Status: Possibly back!!!
The Ugly Duckling
Act I, Scene V
A month before the audition I fell out of my pirouette.
Lila had offered to stay late and work with me after noticing the bite in my mothers voice had become as sharp as a pick ax. She had watched my audition variation hundreds of times with the same almost bewildered expression. She tried to hide it, saying that was just the face she made while she was thinking. Each time I finished a portion of my audition she would take pause before painting a fake smile on her face. She would give the compliment sandwich that we were told works best on the younger girls. Compliment. Constructive criticism. Compliment
"Lila, I can take your criticism. You don't have to mask it. Please just, tell me how to get better." Much of my hair had fallen out of my bun and was plastered to my face. I tried wiping the sweat from my brow but it seemed to make matters worse.
"Ana, do you want me to be one hundred percent honest?"
I nodded my head and stretched my arms above my head trying to catch my breath.
Inhale. "You've changed" Exhale. " You're not dancing the way you were a few weeks ago." Inhale. "Your execution is all there, but it all feels hollow." Exhale. "Do you not love dancing?" Inhale. "Has something happened? You seem so distant." I held my breath in. I feared that if I spoke, if I even let the used air leave my body I would cry. I was stronger than that. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
When every inch of my body screamed for life I exhaled. "I think it's just become a little too routine. I'll try to add something new this time." Lila nodded then stole a glance at the clock. I was keeping her from her home. From her family who put every spare penny they had into keeping her in this studio. I was keeping her from her younger brother who admired his older sister more than anyone in the world.
She rewound the track and pressed play once I had frozen in my opening pose. Arms extended and graceful. Hands relaxed but not limp. Back leg creating the perfect angle with front leg. Am I turned out? The music began and I knew what Lila had said was true. I was mechanical. I lacked everything that made a great dancer, the grace of Rosalie, the passion of the young girls, and the accuracy of my mother. Push up. Arms in. Spot at the back of the room. Turn once. Open second. Push. The music wasn't filling me up. My dancing wasn't hollow. I was. Turn. Step. Turn. Step. Arabesque. Smile. Lila shouldn't have to waste her time looking a such a hollow performance. Step. Turn. Step. Turn. Step. Turn. Step. Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant. The door behind me creaked open. The fake smile I wore was causing me more pain than the aching in my bones. Step. Turn. Step. Turn. Double pirouette. The not so subtle click of heals that didn't line up with the music. Changement. Changement. Changement. Changement. Changement. Changement. I smiled harder. Felt my teeth grinding into one another as the muscles in my face begged for me to relax. Spot. En pointe. Turn. I felt my body giving in but I pushed harder. I demanded more turns from myself. With each rotation I could feel myself losing my goal. I saw my mothers classic scowl.
A month before the audition, I fell out of my pirouette.
Falling being too graceful of a word. Rosalie falls out of pirouettes. Over or under rotating and losing the beat of the piece. Having to stop unexpectedly and catch back up with the music. This was much worse. As I descended from pointe into plié I had used all the strength left in me and I couldn't push back up. My supporting leg gave out and I faltered. My spot moved quickly from my mothers face towards the ground. My body hit the ground with a loud smack and the music cut.
My heartbeat pounded in my head and my mother clicked her way out of the studio. "Lila, I think it's time to call it a night, yes?" Without a word Lila nearly sprinted from the room. I was alone but the hollow inside me covered every inch of the room. I laid on the floor for some time before pushing myself up. The silence rang in my ears and the sting of the wood burned my skin. I walked towards the wall of mirrors, making sure to stare directly at my bag. When I bent down to pick it up I noticed a small tear in my tights.
