She drew a long room: a long, rectangular room. The wooden planks that made up the floor were stretched lengthwise across the room. Down the walls were lines denoting the breaks in the mirrors. And then, wrapping around the walls, waist high, a long band. Alice had said the band was gold.
"It's a ballet studio," I said, suddenly recognizing the familiar shapes: squares, etc.
They looked at me, surprised.
"Do you know this room??" Jasper yelled, with an undercurrent of something I couldn't identify. Alice bent her head to her work, her hand flying across the page now, the shape of an emergency exit taking shape against the back wall, the stereo and TV on a low table by the front right corner.
"It's, it's..." I stuttered. "It's my ballet studio." I paused, recollecting myself. "When I was eight or nine, before I was diagnosed with...well, it was shaped just the same." I touched the page, tracing the outline of the rectangular-shaped room. "That's where the bathrooms were. The bathrooms were right there. The doors were through the other dance floor. But the stereo was here,"—I pointed to the left corner— "it was older, and there wasn't a television, much less a VCR. There was a window in the waiting room—you would see the room from this perspective if you looked through it. Like, through the window into the room. From the other room."
Alice and Jasper were staring at me.
"Are you sure it's the same room??" Jasper yelled suddenly.
"No, not at all—I suppose most dance studios would look the same—the mirrors, the bar, the gold band, the stereo, the floor, the walls, the ceiling..." I traced my finger

420

Chapter 20

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