JOLIE
“Jolie, I’d like you to stay after today,” Mistress Maral says as soon as we finish our révérence. A lump catches in my throat.
After completing barre wobble-free and keeping pace with an especially arduous grand allegro, full of leaps and quick jumps in rapid succession, it was beginning to seem like I could hold my own here. Now the small pile of confidence I amassed is washed away by the stern look on Mistress Maral’s face.
My mind races over any mistakes I could have made. I’ll admit, I’m not a fast learner. It takes me a day or so to get choreography into my body, but I thought I was doing well. Surely it’s not expected that my comprehension is fine-tuned the day we learn the variation?
As soon as I get home, I’ll immediately practice in my room, visualizing the piece with Adolphe Adam’s compositions playing on repeat.
Just as I’m getting carried away with my plans, Evelyn lays a gentle hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Join us in the recovery room after?”
“See you there,” I reply with a tight nod.
While ice baths are the favorite tradition of the dancers here, I’ll be stretching out my legs on the nearby mats. Evelyn’s been encouraging me to give the frosty plunge a shot, as a way to spend time with her and a few of the other girls in the corps.No, thank you.There’s no way I’ll be submerging myself in an icy tub. As much as I’d love to build some camaraderie, the frozen surface of the basin is enough to send tremors through me.
I used to love the cold. Winter. Now it brings me back to last February. To the night of the accident.
A pair of fractured irises peer at me from the recesses of my mind. My body chills and my eyes dart to the window, half expecting to see the large dog there again. After a minute of scanning, I finally exhale, shaking my head at my own paranoia. It’s just the usual DC hustle.
Add this to my notes for my next session with Dr. Tanner.
The other company members exit the studio while I rummage through my bag. I’m not sure what I’m doing. Killing time? What does she want from me? I could have sworn I did much better in class today. I leave my shoes on just in case Mistress Maral wants me to demonstrate something for her.
My body aches, hips resisting my forward bend as I roll my leg warmers back up my legs. Once the room’s empty, I head to Mistress Maral, who’s standing by the sound system. I swallow thickly, bracing myself for whatever she’s about to say. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” Her thin lips pull into a line, her gaze scanning over me. “I wanted to know how you think things are going.”
“Um…”
Is this some sort of test? I’ve had my share of stern ballet instructors growing up, even one from Russia who always called me Josi, never taking the time to learn my name, but something about the way Mistress Maral scrutinizes me when I dance is like being put under a microscope.
“I think they are going well.” My voice is higher pitched than I intend. When she mutters under her breath, I quickly add, “I know I had a rocky start yesterday and I’m still catching up. Today seemed like an improvement, though.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to say something. Anything.
When she lets the silence linger between us, I continue, “I’m sure I could be doing more.”
“Yes, you could.”
Air lodges in my throat and I’m frozen in place. My body’s so stiff that I’m certain if I exhale it’ll splinter my ribs.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” Her tone relaxes a bit, but I’m not ready to relax with it.
“Oh.”Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Maintain professionalism, Jolie.
I need to show her and the rest of Ballet Potomac that I can take criticism. No one wants a prima donna who isn’t open to feedback in their company. While there are many out there, it’s not what you want to be known for in a world as small as ours.
“To be frank, I was hesitant to bring you on when the director told us he’d invited you.”
I blink rapidly, trying to stifle tears. It’s not some great revelation, but it stings, nonetheless.
Mistress Maral crosses her arms, shifting her weight and sticking out her hip. “While the others voted in support of giving you a shot, I did not. And based on your first few days, you are proving my assumptions correct.”
“I don’t understand,” I croak, rubbing my palms on the sides of my leg warmers. “What am I doing wrong? I really want this, Mistress Maral. I don’t expect every instructor to like me or want me here, but I am trying my hardest.”
“That’s the problem, Jolie. You’re trying too hard.”What?“Do you know why I left the Joffrey?”
Her question catches me off guard. I was ready to defend myself. Now I’m filing through what I can recall from the company website and gossip—which, admittedly, I haven’t been here long enough to know much about.
