Creative Writing

My hand gripped the bar but my mind was elsewhere. My eyes followed the delicate raindrops falling gently outside as they waltzed to the music playing inside. Synchronised swimmers, perfectly in time. The sun warmed them as they fell on the black, greedy asphalt. Something so simple, so mesmerising, so –“Get ready for centre now!” I was violently thrown back to reality with the shouts of my ballet teacher from the other side of the room. Flushed, I quickly scurried to hide in the back as the piano started.

Portabras! Yes! My favourite. “Carriage of the arms” takes skill because as the name suggests, you dance mainly with your arms. Capturing the audience’s attention, moving their gaze from your feet to your upper body. Ballet isn’t just about the legs.

Class ended with me bounding home with Lauren and Tammy. We’d walked this route home from ballet long before we were able to string a sentence together. I waved bye and stuck my key into the front door which opened up to three faces that looked like they were about to burst with excitement. “What on earth is going on?” I pondered as I closed the door behind me and wandered over to them. My head cocked to one side, an eyebrow raised.

Before I could reach them, my mother’s hand shot out, while the other went straight to her mouth. I was handed an envelope. My name was spelled out in embossed golden letters. Curlicues that swirled like wisps of Christmas tinsel. I gingerly pried the envelope open, too scared to even breathe on this sacred piece of paper that could contain my entire life. There it was, in big bold black letters, “Congratulations! You have been selected for a scholarship at the Royal School of Ballet in London.” I looked up from the paper and smiled.

I waved goodbye to my parents and watched as they drove away. I was smiling on the outside, but inside I was a nervous wreck. I had never been without my family but I didn’t have much time to feel sorry for myself because as soon as I was settled into my room, I was handed a schedule of our training sessions, which started immediately.

I had never danced with so many people at once. The rooms were four times the size of our classrooms at home and us dancers filled them like sardines. I felt like an ant in the middle of a forest. I had trouble finding a spot on the barre. Self doubt flooded in, “Why did I think I was worthy of a place here? The school clearly made a mistake picking me.”

“I told you so! You shouldn’t have gone! You shouldn’t have left me here!” my brother sobbed on one side of the line while I sobbed on the other. Between my heaving breaths I asked him to put my mother on the phone and to please stop crying. I was instantly regretting calling home. A familiar calm voice spoke. Suddenly, all was well with the world. My heart stopped racing and I blinked out the tears welling in my eyes. “I want to come home, mom.” I didn’t want them to feel guilty about sending me here on my own, but the homesick rushed out of me before I could censor myself. As mothers do, she reassured me that I’d get to used to things and that I would make friends. I hung up the phone and cried myself to sleep, wishing I was back in my bed and wondering why achieving dreams was coupled with so much pain and sacrifice.

Meal time, the most dreaded time of my day. The suspicious looks, the saved seats, the wrong crowds, all the obstacles in the maze of the canteen that jump out to scare you before you can eat. I spotted my roommate with her friends and tip toed up to them. “Hey, can I sit with you guys?” I could barely hear my own whispers, but one of them responded with a slow nod. The awkward silence that continued made it clear that I was not a wanted addition to the group but I thought it would have been social suicide to get up and walk away. So, I stayed.

After a few moments, which to me felt like forever, the thick silence was broken with a question. “Where are you from?” It took me a while to realise it was directed at me. “Ireland.” I mumbled, mouth full of food. I was stuffing mouthfuls in as fast as I could so I could eat and escape. The next question that came surprised me. “Why don’t you have an accent?” Thankfully the recess bell rang and saved me from having to make small talk and answer meaningless questions.

Class that day was the same as most other days. I walked up to my warm-up spot, right in the back, as far away as I could get from everyone. Every time we turned to face the mirror, I could see those same two eyes staring daggers into me. She’d been watching me for weeks now but had never said anything. I’d already been having trouble with everyone giving me the cold shoulder because the teacher said I was really great. But that wasn’t my fault. I guess we just trained really hard back in Ireland. This girl though, Tara, she just stared. Everyday. I had been going back to my dorm wondering if she would come in and stab me in the middle of the night but that night never came.

After about 7 months at the school, it was time for our final performance. To do this, we had to practise really hard for a public recital which was graded at the end. That just added extra pressure. Not only would our trainers be deliberating, we also had to entertain the public. Tara and I had both been selected for the lead roles in Swan Lake for the performances. That already was a relief, it meant our scores would be highest. It also meant however, that we could crash and burn on stage since all eyes would be on us. We rehearsed relentlessly through all the technical movements that were kept special, just for the lead. The Grand Jete was the most formidable move of the show. It sounds easy enough, a leap with a split but trust me, it isn’t.

We were down to our final rehearsal. The last line of ballerina swans moved off stage and Tara and I jumped. I landed. She landed on her knee. The sound of her bone hitting the stage floor echoed through the auditorium. It was followed by her loud, agonising wail. I had never heard a sound like that before. It shook me to the bone and made me feel almost nauseous.

The next day we were told that Tara couldn’t continue. Her knee was shattered and doctors said she might never dance again. Our teacher gave us the day off training to collect ourselves before the big performance night. There’d only be one lead swan now. I paced up and down my room, wondering how she might be feeling. As much as I felt she hated me I knew if I were her, I’d want company. Most of us didn’t have our parents around with us in London. I swallowed my pride and headed to the hospital.

I stopped just outside the door of her ward. I could hear the beeping of the machines all around me. The smell of medicine, alcohol, sick people coupled with the bright, white fluorescent lights made hospitals horrible places to be stuck. Quietly, I knocked and heard Tara call me in. “You? What are you doing here?” She looked livid and tried to sit up, which caused her face to contort in a grimace. “Here, let me help you.” I moved over to the bed and adjusted her pillow. “I know you hate me but I couldn’t think of anything else. I had to come and see how you were.” Suddenly, Tara’s expression softened. She looked like she was going to cry. “I don’t hate you. You’re just … just so much better than me.” I couldn’t believe the words that came out of her mouth. I thought we were equals. That’s why we both were chosen for the lead.

I stayed late into the afternoon chatting and laughing with Tara. We had a lot of common hobbies and interests. Her mother had been raising her alone after her father died a few years earlier. Sending her to the school in London on full scholarship was the only way Tara’s family could afford an education for her. It was so important and now she felt she had lost everything and let her mother down. “You’ll heal Tara, don’t worry. We’re young.” With that I left and headed back for my big night.

Word had spread that I had taken the afternoon off to visit Tara instead of practising. It felt like the whole atmosphere at school had changed. Instead of suspicious side looks, my peers were giving me small smiles and nods as I walked past them. I felt like I was floating through the hallways. And then, it was time. I peeked through the heavy, red, velvet curtains. I could see my parents and my brother in the second row. I resisted the urge to jump out and wave at them. Patiently, I waited my turn, running through the entire routine over and over in my head. And then, it was over. Just like that.

The crowd cheered. My teacher hugged me. I was on cloud nine. I walked out on stage once the curtains were down to collect a bouquet of flowers from the principal and there she was, in the front row, crutches by her side and a huge plaster cast down her right leg. Tara hopped up on one foot and started applauding. Slow, loud claps rang through the auditorium. One by one, the crowd joined her. Soon, it was a roaring standing ovation. It left me speechless and in tears.

And that was the start of my professional career in dancing.