Ashlei
My mom used to call me her little bird when I was a kid.
I had a knack for getting into trouble, for getting into precarious situations, and for getting hurt — mostly because I had such an appetite for challenge and a competitiveness like no other.
Boy or girl, older or younger, it didn’t matter.
If someone challenged me to do something or said I couldn’t do something, I’d prove them wrong.
I had more stitches than Barbie dolls by the time I was ten, but Mom always said I was her little bird, always flying from the nest without fear of falling.
I knew I would fly.
And right now, I feel like I’ve never soared higher in my life.
The last four years have taken me through some major ups and downs.
From the drug escapade and getting caught up with the wrong people, to trying to turn my life around only to sleep with my boss, then fall in love with him, then lose him along with my job because I was stupid, then win him back and move in with him… you could say it’s been a whirlwind.
But as it often does, the sea has been settling in my life, the storm gone, waters calming and breeze gently blowing through my hair. For the first time in a very long time, I feel completely at peace.
The summer only brought on more clients and more responsibility for me at Ball & Pen, and my boss, Celeste, became more and more comfortable handing me the more challenging events.
She also gave me a bigger budget to hire more staff, including a second assistant for me in addition to Jeannie, who has become my right-hand woman.
Brandon had tried desperately to get me to come back to work at Okay, Cool when we’d made up, but as much as I love him and his company — Ball & Pen felt like the right place for me to be.
It was a chance to build my name outside of Brandon, to not be seen as his previous intern-turned-employee-turned-girlfriend.
Although we’d embraced our relationship head on and no one seemed to have a problem with it, I wasn’t na?ve enough to think the rumor mill didn’t run behind both our backs.
Besides, Celeste sees my potential, and she trusts me with the responsibility I’ve always dreamed of having — ever since I decided event planning was a career I could see myself loving.
And boy, do I love it.
I work tirelessly every day and night, sometimes into the weekends — much to Brandon’s dismay — and even on the most stressful days, I feel so alive, so in love, that I don’t mind.
The only things that fuel me just as much as working are loving Brandon and pole dancing.
It amazes me still how easily the transition was with Brandon, from fighting and breaking up, to not talking for months, to fucking and dating like nothing had changed at all.
The little games we played in the spring were maddening, but I’d go through them all again if that’s what it took to have him.
The truth is that Brandon’s just as full of pride as I am, and it took playing those games to break him down and get him to realize he still loved me — even if he was mad at me.
And he had a right to be.
It isn’t always easy. Even now, the pain I caused him surfaces and I have to smooth his worries about me possibly betraying his trust again. I never would, not in a million years, and I have no problem continually proving that to him.
But for the most part, the summer was pure magic for us — and I’ve never been happier or more in love.
And as much as I love work, and love him, there’s a special kind of love I hold for this place — my pole studio — where I can get out of my head and fully into my body, where I can challenge myself and continually be humbled and find a way to rise again.
“That combo is fucking sick,” Leona says when both my feet are on the hardwood floor again. She’s a younger student, a perky, curvy little thing with pixie short hair and more tattoos on her pale skin than anyone I’ve ever known in my life.
I bend over and grab my knees, panting, chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. “Thanks,” I say with a smile.
“Seriously, how the hell do you bend like that? And the Iron X… I’ll never be able to do that.” She shakes her head, wrapping both hands around her own pole and staring up at it like it’s both the only thing she’s ever loved, and her biggest enemy.
It kind of fits, to be honest.
“You will,” I assure her. “Trust me. I’ve been doing this for four years now, off and on, and everything I can do now felt impossible to me at one point or another. Just keep working,” I say. “I promise, you’re stronger than you realize.”
Leona smiles and nods at me in thanks, and then she’s climbing up the pole again, working a layback combo I remember being a bitch to conquer myself when I was in my intermediate stage.
Leona is just one of the students I’ve come to love at the studio.
From taking classes and attending almost every open pole practice, the girls here have become like family.
Now that I’ve started to compete again, I’ve even roomed with some of them at competitions and conventions, and I’ve been both challenged and inspired by every single woman here.
