Le Ballerina

Ballet shoes.
White with pink satin ribbons. 
Dangling at the edge of my bed.
Mocking me.


Beep, beep, beep, beep…
The heart monitor annoys me.
It’s steady beeping signals the life within me.
Do I have anything to live for?
I’m worthless.

The doctor.
Kind, detached.
Will he fix me?
It is doubtful.

I do not know what is wrong with me.
Hopefully, he knows better than I.
He is a doctor, after all.
Although quite possibly, he is more useless than them all.


What I can, I will tell you now.

~ ~ ~
         It was a warm summer day. I, Cataline Washington, was in the Paris Academy of Ballet. I do not live in Paris. However, I do live in New York City. My academy is a branch of the academy in Paris. It is the most exclusive academy in America. We are trained from when we can walk, to dance. When we are eighteen, we are tested and sent to Paris for more training, and perhaps, join the actual Paris Academy of Ballet’s company of dancers. There are a lot of if’s in this plan. Only two dancers are sent to Paris every year, if even.
         “Cataline, what color unitard are we supposed to wear for Paris auditions?” a girl, Claudette was her name, asked me. Outwardly, I smiled and answered “red leotard with white tights!” Inwardly, I rolled my eyes and scorned her. She did not stand a chance at being accepted if she did not even know the uniform.
         And I, what chance did I have? I’m sure you are curious. You’ll find out soon.
         “Alright girls, let us commence!” Madame said, walking into the room of stretching girls. We started at the barre and she critiqued us, as usual.
         “Felicity, curve your arms more. You look ridiculous. Annette, what are you doing to your neck? You’ll sprain it, silly girl.” And so on. Then she stopped at my barre. Their were only two of us there. The third, Sarah, had gotten ill and was dropped from classes.
         “Good, Diana.” she murmured to the girl behind me. Then she stopped at me. Her eyes, a beautiful blue, assessed me. I looked straight ahead, pretending not to see her, to feel her staring.
         “Very good, Cataline. Excellent.” she said softly. The other girls either rolled their eyes or ignored her completely. They were used to having Diana and I praised as such. Sometimes I could not believe the amount of jealousy each and every one of them possessed. But as I thought about it, placing my self in their slippers, I suppose I would be jealous. It wouldn’t have lasted long, of course. I would fight my way to the top no matter what.
         “You ladies, for the most part, have been under the training of Paris Academy of Ballet for thirteen years. At this point, you are all quite accomplished dancers. Today and tomorrow, you will be auditioning in front of a panel of judges. Almost all of you will not be good enough. I expect you all to do your best possible. If you do not, it will be a shame, as well as a snub, to the teachers who have trained you so diligently here. I must leave to meet the judges. I suggest you all practice while you can.” Madame said. I didn’t wait for everyone to start moving. I just walked into a practice room, locked the door, and practiced.
         
         Hours later, I was standing in line with twenty other girls. We had all signed up for this slot, the 5 o’clock one. I was fully warmed up and ready to go. I was also next in line. My stomach gave a pang of hunger. I ignored it. I had not eaten in two days.
         Behind me, the girls were all extremely nervous, a fidgeting line of red. I rolled my eyes and waited patiently for my name to be called. I was confident in myself. What would I have to be nervous for?
         In a few minutes, a woman stepped out of the room and smiled at us. She was tall, slim, and held herself with the grace of someone in ballet for a long, long time.
         “Welcome ladies. Already we have seen fifty girls audition for us. Most of those girls we know are not good enough to dance for us. Prove to us that you ladies have what it takes to be apart of the Paris Academy’s corps de ballet!” the woman said. She nodded at me and motioned for me to follow her into the room. The fidgeting increased as I began to walk in and some girls made noises of encouragement. No “best of luck”s, though. Never that.
         The audition room was the room in which I had been in only when I was auditioning into the Paris Academy of Ballet. The room was cold, with shiny wooden flooring and barres. Everything was as usual as a ballet room could be. Everything except the air inside. I wasn’t one to get nervous. Even then, the room was threatening. The three female judges, placed in the center of the room so as to watch your every move. The video camera, just to catch the little mistakes. The air of calculated snobbery. They expected you to dance, not badly, but not excellently. That, more than anything, could send even the most elegant prima ballerina running from the room.
         I walked to the center of the room with my head held high.
         “Cataline Marie Washington,” I introduced myself. Then moving into first position, I waited for the music to begin. The first notes struck up, and I began to move. It was a blur, to be honest. To recount what I did would be nearly impossible for me. It was when I was performing a grand jete that I really began to feel...different. I had leaped high into the air collapsed on the floor, just as required in the choreography. When I got up, though, the room spun. Worried faces looked on at me. Then, blackness.

~ ~ ~
         You are wondering what happened? I suppose you want to here of a dramatic trip to the hospital in which the other dancers weep and the judges lament on how I was “simply the best!”
         No. This is the first thing you must learn about the Paris Academy of Ballet: we do not express our emotions as such. We must not weep or argue or show any signs of distress. The only time we may do this is while dancing, if the story line calls for it.
         I will tell you what did happen. Madame called for a stretcher and I was taken to the hospital. The other girls made noises of sympathy, but it was clear they did not mean well. Who was I but another competitor? I heard everything but could see nothing. My eyes remained shut, unable to be opened. Then, they injected me, and I fell into a deep sleep.
~ ~ ~
         
         An envelope.
         Thick, creamy.
         Heavy with the weight of my future.

         Dance.
         Was I good enough?
         No.
         Collapsing was not good.

         A lady.
         Copy of me, except the age lines.
         Hands clasped, knuckles white.

         Expectant stares.
         Who are they to judge me?
         Ah, they are exactly the people to judge.

After all, I did dance for them.

~ ~ ~
         “Lacking nutrition” was what the doctor said. It was true, for the past few days I hadn’t been eating. A minor detail. I should be out of the hospital within days.
         They came personally to deliver the news in the hospital room.It didn’t matter that perhaps, I did not want the company of three elite dancers who decide my future, that I did not want to dance anymore.
         Blasphemous, I know. Blasphemous...and untrue. Dancing is my drug, my addiction.I hadn’t trained for thirteen years to quit. The thought itself disgusts me.
         “Cataline?” the woman, the same one who delivered the speech before auditions, says my name gently. I am surprised. I didn’t know ballerinas could be gentle.
         “Cataline Marie Washington, we have come here to say welcome. Welcome to the Paris Academy of Ballet’s corps de ballet! While not one of the most exceptional auditions we have seen, it was still quite...lovely. You will have a few days to recover before flying to Paris. We look forward to dancing with you.” she says. The other two nod their heads, and as if on cue they turn and walk out the door.
         I close my eyes. I am tired, so tired. My mother, sitting in the corner this whole time, stands up and kisses me.
         “You have done well, Cataline. Sleep now…”
         Sleep I did.