After much deliberation and discussion with your team of doctors, it is not without sadness and regret that we have come to the unfortunate decision to terminate your position as principal dancer at the New York City Ballet.
My door flies open, and my mom barrels in a rush, breaking me out of my mental stupor.
“Juliette,” she cries in her soft French accent. “Tell me I’m reading this wrong. This can’t be true.” She thrusts a manila envelope in my face, then quickly pulls it back when she takes in my tear-streaked face. “What’s wrong, my love.” Her voice quickly changes, full of worry.
“It’s nothing. Let me see what you have.” I reach for the envelope, pushing my letter behind my back, only I’m too slow. My mom steps back out of reach, eyeing me with concern.
I know she won’t let this go, so I huff and hand her the letter.
“Oh, Juliette,” she croons with empathy. “I’m so sorry. So it’s official?”
I nod. “They want me to come in today to hand in my building pass and wrap everything up.”
She sits next to me on my bed and wraps me in a tight hug, engulfing me with the scent of my father.
Shortly after he died last year, she started wearing his cologne to feel close to him, and as morbid as that is, soon after, I, too, took comfort in the smell.
Like now, it feels as if he’s here with us, joining in on our family hug.
Maybe he is.
“I know it feels like your life is ending, but something bigger and better will come along.”
“Don’t.” My tone is sharp. I instantly regret letting my emotions get the better of me. I never want to upset my kindhearted mother, but I don’t want to be coddled. “I’m sorry, Mom.” I kiss her cheek, “I’m not ready for reassurances. I’d rather you tell me how it is. That my life is over at the early age of twenty-four.”
She chuckles softly. “Don’t be so dramatic. I won’t lie and tell you it’s going to be easy. You trained your whole life for this, and it’s been taken away in the blink of an eye. I also meant it when I said it would all be okay. You’re your father’s daughter. Sweetbut strong, and if anyone can work through this, it’s you.” She pulls back to look me in the eyes. “I know you don’t believe this now, but there is more to life than ballet. You’re young and have your whole life ahead of you. No matter what you do, youwillsucceed.”
I subconsciously rub my injured leg as I think over her words, wondering if I’ll actually work through it because I often worry that without ballet, I don’t have much to offer and struggle knowing what to work toward now that my dreams have been ripped away.
Ballet has been my life since the age of three. Nothing else interested me, and it was clear early on that I had a natural talent.
My parents were proud but never pushed me to go further. In fact, they often wanted me to stop training, worried that it was too much for a child to stress over something that should be fun.
But I was addicted. I loved the thrill of succeeding, and though I often wanted to quit after grueling, intense classes, that high never went away for me.
Ultimately, I always wanted to be better, to do better.
The day I was asked to join the New York City Ballet was like winning an Olympic gold in my eyes—I had finally made it.
I worked diligently, day and night, and it paid off. I hit my next goal, becoming a soloist ballerina soon after, and within a year, I made it to principal dancer—the highest level, where I was the lead ballerina in performances likeThe Nutcrackerand one of the most difficult to perform—Swan Lake.
Though nothing meant more to me than when I was chosen to danceThe Sleeping Beautyfor our fall season.
All of my hard work came crashing down on opening night when a taxi swerved and hit me. After just one performance, my dream of performing my favorite Disney movie, the one I repeatedly watched with my dad, came to a dramatic end.
And six months later, so did my career.
My phone buzzes beside me, breaking me out of my depressing thoughts. I lift my head from my mom’s shoulder to see my best friend blowing up my phone.
“Becks?”
“Yeah, she wants me to meet her for dinner and drinks at some swanky place tonight, but I’m not in the mood.”
“You should go. You need to get out more.”
“We’ll see, maybe.” I shrug. “Hey, what’s in the envelope that you wanted to show me when you barged into my room without knocking?” I raise an accusing brow.
I had finally moved out of my parents’ apartment, only to quickly move back in when my dad died. There was no way I could leave my mom alone and devastated.
