Page 55 of On Dancer
“And if that happiness comes from boarding school into a trainee position into apprenticeship and so on, that’s wonderful, but if that thought doesn’t fill you with joy, it’s okay to choose something that does.”
“So ballet is the only thing that makes you happy?” Victoria asked softly, tone curious like I was an oddity. Which was good. I was glad she had so much more going on in her life at this stage.
I opened my mouth to say yes. Yes, this was my sole source of happiness. But then, the wind whipped past me, a chill racing through me not unlike the night Rudy and I had wandered the neighborhood with all the holiday lights. I saw the look in his eyes right before we kissed, the same wonder every time. I felt the rush of winning a round of the game. A laugh bubbled up at the memory of the game-night antics and how good it felt to beat Troy and Chris. I’d been happy back in Pennsylvania, truly happy.
“It was. For a long time,” I said instead, feeling each word out. On the other side of the fountain, a young mother pushed a shiny black stroller with a bundled-up toddler. She stopped to adjust the stroller blanket, and my chest did a strange flip. “I simply couldn’t see another life for myself.”
“Because you had so much talent.” Victoria was quick to agree and also dead wrong.
“No. Talent only got me so far.” I wasn’t so egotistical as to think of myself as divinely blessed. “I’ve met plenty of talented dancers who chose other paths, like college. I had…” I trailed off, teeth digging into my lower lip. The sharp sensation reminded me of every ache and twinge of pain along the path to be here. Non-dancers wouldn’t understand, but Victoria might. “A drive I can’t really explain. A fear almost.”
“You were afraid to not dance?” Victoria’s voice went up on the question, and I could visualize her tilting her head at me.
“It sounds silly, doesn’t it?” I gave a self-conscious chuckle. “But I didn’t know who I’d be without ballet.”
“And you didn’t want to find out,” Victoria said flatly, disappointment radiating through the phone.
“No. But that meant I missed out on a lot.” The park lights had started to come on. Across the fountain, a man had joined the woman with the stroller, greeting each warmly, an idyllic little family. The toddler clapped, and my chest gave another ofthose weird pangs. “It’s okay to want to find out if you can live without ballet, Victoria.”
“That’s not what I expected you to say.” Victoria gave a groan accompanied by a soft slapping sound like she’d hit a pillow. “I thought you’d tell me everything you gave up was worth it and that you’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Trust me, I’m surprised too.” A new gust of wind swept through the park, and I shoved my free hand into my pocket, encountering a stiff piece of paper. “Whatever you choose, you don’t want to have regrets.” I fingered the card in my pocket, knowing exactly what it was before I pulled it out. “Even if it means changing directions, follow your heart.”
“And if my heart says to go to the summer intensive?” Victoria sounded resolved, but I didn’t like the wooden note to her tone.
“Then that’s what you do. But make sure it’s your heart you’re listening to.” Lord knew I’d listened to my ego for years and years. My brain had been loud too, that all-encompassing drive never shutting up. My fears had drowned out a lot as well, a static to run from, not toward. But my heart? Had I ever truly stopped to listen before?
Victoria gave a quiet sigh. “You’re awfully smart.”
“No, actually, I’m quite dumb.” I turned the embossed card over in my palm. Had I made a terrible mistake? The young family had stopped to sit on the bench nearest to mine, the parents holding hands. I missed Rudy with a fierceness that defied all logic. “You have no idea.”
“Want to tell me about it?” Victoria brightened like my woes would be an excellent distraction.
“Nope.” I chuckled. Much as I needed answers, they needed to come from within me.
“Okay.” Victoria laughed along with me. “Thank you for answering my call.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” I ended the call with a familiar pleasantry, but I actually meant it. I wasn’t sure if I’d helped Victoria at all, and I’d made a terrible muddle of my own thoughts, but for the first time in days, I felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this situation was something to be solved rather than endured.
Thirty
Pas de papillon:the step of the butterfly.
Rudy
“I have excellent news.” My mother glided into the office at the ballet school with a triumphant smile.
“Oh?” I looked up from my laptop, where I’d been working on a flyer for winter classes in advance of our regular schedule starting back up later in January. Removing my glasses briefly, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. My mother had been at a budget meeting with the board this afternoon, and I was relieved to see her happy rather than frazzled as she often was after a tense board meeting.
“The Nutcrackerproduction was such a success, the board has agreed to fund your position another six months if you want it.” She grinned at me.
“That’s great.” I forced a measure of enthusiasm into my voice. The discussion over staff positions was why I hadn’t beenat the meeting myself. I’d run the budget spreadsheets myself, so I’d known the funding was there, but the news was still welcome. It wasn’t my mother’s fault that Alexander had been gone a week now, and I didn’t have much excitement for anything, including my continued employment. “And of course I want to keep working here with you.”
I hadn’t allowed myself to think about what I’d do if my position were eliminated. I liked working with my mother, liked all the families who came to classes, enjoyed being around the dancers like Cheryl, and found satisfaction in keeping everything at the school humming along. And paying the bills was nice, as was living upstairs from work. I had everything I needed.
Well, almost everything, but I wasn’t about to discuss that with my mother, who was already peering at me intently.
“Are you sure?” She plunked the folder full of budget papers I’d prepared for her down on the edge of my desk so she could rest a hand on my shoulder. “I love having you here, and you’ve been such a godsend, but I don’t want to keep you off the job market forever.”
