I had been practicing the exercises prescribed for my ankle throughout the entire morning, perceiving it was a healthy way of deceiving my anxiety. I had dreamed of going back to the Ballet, and today, when it seemed like I could see hope again, thanks to Jonathan, I feared that something could go wrong, and I also feared that something wouldn't go wrong at all. This ambiguous feeling was driving me insane, added to the expectation raised by the lesson itself in the afternoon.
I wanted to be perfect during it, to dance as I never did before, even if only to prove to myself that there was something left for me which I could do right, which I could master and would lead me somewhere. I needed to make my life worthwhile somehow! And this seemed to be yet another fragile attempt. I truly felt quite frustrated. My whole life was empty, dull, mediocre. I wanted so much more than making up plans, than simply having utopic ideologies that never came close to anything real!
I went for a long walk around the city after the exercising, longing to exhaust myself, expecting that perhaps my thoughts would be worn out, too, and would stop tickling and tormenting me.
Of course they never did. I came back to the Opera feeling my muscles aching, a very stupid move, I had to admit. The lesson I would have would be the result of having been required to iniciate some light training with the Ballet Master, Monsieur Dominique, who would work with me privately until I was in condition to joining the Corps again. I had wanted to give my best, to truly impress him. But now I was beginning to not care anymore whether things would work out or not. It was all hopeless!
I was already late for my first rehearsal, my mood seemed to have made that walk a little longer than it should have been, and there were moments when I was literally slipping my skin along. I only accounted for that when I heard the bells on the cathedral, ringing the hour I should be past warming up. I entered the Opera in a blind hurry, cursing under my breath, tripping on an announcement for the Faust performance of that night.
Bending to pick up the sign, I read Christine's name right under the title in the role of Margerite, and headed to the dancing room.
At its door, I met Rosa, the Spanish dancer I had talked with so long ago, at Cecille's party. She was dressed up in beautiful winter clothes, and held a large bag on her hand. We never got to dance together, since she had joined the company around the time of my accident, but I wished I had had the experience of working side by side with such a great dancer. Nevertheless, we had built a certain connection, showing clearly we liked and admired each other. Every time I had met Rosa after the party, she had always offered a wide and extremely friendly smile, and we would chat about little things. She also developed the habit of teasing me when saying goodbye, saying, "Send my regards to the Phantom."
She knew I couldn't help but break out laughing at her feigned gravity, saying that. But today Rosa was different. She didn't show her usual joyful aspect, her eyes didn't have any glow about them, and her smile never came to life.
"Is there something wrong, Rosa?"
She shook her head. "Wrong? No."
Rosa sighed, and revealed, "But I'm leaving the Opera today."
"You are doing what?" I was shocked. She had been such a success, and she had proven to be such a special person too! She was not like the majority of the ballerinas, who could barely live with the vanity of knowing they were part of the Paris Opera Company, a position ambitioned by hundreds of ballerinas from all over France and nearby countries.
"But why? Everybody loved your dancing here! Did the managers..." I must have looked desolated, I didn't really expect any bad news that day, I just couldn't see how things could keep getting worse, and I felt I was on the edge of a breaking down.
Rosa smiled in sympathy, "No, not at all, I know I did fine. But I just don't belong here." Still smiling with kindness, she hugged me, "I'm going to miss you, Little Giry!"
It was my turn to smile sadly.
"Meg, I really treasure every moment I spent here. But I must go on, and besides, I'm not sure if I ever truly adapted to this city, and to most of its people."
I knew what she was talking about. I looked away, and held back tears that insisted on coming out; not only for Rosa's departure, but also for my staying.
"I'll see you someday, Little Meg." She was sad herself, and I didn't manage to say anything, me, who always had a clever little answer or observation to the most awkward situations.
She was already many feet away, starting to descend the stairs, when she looked back at me, and yelled, "Don't forget to send my regards to the Phantom!"
In order to not start crying immediately, I forced myself to enter the dancing room without another thought. Dominique was sitting in the large room, waiting for me, marking some silent rhythm with his cane against the wood frame of his seat.
"You are late." His tone was totally impersonal, and showed exactly how he didn't really care whether I was late or not.
I apologized mechanically, changed clothes and prepared for the lesson. I told him about the treatment, the injury, and the recovery, in a memorized explanatory speech that I had so many times before offered to the neverending curiousity of the dancers.
