy.”

do an interview with each new patient. Ask them specific questions about their past and their current state of mind, then six months later, I compare their behavior to their answers, see if I can come up with a pattern. I call it ‘profiling.’

“As I mentioned before, usually a psychiatrist studies the patient and then predicts the behavior. In this case, I’m working backward, examining the behavior and then trying to figure out what type of person would act this way,

It was like watching the conductor of an orchestra, the way Peter was presenting his case.

For the rest of the day, her lips burned with the memory of their kiss.

“What I’m saying is your mother’s decisions are not your destiny. The outcome, luckily, is in your hands, not your DNA.”

Marion’s individuality tended to burst out when she least expected it. Kicking too high, smiling too widely.

I suppose your first love is the one that stays with you, especially when it was never consummated.

The hardest is to live in the moment and not worry about what’s coming five or ten years from now.

Taking a leap this late in life is crazy, I think to myself. Don’t let yourself get hurt again, I warn myself. But the answer is obvious.