I quickly grabbed my coat and ran for the door. I didn't bother to take my pointe shoes off or change clothes. I stood outside in the cold, the remnants of the snow from the day before around me. Iced over and grey. The world around me looked as disgusting as I felt. I wanted the cold to burn, to claw away at my skin, through my muscle and settle into my bones. I wanted to feel anything else besides hollow. The pain of the cold was welcome to replace the empty expanse inside me. Inhale. The sharp cold air was like knives in my lungs. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I wanted it to ached. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. I wanted it to burn. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. . I wanted the cold I was holding in to cut my lungs up. Fill me with scar tissue. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
"Annie?"
Exhale.
"Annie, is that you?"
Inhale.
A gloved hand touched my shoulder. A familiar voice felt years away. "Why are you standing out here? You're skin is blue."
Exhale.
A hot tear raced down my face, followed by another, and another.
Inhale.
"I tore my tights." My voice was raw and cracked over each word.
Inhale.
I turned towards the owner of the gloved hand not at all shocked to see Mason. His mouth was slightly agape and his posture the same as always, his hand fell away from my body. The heat from where it had been burned against the chill and more tears fell.
"Anastasiya?"
"I tore my tights?" He looked towards my legs then back towards my face.
"It will be alright but you have to get inside."
He pulled the coat from my hands and wrapped it around my shoulders. Leaving one arm around me he guided me towards the closest open door. My feet felt like lead weights as he ushered me into the entrance of some apartment building. While we were out of the cold we weren't in a heated area.
"Annie," his voice was still soft. He didn't seem angry or resentful that I had cut him out of my life. "What's going on?"
"I tore my tights." I choked the words out of what had become a sob.
He pulled off his gloves and picked my hands up. Pressing them between each other he tried to warm them. "Annie you're freezing cold. You need to put something on." He dropped my hands and reached for my bag, pulling it into his lap he dug through the contents until he found the clothes I had worn earlier that day.
He pulled out a thick black sweater and pulled it over my head, helping me slip my arms through. My pants were next, without bothering to try and remove my torn tights he pulled them over my legs and around my waist. He picked up my hands again and put them inside of his still warm gloves while he searched for my socks. He found the thick woolen pair buried deep beneath an extra leotard. The absurdity of the situation sank in and I reached down to untie my pointe shoes. The ribbons released their hold on my ankles and the small blocks fell away from my feet. My toes were bleeding and had stained my shoes.
Mason didn't say another word as he rolled my socks onto my feet and helped me put my boots on. He kept quiet while I slid my jacked on and wrapped my scarf around my neck. I haphazardly shoved my shoes into my bag and stood quickly, almost falling again. Mason had an arm around my waist before I could try and right myself. "Let me walk you home."
I wiped the few remaining tears from my eyes and shook my head. "No. She can't see you."
"Your mother?"
I pulled away from his grasp and pressed his gloves back into his hands. I had already said too much. Rosalie had respected my wishes and avoided all conversation of me while around Ryan, not a word would make it back to Mason. He was still in the dark about my decision and the guilt cut through me.
"I'm sorry."
I opened the door and walked out. Away from Mason. Away from the guilt. Away from the hole in my tights.
By time I arrived home my mother had already made herself dinner and cleaned up. The apartment smelled amazing but I knew there was none for me. I would each another grilled chicken salad. More protein. More greens.
"You would not fall out of your pirouettes if you had not gained so much weight. Your weak ankles cannot support you."
The door had barely shut before my mothers words found me.
Without acknowledging her comment I headed straight to the bathroom. I turned the faucet to it's hottest setting and stripped. I threw my blood stained socks into the trash and peeled off the layers of clothing Mason had helped me put on. I caught a glimpse of myself before stepping into the shower. I was blue, and angular, and anything but elegant. My shape didn't even resemble being human.
I quickly stepped under the near scalding spray and let the water burn away the fall, the cold, and most importantly Mason. Every inch that he touched I scrubbed viciously at until my skin hurt to touch. I turned the water off and stepped into the now steam filled bathroom Even though the mirror had fogged over I could see I was no longer blue. I was a clean pink.
I was clean.