“Has Karen convinced you to come on as a teacher yet?” one of the other girls chimes in from the back. “Because I’m dying to take a class with you.”
I smirk, grabbing my water bottle from the cubbies on the far wall and taking a big swig. “Not yet, but she’s getting close.”
That earns a few gasps and excited claps from the room.
“Oh, my God, please, Lei!”
“I NEED to learn from you.”
“Can you do a dance class? Your flow is insane!”
I laugh and hold up my hands to calm them all. “I’m still thinking on it. My big girl job is pretty demanding, and this is where I come to release. I don’t want to lose that.”
Silence falls over them before Leona says, “That’s fair. But if you ever do decide to teach, I’ll be the first one to sign up.”
There’s a chorus of agreement that makes me flush, and then the girls are all back to climbing and practicing their tricks.
I grab the bottle of Dry Hands out of my bag and squeeze a small amount in one palm, rubbing my hands together with my eyes on the pole as I debate what I want to work next. I’m nice and warm, and after nailing that last combo, all I can think about is that I’m ready to work my nemesis.
Bird of Paradise.
The twisty move is an absolute freak of nature, and one that my body hasn’t particularly loved since I started training it over the summer.
It’s an outside leg hang variation where you wrap your inside arm around the front of your inside leg, that’s extended toward your face, by the way, and wrap your outside arm around the pole to grab that inside hand.
Then, when you’ve got that bitch of a back breaking twist achieved, you release the outside leg and extend it back in a split, balancing everything while you hold on in this anatomy-defying pose.
All while upside down.
And spinning.
No big deal…
I first saw the move at a competition back when I competed for Leslie’s studio, and I remember how loud the crowd cheered when the girl did it, how much my jaw dropped, how furious my little voice was in my head.
I have to do that move!
I didn’t realize how much went into it, how flexibility and strength training had to combine for it to be achieved.
But I’ve been working tirelessly at it for almost a year now, and particularly hard over the summer.
Maybe today’s the day…
I clap my hands together one last time, making sure the Dry Hands is sticky and ready to go, and then I launch myself at the pole.
Gripping tight, I power climb up, using only my hands and bicep muscles, legs swinging out behind me. When I’m up three climbs, I hold a pencil pose, body in line with the pole, and then tuck the chrome into my armpit and lift my legs up and over my head.
Chopper.
Leg hang.
For a while, I lie back and enjoy the brief rest. I remember a time when a leg hang was so painful, I thought my inner thigh was on fire. But now, it’s a breather, a chance to let my body relax before I go for the next move.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Slowly, I grab for the pole and maneuver my shoulder into position — one that’s extremely bendy and difficult, even with being warm. I take my time, and when I feel confident, I swing my inside leg around and grab hold with my inside hand.
This part is always sketchy, inching my shoulder under the pole more and more, centimeter by centimeter, my hands reaching for each other to lock behind my shin and hold me in place. I breathe through it, eyes closed so I won’t get too dizzy.
And finally, my fingers touch.
A few more breaths and I’ve got my hands locked together, though my shoulders are screaming.
“You’ve got this, Lei!” someone shouts, and a few other girls cheer me on as I go for the last part to clench the move.
Squeeze everything tight.
Breathe.
Relax.
And when I feel ready, I unhook my outside leg and send it back behind me, straight and extended, toes pointed.
Bird of Paradise: unlocked.
The girls roar their approval, and for a moment, I’m smiling and internally freaking out that I actually fucking did it.
But the next, I slip, just an inch, just enough for all the joy to drain from my face, for my heart to race into my throat, and for me to realize I’m not secure.
Shit.
It’s not easy to come out of this move, and I don’t have enough time to think about how to do it properly, to save myself from slipping all the way down. I try to bring my outside leg back in to hook, but it’s too late.
I can’t squeeze hard enough.
I can’t re-grip the pole.
And in the next second, I’m free falling — desperate hands grasping for chrome that I never quite find.
Cheers turn to gasps, and I hit the floor with a nasty snap, rip, crack. There’s a brief shot of the most agonizing pain I’ve ever felt in my life.
And then everything goes dark.