Page 1 of Tell Me Everything
Chapter 1
Elena
A little boy was building a castle in the park sandbox. Although his construction crumbled down many times, he didn't give up and started again until it held. Once he succeeded, his father congratulated him and offered to go for ice cream. The child and his father walked hand in hand towards the ice cream shop, not a cloud in their sky. I felt a twinge of sadness at the sight, and couldn't help wondering whether my life would ever regain that carefree spirit that children have.
Every Tuesday, I waited in the park near the school for my mother to pick me up and drop me off at one of my ballet classes. Like clockwork, her silver Audi A3 approached. I took a deep breath and tried to chase away my unease. The image of that boy with his dad stayed with me, just like it reminded me of everything I'd lost.Breathe, Lena.
I climbed into the car and looked out of the window. The weather was mild and sunny for a late September afternoon. Which was surprising, given Belgium's fickle weather.
Mom was tapping away at her steering wheel, impatient as ever. She had always been a rather nervous person. “Time is money”, as she so loved to say. Usually, I didn't like wasting my time either, like being stuck in Brussels traffic jams, for example, but I'd much rather waste my time in traffic than go home. The place that was supposed to be my home, but was in truth my pandemonium. Once we returned, hell on earth would start again, as it had for far too long. And yet, nothing changed. We'd have to put up with my alcoholic father for yet anotherday. Another week. Another month. Without ever breaking the pattern.
“How was school?”
“Fine, as always,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Good.”
Communicating with my mother wasn't easy. Although I loved her, we were never on the same wavelength. She didn't understand me, and I understood her even less. Sometimes I felt like we were just strangers with familiar faces, not a mother and a daughter. We hardly spoke at all. In fact,Ihardly spoke at all. Nothing on earth would change if I expressed my feelings.
The more time passed, the more I resented what we were going through. Despite trying to forget what I'd seen in the park, the image of that smiling child was now engraved in my mind. And it made me sad. I had to know.
“Mom, why don't you ask for a divorce?”
I held my breath while she reacted to the grenade I'd just thrown at her. My heart was pounding in my ears.
“What kind of question is that?” she asked, suddenly alarmed.
I let out a breath. I inhaled deeply, trying to put my thoughts together, not quite believing I actually askedthatquestion. Now I had to face up to it and go through with it, didn't I?Oh, Lord...
“Well...” I began, unsure. “Aren't you tired of being treated like trash by a nobody? We'd be so much happier without him.”
On top of that, he didn't participate when it came to paying bills, so he was simply useless. Except for ruining our lives with his negative, aggressive attitude. Might as well put the trash in the garbage can where it belongs.
“Don't talk about your father like that.”
“I don't think of him as my father... I'm sure as soon as we get home, we'll have another tantrum.”
She stopped tapping on her poor steering wheel and checkedher nail polish, just so she wouldn't have to look me in the face. My mother was a weak woman. Was it her nature, or because of her life experience? I couldn't remember. To be honest, I couldn't think of many happy memories that included my mother.
“I've already tried, you know... But I just can't seem to get away from him. Remember that in a few months you'll be an adult and you'll be able to go to your dance school in Saint Petersburg. You'll be away from him for good.”
If I passed the entrance exams. That was another story.
“What about you?”
“I'll manage...”
Mom parked in front of the ballet conservatory. She finally turned to me and looked at me with a sad smile. This was just frustrating me. This conversation had been for nothing. I grabbed my bag and got out of the car—staying with her in such a small space was stifling. I had to put on my pointe shoes and get my mind off things.
Several dancers greeted me. My house hadn't been my home in years, but the dance studio was my haven. Like everyone else, I did my stretching and let myself fall back into a familiar routine. Dancing was like breathing, and it was only when I danced that I felt alive. Although I was in my element and had done this choreography hundreds of times, my performance was sloppy. My movements were less fluid, and I was having trouble keeping up with the rhythm. This didn't go unnoticed by my teacher.
“Elena, focus.”
By the time it was my turn to do a grand jeté, I could feel my balance was off, but it was too late. The moment my foot touched the ground, I collapsed. There was a dull crack, then sharp pain spread through my right knee. The people around me stirred.
“What happened to her leg?”
“Call an ambulance, quick!”