Lila had offered to stay late and work with me after noticing the bite in my mothers voice had become as sharp as a pick ax. She had watched my audition variation hundreds of times with the same almost bewildered expression. She tried to hide it, saying that was just the face she made while she was thinking. Each time I finished a portion of my audition she would take pause before painting a fake smile on her face. She would give the compliment sandwich that we were told works best on the younger girls. Compliment. Constructive criticism. Compliment
"Lila, I can take your criticism. You don't have to mask it. Please just, tell me how to get better." Much of my hair had fallen out of my bun and was plastered to my face. I tried wiping the sweat from my brow but it seemed to make matters worse.
"Ana, do you want me to be one hundred percent honest?"
I nodded my head and stretched my arms above my head trying to catch my breath.
Inhale. "You've changed" Exhale. " You're not dancing the way you were a few weeks ago." Inhale. "Your execution is all there, but it all feels hollow." Exhale. "Do you not love dancing?" Inhale. "Has something happened? You seem so distant." I held my breath in. I feared that if I spoke, if I even let the used air leave my body I would cry. I was stronger than that. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
When every inch of my body screamed for life I exhaled. "I think it's just become a little too routine. I'll try to add something new this time." Lila nodded then stole a glance at the clock. I was keeping her from her home. From her family who put every spare penny they had into keeping her in this studio. I was keeping her from her younger brother who admired his older sister more than anyone in the world.
She rewound the track and pressed play once I had frozen in my opening pose. Arms extended and graceful. Hands relaxed but not limp. Back leg creating the perfect angle with front leg. Am I turned out? The music began and I knew what Lila had said was true. I was mechanical. I lacked everything that made a great dancer, the grace of Rosalie, the passion of the young girls, and the accuracy of my mother. Push up. Arms in. Spot at the back of the room. Turn once. Open second. Push. The music wasn't filling me up. My dancing wasn't hollow. I was. Turn. Step. Turn. Step. Arabesque. Smile. Lila shouldn't have to waste her time looking a such a hollow performance. Step. Turn. Step. Turn. Step. Turn. Step. Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant. The door behind me creaked open. The fake smile I wore was causing me more pain than the aching in my bones. Step. Turn. Step. Turn. Double pirouette. The not so subtle click of heals that didn't line up with the music. Changement. Changement. Changement. Changement. Changement. Changement. I smiled harder. Felt my teeth grinding into one another as the muscles in my face begged for me to relax. Spot. En pointe. Turn. I felt my body giving in but I pushed harder. I demanded more turns from myself. With each rotation I could feel myself losing my goal. I saw my mothers classic scowl.
A month before the audition, I fell out of my pirouette.
Falling being too graceful of a word. Rosalie falls out of pirouettes. Over or under rotating and losing the beat of the piece. Having to stop unexpectedly and catch back up with the music. This was much worse. As I descended from pointe into plié I had used all the strength left in me and I couldn't push back up. My supporting leg gave out and I faltered. My spot moved quickly from my mothers face towards the ground. My body hit the ground with a loud smack and the music cut.
My heartbeat pounded in my head and my mother clicked her way out of the studio. "Lila, I think it's time to call it a night, yes?" Without a word Lila nearly sprinted from the room. I was alone but the hollow inside me covered every inch of the room. I laid on the floor for some time before pushing myself up. The silence rang in my ears and the sting of the wood burned my skin. I walked towards the wall of mirrors, making sure to stare directly at my bag. When I bent down to pick it up I noticed a small tear in my tights.
I quickly grabbed my coat and ran for the door. I didn't bother to take my pointe shoes off or change clothes. I stood outside in the cold, the remnants of the snow from the day before around me. Iced over and grey. The world around me looked as disgusting as I felt. I wanted the cold to burn, to claw away at my skin, through my muscle and settle into my bones. I wanted to feel anything else besides hollow. The pain of the cold was welcome to replace the empty expanse inside me. Inhale. The sharp cold air was like knives in my lungs. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I wanted it to ached. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. I wanted it to burn. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. . I wanted the cold I was holding in to cut my lungs up. Fill me with scar tissue. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
"Annie?"
