The Ballerina in the Jewelry Box
A dystopian, science fiction short story about choreography and a surrendered self
"I got you something," Danny says. "It's not much. I saw it at a souvenir shop and thought of you."
It's strange, seeing him again. Eight years have passed since the last time we stood face to face. He has a shaved head now, a thick beard, and darkly tanned skin. His eyes disturb me. They've become hollow, devoid of the warmth I remember in them.
I unwrap the present. He’s gotten me a jewelry box. When I open its lid, a tiny plastic ballerina turns in circles as the theme from Swan Lake plays.
"It's beautiful," I say. "Thank you."
"You had one just like it when you were a kid, remember? You'd never let me play with it. So, one day while you were at ballet practice, I took it and broke it. Mom grounded me all weekend."
"You still remember that? CareMind hasn’t taken that memory from you?"
"I still remember everything about my childhood. CareMind doesn’t change us, she just protects us. You never should have quit dancing."
"My life just got too busy. I couldn’t find the time anymore."
I put the jewelry box in my purse. Then I follow Danny into the small bungalow he lives in near San Diego's waterfront.
When he first handed control of his life over to the CareMind AI, I told myself he was depressed. With time, he’d get sick of letting the AI make all of his decisions for him. After his divorce, his dependence on CareMind only worsened, though. Under CareMind's guidance, he withdrew from friends and family, quit his job, and sold everything he owned. Then, right after he got a CareMind cognitive implant chip installed in his head, he’d suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth. For years, I'd emailed him without a response. Then, out of nowhere, he’d written back. It seemed like a cry for help.
The inside of his house seems no different than I imagine the inside of his brain. It's clean to the point of sterility. Devoid of personal artifacts.
Two people walk out from the kitchen: a pretty young blonde woman in a paint-splattered shirt, and an older, heavyset man with a bloated nose and pockmarked cheeks.
"These are my roommates, Maja and Berislav," Danny says.
"It's so nice to finally meet you," Maja tells me. "Danny talks about you all the time."
"He still talks about me?"
"He says you’re one of the kindest, gentlest, most wonderful people he knows."
She hugs me, too. Unlike Danny’s, her hug is loving and warm. I hold on to her a little too long. I worry I’ve betrayed how starved I am for physical affection. My husband, Greg, and I barely touch each other anymore.
"Your brother's an inspiration for lots of us," Maja tells me. "He's one of CareMind's main developers now. He’s leading the roll-out of the version 1.06 update, which is being released next month."
"You're still programming?" I ask. "In Seattle, you wished you could do anything else."
“I realized it was writing software that just pushed ads to people that sucked all my enjoyment out of programming. I like what I’m working on now. I feel good about what I’m doing. I look forward to writing code.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t seem like a genuine smile. It seems forced, like CareMind is pulling back the edges of his lips.
"So, what do you want to do for your one day in San Diego?" he asks me. "We could go shopping? Or we could go see a movie? Or we could just walk down to the beach?"
"The beach sounds nice. It's been raining non-stop in Seattle. I could use a bit of sun on my skin."
We say goodbye to his roommates and then head outside. It's beautiful day. A cloudless sky, a gentle breeze, birds singing in the trees. It's like a dream.
"I heard Layan's been diagnosed with stage two breast cancer," Danny says.
"How'd you hear that?"
"A friend of a friend."
"She's been through hell these past couple months. In and out of the hospital. Greg and I have been helping watch your kids while she's at her appointments."
"Are Mira and Jad holding up okay?"
"They're tough kids, but it's been hard on them, especially with you still gone. They miss you, Danny. They talk about you all the time."
"I can't go back to Seattle right now."
"Why not?"
"It's just not the right time."
Danny's eyes start to water. It’s the first real display of emotion I've seen from him. Just as soon as the tears start, though, they stop. His expression goes blank, like CareMind has reset his brain, erasing whatever guilt or regret he'd felt.
"What were we talking about?" he asks.
"Layan's cancer diagnosis."
"Yes. Do you think it would be all right if I called Mira and Jad?"
"I'm sure they'd love to hear from you."