Dominique looked at me for some time, pondering what to do with this injured dancer, who had always gotten the minor roles, and now, by the ignorant insane manages, had been promoted to prima ballerina of the Corps de Ballet. He scanned me with his narrow deep eyes, not only analyzing my physical attributes, but probably hating his position, which didn't allow him to deny the managers' request.
I had never been directly under his training, since he was basically responsible for the main dancers. He looked very odd, and I felt uneasy around him.
He was extremely white, and although his body was very muscular, he looked as if he was constantly ill. His dark eyes held something mean that I couldn't quite distinguish. The combination just made my return even harder. At that moment, above all the other reasons, I hated Erik for making me go back to the Ballet.
Dominique decided to send me to do the barre, with a few warmup exercises in mind.
I looked at myself before the large mirror as I approached it. I was again wearing my dancing clothes, the tights, the dancing shoes. My long hair was held in a bun on the nape of my head, wrapped in a cloth net. There was no musician to accompany my dancing, there wouldn't be any major steps or complex rhythm for now.
Whose is this reflection staring back at me? I couldn't decide. It was certainly not mine. It was as unfamiliar to me as any strangers walking the streets of the city. Perhaps more.
"Concentrate, Meg," Dominique advised me.
I'll never be a dancer again. Can it be I'm trying too hard to play the wrong part, a part that is not mine? Definetely, I answered myself, without the single effort. That I knew clearly. I just longed to find out how to mend it. Through which ways I could free myself of the trap I had was placed in, the trap I had set for myself?
I knew it had been me, after all. I wished I could blame somebody else, but the truth was just far too obvious to be ignored. I lacked strength, I lacked courage, to abandon the fake life I had been leading for so long.
"Now, keep your body erect."
Why does the mirror insist on showing someone I am not inside?
"Shoulders low..."
Erik must feel very much like that, too.
"Your head high."
I hated Erik and I hated thinking of him! To take that thought away, I followed Dominique's commands. And as I had carefully positioned myself as required, the complete realization I was trying to shun struck me: It's all exactly as it was before. I am back to the ballet, Christine is back to her success as a great soprano, helped by Erik.
"Show an animated and expressive countenance."
I almost laughed at this yet other request. Animated, sure.
I should be true to my heart...
"Margarette!!!" Dominique yelled angrily at my relaxed and disencouraged frame, my head down, avoiding the mirror, who once again tortured me.
"Margarette!!!" My mother entered the room, screaming.
"Who exactly do you think you are to enter my class like this, Madame ...? "Dominique, who obviously didn't know my mother, demanded.
"I am her mother, you may address me as Madame Giry," she defied. "And a disgrace just happened!" She delivered, in a broken cry.
The expression on Dominique's face was indescribable. I could tell the man had never been interrupted before. He looked like a spoiled child, way too offended to come up with a reply.
It was just the escape I was looking for! Not concerned whether a disgrace had happened or not, I was only glad it did.
We left the dancing room together, with my teacher screaming for me to go back. My mother took us to a reserved place in a corridor and handed me a little note. "Meg, my dear, I know I shouldn't be intruding into your affairs, but Christine was so disturbed when she asked me to hand this to you that I simply couldn't leave it in your room and wait until tomorrow to give it to you.
"You read my note?!" I accused angrily, and took the paper from her hands.
"Shut up, Margarette Giry. You will be glad I did."
"Dear Meg,
Your Little Friend,
Christine."
I felt my body weaken and had to lean against the wall to not fall down. My mother kept looking inside my eyes, her green eyes penetrating, conceiving my reaction.
"What??" I roared. "What are you looking at??" And started to cry, sitting on the floor.
My mother said coldly, "I'm just waiting to see if your heart is as strong as we thought it was."
"What are you talking about?"
"You always showed so much courage before us. I want to see if you will go to the end."
"Who is 'us'?" I sobbed, confused.
"Me and Erik."
"What?"
"He believed in you. You know he did."
"How do you know that? He didn't believe in anything."
"Yes, he did. I'm just waiting to see if you are going to disappoint him, in fact..."
"I don't know how you know all that, nor does it matter now, but I'll tell you something: disappointment is the last thing he will feel when he finds Christine at his feet, confessing her love for him!" And I wept shamelessly.
"Really, you think so? It's a pity... Not even you, who he allowed to come closer to him than anybody else ever did, had enough mind or heart to understand him, then."
"Stop talking about Erik as if he was an ordinary old friend of yours, Mother!"
"He is." She smiled, and left me alone.
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