Dance, My Angel. Virginie T.
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and the emotions I transmitted through my steps. I chained pickets, arabesques and cat jumps with no misstep, and I received a full scholarship to join the following weeks the courses with the teenage girls. Yet another difference with the rest of the girls. The age difference meant that we did not have the same life nor the same goals, and that despite a common passion, I continued to be isolated. Fifteen-year-old girls blossomed in their budding bodies and were always seeking the boys' eyes. By contrast, I spent my days in front of the mirror, with the sole aim of achieving perfection in my practice. That has not really changed since, as the jealousy with my progress has kept this situation alive. My teen-age years had little in common with those of the other girls. I flirted a little, more to do like everyone else than because I wanted to, and when I did it I had no great success. There was an invisible barrier between these young fellows looking for an experience and me: the barrier of a total lack of understanding. I never understood what they expected of me, and vice versa. On the other hand, I did not know what I expected from them. Being a little less lonely, no doubt. The experience was not really unpleasant. Only I felt no particular attachment to my boyfriends, and given how easily they left me I think the feeling was reciprocal. Then, since I was not successful, I finally decided that it was better to be alone than to be misunderstood.
And here I am twelve years later, ready to take the stage for the dress rehearsal of the Sleeping Beauty. Playing Princess Aurora is a bit of a little girl's dream, and tomorrow, at the premiere, my grandmother will be present, in one of the front rows. She will stay with me for a few days before returning home, and this time will allow us to reset the meters to zero, erasing the absence felt during these few months of been away from each other. My parents will also be there, but too many unspoken grudges have blocked our relationship. My acceptance by the ballet school and the scholarship I obtained allowed me to take off quickly, and at the same time to have my independence. Very rapidly, more reproaches were spurted against me and my status as an ungrateful daughter grew even more. They resented me for having made them leave Florida, for never having time for them, and for not even giving them the consideration they were entitled to expect as parents. When I was younger, I retorted to them that I had asked them to send me to New York, but that I never asked them to follow me. As if parents worthy of that name were able to send a ten-year-old child thousands of miles away, alone! Things quickly escalated and now it is too late to remedy them, the jealousy towards my exceptional relationship with my grandmother has taken on cataclysmic proportions. Deep down I thank them for giving me so much, but I am unable to express my gratitude to them and it is too late for them to understand it. So, for them I am only a disappointment, despite my incredible success, and the sacrifice of a second child that they made, who they feel would have given them more than me.
My happiness would have been total if my fame, all relative I grant you, the world of dance still is not Hollywood with its movie stars, were not accompanied by the inconveniences I had from the publicity. My picture has been appearing all over New York for weeks, to advertise the show that will take place at the famous Lincoln Center, and since then I can no longer step outside without being recognized, without signing autographs, and, more worryingly, without receiving a few somewhat creepy letters. I try to get over it, but the recurrence of these letters is starting to undermine my morale. However, I do not have time to think about it any longer.
─Caitlyn, it is your turn. Your solo in the forest.
Here we go. A grand jeté to place myself in the center of the stage, entrechats, pas de bourré, manèg, and then pirouette fouetté. In classical dance, it is all about rhythm, precision, finesse and muscle. I have a slender body without the slightest effort, which earns me the envy of many dancers who have to be on a strict diet, and this allows me to be in total harmony with the music, that transports me to another world, a clear world in which I evolve without any obstacle. In fact, I would rather say I had been evolving. No matter how hard I try to close my mind to parasitic thoughts that overwhelm me, it is impossible for me to build walls between my feelings and my artistic expression, so they have always been closely linked. For instance, now I know, even before I made my last jump, that I have not been up to the task. I feel it in my heart, and in the faces of the other dancers in the troupe that confirm it to me. They seem very happy to see me fail. The world of dance is a world of sharks, just like Wall Street. They are looking for the first opportunity that will allow them to take my place and reach front stage. Of all of them, Agatha is the cruelest of all. She is my fiercest competitor, the most ruthless. All the pretexts are good to prove me wrong. She has been mad at me ever since I joined the American Ballet. Before I arrived, she was the greatest hope of the troupe. I arrived with my innocent air and my ignorance of the competition and she became the second one, my understudy in case of an accident, only that there have never been any accidents. Agatha is eight years older than me. She is living her last years on stage, and as time goes by she has become more and more bitter. I guess she wanted to end her career in apotheosis and now she is aware that I am the cause of her failure. I am in the prime of my life when she has, at most, only ten years of dancing in front of her. No matter what she does, I will always be there, taking the place that she considers hers by right, and all her money will never get her anywhere. Agatha comes from a large aristocratic family that owns many properties in Manhattan's poshest neighborhoods. She has long believed that her prestigious name would always open all doors to her, even if she had to lay a few banknotes on the table to unlock the most obstinate locks. My arrival has put an end to her illusions and she does not accept it. She went so far as to offer me a large sum of money if I retired from the stage. She obviously took my refusal very badly. I have no interest in money. What is the point of being rich if you are unhappy? Without dance, I feel like I am locked in my own body. I could not live without it. My competitor has not understood it and she will never understand it. The only thing that matters to her is the glory. Glory and recognition. As if ballet were a glamorous world filled with glitter! Ballet for me is mostly a world of sweat and hard work.
— Psst. Caitlyn. You are not at your best today, are you? I could replace you if your mind is elsewhere. The public will not lose anything because of the change, I can assure you, and we have to think about our fans first.
As if I were going to accept. I would rather walk past her without even looking at her. What makes her burst more with anger is when I ignore her, more that when we have a verbal argument, and very soon I understood that.
─ You are just a bitch. The leading role is rightfully mine and I will have it.
In her dreams for sure. Actually I am occupying that place and I am not about to leave it. It is time for her to be reasonable.
Chapter 2Caitlyn
The day of the premiere has finally arrived. Despite an upsurge of letters, for me very unpleasant, I was able to succeed by emptying my mind as much as possible, and by letting go out, through dance, all the emotions that lingered on me. That had not been without difficulty since the letters had become more and more threatening in the run-up to the show. The last one, the very same day of the show, did not arrive at the theatre like all the others, but directly at home, to my sanctuary, to my refuge, which then seemed to be less safe and less comforting. Therefore, the choreographer found my expressions a little too aggressive during our last rehearsal, and asked me to use makeup to soften my facial features tonight to the maximum, but overall he is satisfied with my performance.
My grandmother is here, I know, I feel her eyes on me. She had no time to visit me at my dressing room before the performance, but I always know when she is here. I immediately feel more soothed, which I need a lot. Like for any autistic person, noise, crowds, are factors difficult to bear. Fortunately, the hall is plunged into darkness and the audience is silent, focused on the music and dancers who evolve fluidly on stage, telling one of the most famous children's tales. I make my entrance with some pirouettes on pointe. I close my eyes and let the music take me away. I feel the vibration of the sounds from the tip of my toes to those of my hair, waving in rhythm, occupying all the available space on stage. My heart beats with the violin notes, my breathing accelerates as my steps are linked. I feel everything at the deepest of my being: Aurora’s exile, her isolation in the middle of the forest, the joy of finding her loved ones, the pain of losing them as soon as she is back, and the hope of finally being loved. This