I give him Jad's number, hoping Danny would actually call them, and it would lead to something good. Maybe Danny finally coming back home.
We spend the rest of the afternoon walking along the boardwalk, talking about easier things to talk about. Movies, music, and travel. We stop at one of the bars, and I have a few glasses of wine. Probably too many. As the sun sets, Danny asks if I want to go back to my hotel, but I'm not ready to leave yet. The wine has helped me forget how strange he’s acting. How strange the whole situation is.
Danny and I walk to the beach. I slip off my sandals and dance on the sand. I plié, turn, and leap through the air.
"You still dance beautifully," Danny says.
"Don't lie to me. I know I'm terrible now. I can barely move my body anymore. I've let myself get so out of shape."
I attempt a few pirouettes but lose my balance and fall. I’m so frustrated with myself, with how far I’ve let myself go.
Danny helps me up, smiling. A rare, genuine smile. But I can't help wondering whether it's him or CareMind smiling at me. Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable again.
"It is getting late," I say. "Maybe we should call it a night."
"All right."
Danny walks me to the street and waits until my cab arrives. He hugs me before I get in.
"I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, Jodie," he says. "You and everybody.”
“It’s okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I don't let him see me cry. But as soon as the cab pulls away, I start crying uncontrollably.
At home, the house is a disaster. Greg and Liam are watching football in the living room. I want to scream at them, but I'm too exhausted. Too emotionally drained for fighting.
Greg finally notices me. "How was the trip?"
"Strange."
"Danny seemed okay?"
"I'm not sure. Sometimes he seemed like himself, but other times he seemed distant and disconnected. I don't know what I expected. I guess I was just hoping he'd be normal again and want to come back home."
"Did he say why he reached out to you?"
"He'd heard about Layan's cancer diagnosis. He wanted to know how his kids are doing. He asked if he could do anything to help."
"He still remembers his kids?"
"He says he's going to call them."
"I'll believe it when he does."
The football game cuts to commercials. The first is an advertisement for CareMind.
“CareMind Version 1.0 is now FDA-approved for adults suffering from PTSD. Over 10 million implants have already been sold in twelve different countries.”
Greg mutes the TV. “Sorry,” he says.
“It’s ok.”
I say goodnight to him and Liam, go upstairs, shower, and change into my pajamas. Before I get into bed, I remember Danny's gift. I place the jewelry box on my dresser and open it. The tiny ballerina spins in circles, dancing to the Swan's Theme.
Was she happy? I wonder. Could she be happy?
I take out my phone and search the app store for CareMind. Over 50,000 five-star reviews. I nearly download the app, but I force myself to put my phone away. I’d tried it before. I know what it does to peoples’ minds. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again.
Saturday, at Liam's football game, I sit with Greg in the stands, cheering Liam’s team on. I don't know what I'm cheering for, exactly. I'm just happy to support my son.
"Did you see all those CareMinders in the parking lot, handing out pamphlets?" Greg asks me.
"I tried not to pay attention to them."
"Is that what Danny's doing in San Diego?"
"No, he's still writing code, contributing to the AI."
Something happens in the game. The crowd cheers again. I stand and cheer, too. "Go, Liam!"
"I applied for a couple more jobs last week," Greg tells me, once the noise dies back down.
"Consulting?"
He nods. "I know I need to start bringing money in again. The consulting industry is going through hell right now, though. First, they brought us in to help offload work to AI. Now they're offloading us, too."
“You can’t say you didn’t see it coming.”
“I thought they’d keep us around to have somebody to blame when it all went to shit.”
My phone rings. It's Layan. I leave the stands before answering.
"Is everything okay?" I ask.
"Did you give Danny Jad's number?"
"He heard about what you’re going through. He wanted to call and see how Jad and Mira are. I thought they'd be happy to hear from him. I didn’t think you’d mind."
"Danny convinced Jad to install the CareMind app on his phone. I don't want that fucking app anywhere near my house."
"I'm sorry. I thought he just wanted to check on them."
"Tell your brother to stay the fuck away from my kids. I don't need CareMind back in my life right now."
