Page 77 of Just One Bite
When I watch myself in the mirror, I look like I don’t know anything. There’s a child somewhere with better talent and shiny promise making me look like a fool.
It’s good but not great.
My ankle slips and I stumble back, attempting to find my rhythm again. But my form is sloppy.
I do know the steps. I do. Fast feet. Balance. Balance. Balance.
My right pinky toe rubs raw in my shoe. It’s no excuse for why I can’t complete the variation all the way through.
Why did I get picked for this role?
I’m going to blow my chance.
I’m going to choke as an ultimate failure.
Fear floods my brain, and I slip. A tear of frustration runs down my cheek, streaking the mascara stinging my eyes.
I know better than to wear nonwaterproof mascara to ballet. I’m better than all of this. Maybe my talent has run its course. Or maybe it was never there at all. I abandon my variation to sit on the floor with my head on my knees to catch my breath.
What would my mother say? Or worse, my father or sisters.
Everyone would try to comfort me and offer their full acceptable lengths of condolences to the end of my career. My gut twists. They’d be sad for me. They’d pity me. It would be a big deal. Earth shattering for them and me.
“Whoa, what’s with the tears?” Parker’s voice echoes in the studio.
“I keep messing up. This is it for me. I suck.”
He sits next to me, wipes the tear from my cheek, and sets down a plate of food.
“You’re being too hard on yourself and working your body too hard.”
“But what if I can’t do it? What if … it just crumbles. What if I fail? What if I’m not as good as I thought I was? I can already imagine what everyone will say when it’s over: ‘It’s fine, Olivia. You’ll be fine.’ But it doesn’t make it better. Everyone knows me as a dancer. If I fail … I have to face all the pity. The disappointment. Everyone will worry about me. I can’t even think of the press.”
“Okay. Say it crumbles … You get to the performance of your lifetime, and then fall apart on stage. I’ll pick you up and wait for you to get changed. We’ll get some food and then … I’ll take you somewhere alone. Whether that’s our rooms or if you want to take the train to the city, we’ll figure out the next step. Ride out whatever wave of press follows, and then … you’ll dance again.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. The world doesn’t explode.”
“What would you think of me?”
“That you had a shitty night, and it doesn’t touch the talent you have. Olivia,I love that you dance. I love that it makes you happy, and I love that you’re carrying on your mother’s passion … but ballet is the least interesting thing about you.”
I sit with that, first slightly offended. Ballet is who I am. It’s an extension of myself. It’s all I work toward. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Who would I be without ballet?
“To me, you’re the same whether you dance or not. Whether you become the most famous ballerina in the world or you don’t, won’t affect the way I feel about you. You’re just Olivia to me, and you're my favorite person to be around.”
I don’t know who just Olivia is. I replay Parker’s scenario again. Making a fool of myself on stage, and then … running into hiding. Would it be so bad?
I move my hand to his, and he rubs my knuckles. What Olivia could he be talking about? My life without ballet is just me eating and sleeping and attending classes. I have no other hobbies. I’ve never wanted anything else.
“Why am I your favorite person, then?”
Shouldn’t it be someone like Zant who’s funny? Or Gavin, who I’m sure has many interesting things going on. It’s probably my blood or my smell …
“I think waking up next to you and watching you brush your hair is interesting, the little comments you make about the weather, or when you tell me what you’re learning in class, or eating dinner with you.”
“Those things sound boring.”
