She was a ballerina, wound as tight as the corset in her costumes. He was a hockey player determined to make a friend out of someone who didn't want any. She was willing to entertain the idea. But only because he wiggled his way past her defenses to...
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Life is tough. It is cruel, and it is trying, but it is so very much worth living.
We live our lives under someone else's rule until we reach the age in which we begin to make our own decisions. Much like a baby bird, we are tossed out of our nest, and we either fall and break our necks, or we fly. The lucky few have life handed to them, not a single flaw present, and they are the ones who soar. The majority of us, however, falter. It may be money, or indecision, but it may just be that we dropped from the nest and fell the furthest before flying.
And those are the ones who try the hardest.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Two, two, three, four, five- Stop. Stop. You are off. You are all off. How do you expect to open Cinderella in one month if you are off? James, come here." Milena snapped her fingers at the male dancer, pointing him to center front. "Demonstrate the first twenty four counts. These children do not seem to comprehend it when I teach it. Five, six, five, six, seven, eight."
I tuned out the ballet mistress. I never really liked Milena, which was alright, since she never really liked me either. She was uptight and snooty, and favored the danseur, or male dancers, and the female corps.
Instead, I focused on the choreography. This was my first time in a long time as principal and as such, I needed to put all of my attention into the dance, and nothing else. That included Milena and her snide little comments. She was only here as a stand in for our actual choreographer anyway. It was quite hard to perceive her as legitimate instructor, what with her past experience. We all knew about her failure of a career. She was only considered retired because of her standing in ballet community. Well, that and because she had slept with most of her male choreographers. But that was on the hush.
"Good, James, back into your place. Eleanor, come."
I felt all eyes on me as my name was called and I closed my eyes briefly and cursed under my breath before stepping forward and stopping just in front of the woman. She meandered in front of me, looking around the room.
"Fouetté pirouette. À la seconde."
There were murmurs among the other dancers. From past experience, we all knew Milena would pick on several ballerinas. Either exploiting their weaknesses, or challenging their abilities. At some point last season, Milena had developed some type of disdain for me, and now I was being subjected to one of her games. And all of us knew a fouetté pirouette à la seconde was something the danseur generally did because of the difficulty. Rather than making a fool of myself and breaking down and running out of the room, sobbing, I got into position, and lifted my leg, à la hauteur, doing a single turn. With my training, I could manage Milena's little game. I had trained at the company school, it wasn't like this was brand new to me.
"Again," she said stoically, her lips pursed. "Triple."
I silently got back into position and did the three turns, my thigh aching from holding it in such a high position, but I refused to lower it until the pirouettes were complete. I looked at Milena defiantly when I returned to third position. Try me.
