Page 55 of Facing Off
This time her slashing hand gesture cuts me off. A wrinkle forms on Madame Kozlova’s forehead. She brings her elbows up onto her desk. “You should see things from my point of view.”
A low buzzing starts in my ears. “Your view?”
“I work with the best of the best.”
“Of course, and?—”
“That was you before all of your falling?—”
The buzzing grows louder and my chest hurts. Is shetelling me I’m not good enough for her? Or for Bob Pepita? That I won’t be allowed to audition? If that happens, there’s no guarantee I’ll get another opportunity to become a principal dancer. Not with how many new ballerinas get hired to our company every season, younger bodies desperate to make a name for themselves. Waiting means risking replacement. My career might not recover if I step back now.
“—better if you focus on yourself,” Madame Kozlova says.
I missed a few words.
“…focus…on…me…” I repeat dully.
“My opinion is that there’s too much pressure on you, and it’s affecting your ability to perform.” Her tone has gone lower as if she’s trying to be sympathetic, but her expression is all hardened lines.
The chair wobbles as my legs jerk. “Yes, but believe in me. That l’ll power through. I always do. I can’t give up?—”
“I don’t want you to give up,” confirms Madame Kozlova, nodding.
“Okay. Good.” A hysterical laugh bubbles so inappropriately in my chest. “Because for a second, I thought you were letting me go.”
My dance mistress gets off the chair, crosses her arms, and starts pacing slowly. “Before you misunderstand me, imagine this. What if you fell again in class while practicing with another dancer. They’d get hurt. Do you want to be responsible for ending someone else’s dream?”
“No… That won’t happen…”
Her gaze sweeps across the room, stillnotlooking at me. “You can’t guarantee it won’t, Sonya. And that’s what it all comes down to. I think we both know what you’redealing with isn’t going to go away just because you want it to. That’s why I’ve made the difficult decision to put you on a mandatory leave for the rest of the season. You need to take some personal time to sort this out.”
Somewhere along her speech, my ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton.
“This isn’t me abandoning you,” I hear Madame Kozlova say faintly. “But a temporary setback.”
My throat hurts, and I can’t think, but I must whisper some sort of objection because she nods.
“Yes, I’m aware of how significant the Bob Pepita opportunity was for you. That’s why I pulled some strings. You’re still eligible to enter his last audition, but you have to perform a routine solo. Something put together by yourself and not attached to my name or this dance company.” Madame Kozlova rubs her temples. “And before you react, remember that no other dancer would have this chance, but I pushed for you. Because you have the kind of talent no one else does…once you get it together.”
She’s rambling about resting and telling me how hard this is for her. That she believes in me. But also how I should leave and not make a scene, because it’s better if we keep this professional, but also not to be a stranger? To come to the gala they’re hosting before the final audition with my hockey captain husband…?
I struggle to speak again. In fact, I can’t. It’s as if I’m wading underwater with my mouth taped shut. Slowly, I exit her office. There’s no expression on my face. Nothing shows how I’m really feeling. A ballerina must always be perfect and poised. That’s what I love about being one. A ballerina never falls apart. Never crumbles. Keeps going. This ballerina is perfect and poised, because I’ve had so much practice at it.
The parking lot is full of vehicles. I lean against a random car.
It’s fine.I’m okay.I’m okay.Okay…I’m okay…Okay…Okay…
The mantra isn’t working. Why? I don’t know what’s happening. My heart pounds as if it’s been dislodged into the wrong place. I’m really hot. This must be some sort of medical issue. That emergency doctor was mistaken. Thereissomething physically wrong with me. Something to blame.
My surroundings start to fade. All that’s left is this loud, dissonant ringing in my ears. My jaw has clenched shut, so I can’t catch a breath.
Soon my lungs scream. Am I about to pass out? My body bends over, and I’m going to scrape my knees on the concrete. It’ll hurt, I vaguely think.
But it doesn’t. Not at all.
I’m swept up by something that is very warm and strong. As heat sinks into my skin, I realize I’m being crushed against a broad chest and underneath my cheek beats a frantic rhythm.
I’m blindly burrowing closer because I don’t want to open my eyes. Not yet. Give me this reprieve. A moment where I’m not the ballerina that’s lost everything.Because did that happen? It can’t have happened.Not after the lifetime of work I’ve put in.