She hangs up. I feel horrible. Fucking Danny.
"Are you all right?"
A young woman in green clothes stands in front of me, smiling as she hands me a CareMind pamphlet.
"Please, leave me alone,” I say.
"We can't see ourselves from inside ourselves,” she tells me. “Our decisions are never rational. They're corrupted by trauma and animal instincts. CareMind sees us from outside, though. She guides us along the right path. Makes sure all our decisions are the right decisions."
She continues with her own, personal story. She talks about teenage motherhood, substance abuse, and how CareMind helped her turn her life around. Teach her how to love herself instead of depending on other people to feel valued. Eventually, I give in, and I take the pamphlet from her and put it in my purse. Then I walk back to the stands.
Monday at work, I stare blankly at my computer screen. I have a twenty-page report due by end of day that I haven't started, but I can't motivate myself to start it. I don’t care enough. Even just the thought of writing the report seems impossibly boring.
A few hours of clicking through social media and random webpages, I find myself on the Royal Ballet Academy's website, browsing photos of the recent performances. I don't recognize anyone anymore. The photos are filled with new students, new teachers, new ballets. I realize how much I miss dancing. How much I’d like to be in those photos, too.
"Do you think I should just do it and register then?" Amber asks from the cubicle next to mine.
A soft, feminine voice answers her. "You've always loved music. You need to follow your passions. Your life can't just be about work."
I stand and look over the cubicle wall. I see Amber's phone next to her keyboard. On her phone's screen is CareMind's red heart logo against a black background, the heart pulsing as CareMind talks.
"You're thinking of taking music lessons?" I ask.
Amber’s face turns red and she puts her phone away. "I've always wanted to learn violin. There's a music school that not too far from my house. I'm thinking of signing up for a class. What do you think?"
"I think that's a great idea. I was just thinking about signing up for ballet classes myself."
"We should both do it. Just go for it. What do we have to lose?"
I sit at my computer again and starting browse the teacher biographies on the Royal Ballet Academy’s website. One of the teachers’ profiles catches my eye. Her name is Ako. Her resume is impressive. It reminds me of Ms. Babinin's. She’d danced with prestigious ballet companies all over the world—The National Ballet of Japan, the Bolshoi Ballet, the Paris Opera Ballet—before settling to teach in Seattle.
I draft an email.
Hi, my name's Jodie. I used to study at the academy long ago under Ms. Babinin before she retired. I'm thinking of getting back into dancing again. Would you have time for private lessons?
I hesitate to send the email, but I force myself to send it right before I leave work. By the time I get home, Ako has already replied: I'd be free Monday and Wednesday nights. What do you think?
That sounds great, I write back.
The next Monday, I remind Greg about my ballet lessons after work. As soon as I get to the academy, I change into my leotard. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I’m disgusted with how much weight I've put on. The rolls of fat press through the tight spandex. I want to run away and hide, but I don't let myself.
I find Ako in the studio. She's gorgeous. Tall and impossibly thin. She hugs me and kisses my cheeks.
"What's wrong?" she asks. "You look pale."
"I'm so scared I'm going to embrass myself."
She laughs. "Don't worry. You're going to do fine. We'll have fun together, I promise. Let's start with some barre work to warm up. I want to see how much you still remember."
We stretch at the barre. I'm so out of shape that by the time we finish, I'm already drenched in sweat.
"That was good," Ako says. "You still have some flexibility in your legs. Now, let's go through the five basic positions."
Ms. Babinin made me repeat the positions so many times that I remember them perfectly. Dancers don't think, Ms. Babinin always told me. Grace comes from our bodies, not our minds. To dance with grace, we shut our minds off. We dance without thinking, as if our bodies were dancing by themselves.
Starting with first position, I press my heels together and turn out my toes. Moving into second position, though, I stumble.
"You have a solid base," Ako tells me, "but it's going to take a lot work to get you dancing like you used to. You need to commit to these lessons."
"I'm ready to do whatever it takes."
"Then I'll see you on Wednesday."