Exhale.
"Annie, is that you?"
Inhale.
A gloved hand touched my shoulder. A familiar voice felt years away. "Why are you standing out here? You're skin is blue."
Exhale.
A hot tear raced down my face, followed by another, and another.
Inhale.
"I tore my tights." My voice was raw and cracked over each word.
Inhale.
I turned towards the owner of the gloved hand not at all shocked to see Mason. His mouth was slightly agape and his posture the same as always, his hand fell away from my body. The heat from where it had been burned against the chill and more tears fell.
"Anastasiya?"
"I tore my tights?" He looked towards my legs then back towards my face.
"It will be alright but you have to get inside."
He pulled the coat from my hands and wrapped it around my shoulders. Leaving one arm around me he guided me towards the closest open door. My feet felt like lead weights as he ushered me into the entrance of some apartment building. While we were out of the cold we weren't in a heated area.
"Annie," his voice was still soft. He didn't seem angry or resentful that I had cut him out of my life. "What's going on?"
"I tore my tights." I choked the words out of what had become a sob.
He pulled off his gloves and picked my hands up. Pressing them between each other he tried to warm them. "Annie you're freezing cold. You need to put something on." He dropped my hands and reached for my bag, pulling it into his lap he dug through the contents until he found the clothes I had worn earlier that day.
He pulled out a thick black sweater and pulled it over my head, helping me slip my arms through. My pants were next, without bothering to try and remove my torn tights he pulled them over my legs and around my waist. He picked up my hands again and put them inside of his still warm gloves while he searched for my socks. He found the thick woolen pair buried deep beneath an extra leotard. The absurdity of the situation sank in and I reached down to untie my pointe shoes. The ribbons released their hold on my ankles and the small blocks fell away from my feet. My toes were bleeding and had stained my shoes.
Mason didn't say another word as he rolled my socks onto my feet and helped me put my boots on. He kept quiet while I slid my jacked on and wrapped my scarf around my neck. I haphazardly shoved my shoes into my bag and stood quickly, almost falling again. Mason had an arm around my waist before I could try and right myself. "Let me walk you home."
I wiped the few remaining tears from my eyes and shook my head. "No. She can't see you."
"Your mother?"
I pulled away from his grasp and pressed his gloves back into his hands. I had already said too much. Rosalie had respected my wishes and avoided all conversation of me while around Ryan, not a word would make it back to Mason. He was still in the dark about my decision and the guilt cut through me.
"I'm sorry."
I opened the door and walked out. Away from Mason. Away from the guilt. Away from the hole in my tights.
By time I arrived home my mother had already made herself dinner and cleaned up. The apartment smelled amazing but I knew there was none for me. I would each another grilled chicken salad. More protein. More greens.
"You would not fall out of your pirouettes if you had not gained so much weight. Your weak ankles cannot support you."
The door had barely shut before my mothers words found me.
Without acknowledging her comment I headed straight to the bathroom. I turned the faucet to it's hottest setting and stripped. I threw my blood stained socks into the trash and peeled off the layers of clothing Mason had helped me put on. I caught a glimpse of myself before stepping into the shower. I was blue, and angular, and anything but elegant. My shape didn't even resemble being human.
I quickly stepped under the near scalding spray and let the water burn away the fall, the cold, and most importantly Mason. Every inch that he touched I scrubbed viciously at until my skin hurt to touch. I turned the water off and stepped into the now steam filled bathroom Even though the mirror had fogged over I could see I was no longer blue. I was a clean pink.
I was clean.
♠ ♠ ♠
I started this story three years ago and haven't updated in forever, I apologize if how I write has changed in that time. I think I'm ready for this chapter to be public now.
Ana's Variation
Ana's Variation
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