I’ve been to the city countless times, but never experienced such luxury. For once, I’m happy to be here instead of enduring whatever training, show, or performance was on my schedule. It’s overwhelming in the best way.
Swept into hearing my native language, smelling the city smells, eating crepes, and finally having what I consider realcheese and chocolate, I can’t help but gush at every turn as I give Connor a tour.
My heart feels full but not painful. I’m buoyant, not burdened. This incredible man helped bring me back to life. Brought me home, but first, we take the train to Paris.
Connor says he has another surprise. I glance at the ring on my finger. We’ve hardly spoken about my visa situation, but how can it not be front of mind given the fact that I cannot return to Concordia and that we’re in France?
The city overwhelms my senses as we emerge from the Metro. The feeling in the air is alive. The ground under my feet practically makes me want to take agrande jeté.There was so much I loved about ballet, yet my mother took it away...then I went away.
Connor wears a wide grin and holds up two small pieces of stiff paper. “I got us tickets.”
I’ve only been to the Opéra national de Paris on the talent side of the curtain. If Giselle were here, we’d both be squealing. Instead, it’s just me.
When we enter the venerated and stately building, captured by the grandeur of it all, I feel like a little girl all over again. The lights, the balconies, and the gilded woodwork are magnificent. We have prime seats for the performance, Giselle.
“Don’t you have a cousin named Giselle?” Connor asks.
“My mother and aunt competed over whose daughter would be the prima ballerina.”
“Is there a ballet named Cateline?”
“No. My father picked it. My mother was furious, which made her even more determined to see me on that stage.”
“And you made it.”
“I made it,” I answer, not feeling as bitter as I used to.
When the show begins, I watch with awe and reverence.
At one point, Connor leans in and whispers, “See that move? I can do that one.”
I hold back a laugh, but smile and quietly scold him to be quiet. Yet, I cannot get enough of his joking, the way he smiles at me, and how thoughtful this trip is, especially when I’m supposed to be assessing his behavior. He gets an easy A, an outstanding five stars.
Afterward, I can’t stop talking about the details and skills the dancers possess.
“So, you’re happy?” Connor asks as we walk hand in hand along the canal on the way to dinner.
“This is much better than finding googly eyes in my office.”
He kisses the back of my hand. “That’s because it’s not a prank.”
We pause on a bridge.
“Connor, what is this?” I ask.
He kisses my hand again. “This means I’m happy because you’re happy.”
“No, I mean this.” I wave my hand between us.
“This means I proved that I’m not a caveman.”
“This means that you passed the program.” But there’s more to us than coach and student. However, I don’t want to think about what’s going to change when the thirty days are over. I don’t want to think about not being able to return to Concordia, having to close the school, and start over.
What will I do instead? Change has been happening and it started with my heart, led to Connor, back home now, and then where?
The next day,we rent a car and pass through Orleans on our way to my hometown.
It’s a snapshot, frozen in time since I was last here so many years ago. Old wine barrels overflow with flowers, Monsieur Martin sweeps the sidewalk in front of his patisserie, the bistro tables are as white as ever, and the pigeons peck for crumbs.