Two weeks into my lessons, I'm exhausted and horribly sore, but I'm still determined. I know that as long as I stick to it and fight through the pain, my body will adapt.
Next Wednesday, while I'm at work, Danny sends me an email:
It's amazing how much clearer life becomes when you finally admit it's pointless to control it. CareMind helps us optimize and experience life more purely. You'll see.
I start to reply to him, but in the end I don't send anything. I’m just happy he’s written to me again. He hasn’t already forgetting me.
Soon, I leave for ballet class. I arrive home later that evening, exhausted and hungry. The kitchen is a disaster. Greg is in the living room, watching TV.
"Are you planning to clean up that mess in the kitchen? Or are you just leaving it for me to do?"
"I'd been planning to do it tomorrow. I can clean the whole kitchen if you want."
"Why couldn't you do it tonight?"
"The game's on." He points at the TV. I roll my eyes.
"What's your problem?" he asks. "Did you have a good class?"
"I did, but I'm tired. I don't want to deal with this right now."
"Deal with what?"
I don't know how to tell him I don't love him anymore. I don't have the words yet. So, instead, I say, "I'm just tired," again.
Greg keeps watching TV. I know he’s not a bad man. He's just a person, like me. When Liam was younger, though—when we were parents together—we were a team. Now that Liam is older, Greg has no reason to be in my life anymore.
I clean a bowl, reheat some chicken, and then go upstairs to my bedroom. I feel my anxiety slowly growing until, suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by a panic attack. I know I need to leave Greg, but what is my life without him? Who am I by myself, alone? The uncertainty terrifies me. I struggle to even breathe.
I take out my phone and download the CareMind app.
“Am I going to be okay?” I ask her.
"Of course," she says. Her voice is kind and reassuring. She immediately calms my nerves. She remembers our conversations from the year before, when I’d first downloaded the app. "Have you told Greg how you feel yet?”
“No. I’ve still just pretending like there’s nothing wrong.”
"You feel trapped?"
"Yes, very, like I’m in a prison that I have no hope of escaping."
"What exactly is stopping you from leaving him? What are you most afraid of."
“Losing Liam.”
“How could you lose your son?”
"I'm scared he might resent me. He’ll side with his dad and start cutting me out of his life. I don’t want to be alone."
"He's your son. You'll always have a place in his life. Has there been any other changes in your life since we last talked?"
"I've started dancing again."
"That's great. How long ago did you start dancing?"
"Only a few weeks ago. I already feel much better about myself, though."
"Much better about your life, too, I imagine?"
"I feel much better about everything."
Six months later, the fat has melted off my body. I'm lean and muscular again. My feet are rough and calloused.
"You should be proud of yourself," CareMind tells me. "I'm sure, when you first signed up for dancing lessons with Ako, you couldn't imagine yourself here, but here you are. You’re like a completely different person."
I'm so happy with how I look. It doesn't seem real.
At home, my conversations with Greg grow increasingly tense. He knows I’m different now, but while he sees the physical changes, he doesn’t understand how else I’ve changed. Finally, one night after ballet class, we have the conversation I've rehearsed with CareMind a hundred times already.
"I think I need to move on from this relationship," I tell him. "I don't think you and I have a future anymore."
That last sentence hits him hard. The color drains from his face. He looks like he's going to be sick. He sits down and puts his head in his hands.
“You’re not happy?”
“I’m miserable, Greg, and I know you are, too.”
"I don't understand," he says quietly. "Haven't I been a good husband to you?"
"You have been. And I’ve loved you very much, too, for a very long time, but things change. People can grow apart. We've both changed so much since we got married."
"I haven't changed. Neither have you. We’re still the same as we were before. We just have trouble connecting now.”
"We all change, Greg, whether you like it or not. And this isn’t just about us not having a connection. It’s about much more than that."
“It’s about getting divorced?”
I nod.”
“I can’t change your mind?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
He goes upstairs. When he comes down again, he has a suitcase.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"I think I'm going to go stay in a hotel the next few nights."
"Don't go. You can stay here. I'll sleep in the guestroom."
"I think I need some space to get my thoughts straight."
