Page 151 of The Perfect Mistake

Isabel

It’s an exciting day. Diane and I have found a studio space with a year-long lease available. It has huge sunny windows, old wooden floors, and just the right amount of dust in the air. Not particularly big, and we’ll have to repaint and put up the barres ourselves. Lockers for the dancers to leave their belongings in. And maybe do up a little staff kitchen area. And… ideally… we would upgrade the AC system… and the speakers…

It needs some work.

But I’ve worked hard before, and this time, it won’t be for a performance. It’ll be for teaching, inspiring, for the joy of it, in a way it has never been before.

I leave my bag in the corner of the room. The space was a gym before, and the wall on the right has windows lining it. The floor is scuffed from the rough handling of machines and weights, and the air still smells faintly of rubber and cleaning agents. The building maintained this gym for its residents before the rising operating costs forced them to reconsider. That’s why the space is available for rent now, and we were fortunate to find it so quickly only because Diane’s brother lives in the building.

I cross the floor. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a studio. I came here in my workout clothes, wearing a thick parka overtop, just in case I got some alone time. And luckily, Diane has left, and I have the keys.

The building’s superintendent has allowed us to hang on to them for a full week before we need to make a decision about the lease. Apparently the idea of a ballet studio in the old, prestigious apartment building has greatly appealed to the co-op board, and they thought it would be an elegant solution.

I shrug out of the jacket and toss it on top of my bag. I look at myself in the mirror, the familiar shape, the one I’ve studied, obsessed over, and perfected for two decades of my life. A tool to be shaped. A tool to be used.

My hip is better. I’ve been following the physiotherapist’s advice to the letter, but it’s not there yet. It might never be at the level it needs to be for me to perform again at the highest echelon of professional ballet. And if it is… that could be another year. Two years. I’d be almost twenty-eight.

I always knew my career would have a short shelf life.

I shrug out of my sweater and toss it away, leaving me in a thin camisole and my leggings. While stretching, I’m luxuriating in the bright space, taking in the huge mirrors. There’s much more room than at the gym in Alec’s apartment.

Am I brave enough to sign this lease with Diane?

The movements take over. Ingrained in my muscles, set in my bones, I don’t need to think about what to do next. I string together a set of stretches and the first, second, and third positions, practicing my foot placement, feeling the familiar creaks and cracks in my body after a few days of stillness. Limberness doesn’t come naturally to anyone. It’s a skill, just like everything else in life.

After my talk with Connie, I made a decision about what I needed to do. What I must say to Alec… as soon as I gather the courage to.

I understand that he needs time. But I need clarity, and he’s not giving me that. Not with his talk of not hurting me. If he genuinely thinks we won’t last, if this isn’t worth a shot…

It hurts.

It hurts more than the burn in my thighs as I move across the floor, practicing dance moves that I know better than the back of my hand. But I’ve known pain before. I have survived it before, and I will survive this, too.

I thought I finally reached a point where it wasn’t just about survival and winning. A time when I could focus on thriving instead, on deepening relationships I’d neglected, on learning to embrace joy again… on finding love.

I spin in the empty space. The floor definitely needs to be sanded down, and I feel its unevenness through my thin ballet shoes. But all of this has potential, so much that it’s practically seeping through the floorboards and the scuffed walls.

Potential for new friends, and a new job, and a new life. A revival. I could build this studio into something wonderful. I could teach here. And maybe I could even study part time, find something I like…

There is potential.

And for months, I haven’t seen any.

I perform a pirouette, and then another, but switch to jumps before my hip twinges again. It feels amazing to move like this again. To have the space to dance fully, across an entire studio.

Maybe Alec and I aren’t meant to be.

Maybe that’s another thing I need to accept.

The ache in my heart doesn’t like that thought. But maybe… maybe I’m strong enough now to handle this heartbreak, too. I survived the first one, with a loss of a dream, a career.

I can survive another.

“I could watch you forever,” a voice says.

I spin toward the half-opened door. The studio is on the second floor of the prewar building; it does have a doorman, but no one should have been able to bother me.

But there he is.

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