“Oh!” he says, perking up. He grabs my hand and starts to walk. I love that we both know where we’re heading without having to say it.
Half an hour later, we’re first in line at the cashier of Opéra Garnier. Doing my best to enunciate, I say,“Deux tickets, s’il vous plaît.” Two tickets, please.
But when I pull out my wallet, Louis puts a firm hand on my arm. “It’s on me,” he says. “To make up for our aborted mission at Drouot.”
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault.”
He shrugs, clearly feeling responsible, and pays before I have time to do it.
As soon as we begin exploring the building, my mind twirls with thoughts of my great-great-great-grandmother who,maybe,danced here. From the grand double staircase punctuated by bronze statues, to the colorful ceiling of the main stage and the never-ending ballroom covered in gold detailing, everything in this magnificent space makes me yearn to become a ballerina even more so I can perform here one day.
“It means a lot that you took me to see the painting,” I say as we reach the end of the main ballroom. It’s quieter in this part of the building. The tour groups we saw at the bottom of the stairs are clearly moving at a slower pace. “You really…get me. I can’t say that about many people.” I look away as I finish my sentence, almost regretting it.
Louis inches closer to me. “Why? I’m sure you have many friends back home.”
Sigh. Here’s the ugly truth about having an “impossible dream,” as Mom calls it. Very often, you’re alone with it. Your passion fills up all the space inside and around you, making it hard for anyone to get through.
“I have ballet friends, yes, but the rest of them…they don’t understand,” I explain. “Like my mom.”
“She doesn’t like ballet?”
I ponder this for a moment. “I think she does. At least, she used to. She was a dancer, and then she stopped. I’m not sure why. But she acts like I should do the same: have fun with it for a while, and then get on with real life.”
“Is that the worst thing that could happen?” Louis asks, serious.
“Umm, yes!” I stare at him, wondering if he’s messing with me.
“I’m sorry, Mia,” he says, raising his hands in defense. “Ididn’t mean to…I just believe that you can love doingsomething, but it doesn’t have to become your whole life.”
“It does for me,” I say, unable to hide the hint of sadness in my voice. “Iwantballet to be my whole life.”
He looks stung for a moment, but shakes it off before speaking again. “So what’s the problem? You want your mom to share your dream?”
I shrug. “I’ve been working so hard for so long, and she just acts like I’m not making the right choices, or something. A little support would be nice.”
“I get that,” he says. “My parents are the opposite of yours. They want me to have a passion, like they did at my age. They’re always pushing me to apply myself, to have more focus. But, honestly, I’m not sure I want to be like them.”
“Of course you have to forge your own path, but they love what they do and they just want you to feel the same way….”
“Maybe, but growing up, I sometimes felt like there wasn’t enough room for me. My mom used to call ballet my dad’s ‘real wife.’ Dad was always dancing, Mom was gone on film shoots for weeks at a time, and me…well…” He looks down sadly as he trails off.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing his hand with mine. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
“I’m sorry, too, about your mom. We’re just being true to ourselves, but they don’t see it that way.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head and thinking back to the many conversations I’ve had with Mom. “I’ve told her so many times. This is what I want.”
“Then she shouldn’t try to change your mind,” Louis says, his eyes full of compassion. “Besides, you look like you have plenty of fun already.”
He smiles at me, and I bite my lower lip, feeling charming and understood all at once.
“And your parents should get that one day you’ll find your true passion.”
“Maybe,” Louis says with a heavy heart. “Maybe one day I’ll find something that makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning, like you have.”
I laugh. “At the moment it’s more limping out of bed, because I’m so sore, but yeah. And I feel like if my mom were here, if she could see me perform, maybe she’d finally get it.”
“Hmm,” Louis says, a twinkle in his eye. “I think I need to see it for myself.”