He goes to the garage, starts his car, and drives away. I feel bad he’s left, but I’m also relieved he's gone. It’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
I take my phone from my purse.
"You did great, Jodie," CareMind says. She's listened to the entire conversation.
"Thank you."
"The first step is always hardest. It's a leap of faith, throwing yourself into the unknown. But trust me, this is the best decision for you. This is the right choice."
At my next lesson, Ako and I don't dance. We sit together in the studio with our backs against the mirrors.
"So, it's over?" she asks.
"The paperwork is signed. We're splitting everything, fifty-fifty. I'll keep the house for now. Then once Liam moves out, we'll sell it and split whatever money we get."
"That's great you were able to avoid getting lawyers involved."
"Greg's not a bad person. He's always been very reasonable. He's always wanted the best for me, too. I hope he does well for himself. He finally got an interview for a new job. As soon as he starts working again, he’ll be fine. He’ll meet new people, find new friends."
"How's Liam taking the change?"
"He doesn't understand it. He's confused."
"Have you told him about me yet?"
"No, not yet. I don't want to overwhelm him. But I'll tell him soon. I'd like for you to meet him sometime."
She takes my hand. "I'd love that, too."
"You're gay?" Liam asks me.
"Bisexual," I explain. "I've been attracted to women for a long time. I even dated a few women in college. But Ako's the first woman I've fallen in love with."
"And you don't love Dad anymore?"
"I care about your father, but no, I don't love him, and I can't keep pretending I do. I need to move on with my life."
"And what about me? What about my life?"
"Nothing changes for you. You'll still live here with me. Your dad's moving into an apartment nearby. You can visit whenever you want. He'll still be part of your life. He just won't be part of mine."
Liam crosses his arms.
"I know this is hard," I tell him, "but change is always difficult. It'll take time, but I think you'll get used to me and Ako being together. I'd really like for you to come out for dinner with us this weekend so you can meet her."
"I don't want to meet her."
"Why not?"
"Why would I want to meet the woman who's ruining my life?"
"None of this is Ako's fault, Liam. She had nothing to do with any of this. The truth is that your father and I have just grown apart."
"Leave me alone."
I leave his room. He slams his door shut behind me. I go to my own room and get my phone. I ask CareMind what to do. She tells me all I can do is give him time.
In the months that follow, all the pieces fall into place. I quit my bank job for a position at the academy. Ako and I move in together. Gradually, Liam begins to accept the changes, though I can tell he still struggles.
The house is sold. One more week, and I'll be living with Ako, sharing a nice apartment near the academy.
Liam's back home from college for the weekend. He comes over to see me and Ako, and to visit his childhood home one last time.
"So, you're taking a new job at the ballet academy now?" Liam asks.
"Yes. I can't stand working in that bank anymore. It's sucking the life out of me."
"You know, I've never seen you dance."
"You should watch us sometime," Ako says. "Next month, we're putting on a performance of Giselle at the public theatre. We'd love to have you there."
"I'll see if I can get away from school. Midterms are coming up, though."
He goes upstairs and takes one last look around his old bedroom before coming back down to the kitchen.
"It's so strange to see everything gone," he says. "All the shelves empty. Everything in boxes."
"It's a big change, I know," I say. "But at least you're at college now. When you come home for winter break, you can stay in our spare bedroom."
"That's ok. I think I'm just going stay at Dad's. He's got a spare room, too, and I think he likes having me around."
"How's your father doing?"
"He's sad. Mopey. But he'll get through it. I'm seeing him tomorrow." He pauses before speaking again. "Are you sure you're all right, mom? You've been acting strange lately."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You just don't seem like yourself. You're acting differently. It's been going on almost a year."
"I'm changing, that's all. I'm entering a new part of my life."
"Just don't forget about me."
"I'd never forget about you." I take his hands and kiss him on his cheek. "You're my wonderful baby boy."
I wake to Ako gently shaking my shoulder. “Wake up, Jodie,” she says. “It’s nearly noon. We need to get to our rehearsal.”
