See? She gave me a choice and I took it.
I left.
Because the girls — some of whom I’d danced with for years – and the parents didn’t feel safe around me. Because of what I did.
Because of what my broken heart made me do two years ago.
I don’t want to dwell on what I did and what happened after and how I came to be at St. Mary’s instead of being sent to juvie.
The time will come for me to remember.
But for now, I’m here to dance and I will.
I’m here to fulfill my dream, the only dream I’ve had since I was five years old. Of going to Juilliard and dancing for the New York City Ballet Company one day.
When I left the Blue Madonna, my dream of Juilliard was sort of hanging in the balance. Miss Petrova’s a Juilliard alumna and she was going to give me a great recommendation letter when the time came. And getting in there is so difficult and competitive that I needed that letter.
But after everything, I didn’t think she’d give that to me and so I stopped thinking about it. I’d stopped expecting to end up at Juilliard. In fact, I’d started to look into other dance programs, like the one they have here at Bardstown Community College.
But then over the last summer, something changed.
Something sprung back to life.
I wanted that dream again. I wanted to at least try to have that dream.
So I decided to make an audition video for Juilliard after all. The applications for next fall are due by November and I’m doing it. I’m going for it.
That’s why I’m here. To try.
I shed my dress in the bathroom to change into my leotard and my practice tights that I brought with me in my bag and get ready to practice.
The main practice area has polished hardwood floors and mirrors running along one wall, plus a steel barre for barre exercises. I sit on the floor to tie up my pointe shoes before I begin.
I do the warm-up exercises, stretching my legs, flexing my toes. I go through arm and leg positions one by one, checking my posture in the mirror, correcting the arch of my spine and the line of my shoulders.
When I’m done, I grab the CD that I want from the collection and put on the song that I’ve been working on all summer.
Well, I’ve been working on this song for the past two years actually.
It’s the same one that I was going to perform at Bardstown High that night.
The one where I had to wear the wings because I was a fairy who falls in love with a human who betrays me in the end.
It’s the song that I never got to do.
It’s the song that I want to remember, however.
I want to remember the pain, the misery. The tears I’ve cried.
I want to remember my heartbreak.
So I never make the same mistake again.
And so I wear the wings; these ones are borrowed from the storage closet. They are cheap and made of fake silk as opposed to my furry, custom-made, heavy wings.
But it doesn’t matter.
I’m not a fairy. I never was.
I don’t need pretty wings. I can make do with these fake ones and as soon as I have them in place over my shoulders, I start the music and close my eyes.
I let myself remember now.
I let the beats drop into my body, my stomach and chest. I let them drop into my arms and my legs.
When I’ve become sufficiently heavy with memories and light with the violins, I raise my arms and take my first spin.
After that everything becomes easy.
Everything becomes natural.
Like I was born to do this song.
Like I was born to fall in love one day and have my heart broken. Like I was born to be the girl who dances on those broken pieces of her heart.
I jump and leap and spin and turn without my conscious volition.
By the time the song ends and I fall to the floor on my knees, my feet are throbbing and my cheeks are wet from my tears.
Oh yeah, that happens.
I cry.
I cry every time I let myself remember. I cry every time I dance to this song.
It’s okay though. I’m used to the tears.
But I should stop now.
I’m here to dance, not waste whatever precious time I have on crying and…
Wait.
I feel something.
Something on the back of my neck that makes me jerk my head up and look out the tall window.
There’s nothing there except the view of a quiet, dark street, with a lamppost pouring down yellow light and a lone bus stop.
But.
But it felt like…
It felt like I was being watched. Like someone was watching me.
Like he…
At the thought, I spring to my feet. I run to the back door, the door through which I got in, and go outside. It opens into a narrow brick alley and I round the corner to get to the front.
To get to the spot directly outside the window of the practice room.
Of course there’s nothing here.
Of course.
But for some reason, my body is buzzing.
My legs feel restless, excited. My chest is filled with a rush.
A rush, an eagerness that I used to feel two years ago.
Back when… when he watched me.
When he’d come to the school auditorium and sit in the third row.
When he wanted me to dance for him and he couldn’t take his eyes off me when I did.
Back when I was his fairy.
I lie. That’s what I do…
I shake my head when his voice, his words — some of the last ones that he spoke — flit through my brain, my fake wings brushing against my back.
I’m being silly.
No one’s here.
Sighing, I go back and I’m about to enter the building to finish practicing when I hear a thud, a boot hitting the pavement, and I spin around once again to look.
Okay, I did not imagine that, did I?
I did not imagine that sound.
Someone is here, and when a different possibility occurs to me, my heart leaps to my throat in fright.
What if there’s an intruder?
An actual villain.
Not that he’s any less of a villain, but still. What if there’s some guy here, a thug, a thief. What if they’ve come to steal something from the Blue Madonna?
Oh heck no.
I’m never letting that happen. Never ever.
This is my favorite place in the world and I already feel guilty for breaking and entering. I already feel guilty for taking advantage of the fact that my ex-teacher doesn’t have an updated alarm system and is super bad with security and technology.
I’m not going to let any harm befall this place.
So I fist my hands at my sides and widen my stance as I look around, glare around actually.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Seriously, Callie?
Such a stupid question.
Of course someone’s there. I heard a sound, and if someone is wanting to do me or this place any harm, he’s not going to tell me.
So stepping closer to the door, I try a different approach. “Okay, don’t tell me. It’s fine. I’m not an idiot. I know you’re there. I heard you.”