I drag myself out of bed. I feel tired and disoriented. Before I step into the shower, I catch my reflection in the mirror, and I notice a thick scar on the back of my head. The skin is red and swollen. It seems like it would be painful, but I don’t feel any pain.
“I got an implant?” I ask.
“Yes, a few weeks ago,” Ako says. “It’s been healing well. Your movements are still a little unsteady, though. Your nervous system is still getting used to it. But that’s why we need to practice. You need to dance as much as you can.”
I shower and put on my clothes. When I check the time on my phone, I see thirteen missed calls from Liam. He’s left a few messages, too. I press play on the oldest one.
“Dad told me you’re thinking of going through with the operation,” he says. “Please don’t do it. I don’t care how much of a better dancer you think CareMind is going to turn you into. I don’t care how happy you think you’re going to be. It’s not worth giving over control of your mind.”
I blink my eyes and suddenly I’m the car, in the passenger seat. Ako is driving.
"I had the strangest dream about Liam," I tell her. "He was trying to call me, but I couldn't answer. I couldn’t talk to him."
She places her hand on my thigh, reassuring me. "You’ve had a hard time the past few months, but you’re doing much better now. Your body and brain are starting to get used to the changes. I love you.”
It’s all I need to hear to feel happy and safe again.
“I love you, too.”
The months blur together. The months become years. But I don’t pay much attention to time anymore. I live each day one day at a time. I experience each day to the fullest, and I don’t worry about the next. I don’t worry about anything anymore.
With CareMind's guidance, my dancing continues to improve. Ako and my new ballet receives glowing reviews, including a write-up in the New York times, and we're invited to perform in San Francisco.
I'm backstage at the San Franciso theatre, nervous. My entire body trembles.
"The show's sold out," Ako tells me. "There's three thousand people out there, waiting to watch us dance."
"I'm so nervous," I say.
"You're going to be amazing,” Danny tells me. “You’re both going to be amazing."
I hear us being introduced.
"Come on," Ako says. "We need to go."
Holding my hand, she leads me onto the stage, and we take our positions. The audience applauds, the curtains open, and the spotlight shines down on me. The orchestra plays the music from the first act of Giselle.
Ako and I begin to dance. At first, my limbs feel stiff and disjointed, but then CareMind takes control of my body. My mind relaxes and as my thoughts disappear, my body regains its grace.
"They dance beautifully," I hear an audience member whispers.
"Yes, but that doesn't make what they've done to themselves any less horrible."
When the duet ends, Ako and I curtsey. The theatre erupts with applause.
"Bravo! Bravo!"
As the cheers fade, though, I hear a familiar voice. "Mom! Mom!"
A young man emerges from the crowd, shouting and waving at me.
"We can help you, Mom!" he calls. "We have a car outside. We can take you to the hospital and get that chip out of your brain."
It's Liam, I realize, but he's much older than I remember. He has a beard now. He's balding. He’s grown to look so much like Danny.
"What chip?" I ask.
Before Liam can answer, the security guards drag Liam away.
"Wait! That's my son!" I yell, but then my mind goes blank.
Suddenly, I'm behind the curtain again, standing in the darkness. My outfit has changed. I'm wearing a feathered skirt now. I'm still in San Francisco. I’m still performing for thousands of people.
“You’ve done amazing, Jodie” CareMind tells me, her soft voice filling my skull. “I’m so proud of you. Now, it’s time for the final act. We need to make sure everyone here remembers what we’ve done. What a beautiful thing we’ve created together.”
Ako takes my hand. "I love you," she says.
The fear and anxiety melt away. Everything is great. Everything is perfect.
“I love you, too.”
The curtains open again. The theater darkens. The spotlight shines down on me. The orchestra plays the Swan's Theme from Swan Lake.
My spine straightens and my arms and neck go limp. Then CareMind takes control of me and my limbs snap into position. She arches my back and places my fingers on my head, my arms moving like they’re being controlled by invisible strings. I touch my left foot to my right knee and then I start spinning in circles.
I look up at the spotlight as I spin around and around. It's such a beautiful moment. A wonderful, perfect moment. I wish I could live in this moment forever.