Come on, Jolie.
I wiggle out my fingers and toes, bouncing back and forth atop my pointe shoes before pressing them into the pile of rosin, cracking it into shards and dust until the tips are perfectly coated.
Something I love about portraying Juliet is her hopeful grace. This variation is from when she’s dancing at the ball. At first, she moves by herself, showcasing her lightness. Her joy. It’s such a stark difference from where she ends up at the end of the story, joining her lover in death.
This dance comes before all the tragedy, and if only for a moment, when I dance it, I can pretend I’m in thebefore.
Before my injury.
Before the accident.
Before each shattered piece of me was hacked into existence.
For these few minutes, I’m that young ballerina again and the world is bright and full of possibilities.
The stage manager ushers me over, nodding as she talks into the headset. I gracefully walk out onto the stage, arms carried softly in front of me as I set myself into my starting position. The lights are low, so dim that I know the audience can only make out my silhouette.
It’s time. Everyone’s watching.
Before I can finish one deep breath, the intro begins.
The lights come up, like the first burst of morning sun, and I move.
Each spin atop my toes is light and delicate. Each sweep of my leg reaches the skylights. Each brush of my arms moves through its arc, graceful and smooth.
There’s no ballroom of spectators like in the ballet, so I carry myself around the stage, utilizing its entirety. I gaze over my arm, flirtatiously, admiring each line I perfectly execute. My confidence grows along with the music. It propels me into agrand jeté, and I leap so high that I might collide with the night itself.
I’m spinning and dancing my way to where my invisible Romeo stands. The one Juliet’s been dancing for, hoping to catch his eye. It’s an all too familiar feeling. Both in the weeks leading up to the performance and now. I stare off and extend my arm toward the corner of the room, picturing twin panes of glittering glass in the audience, reaching back for me.
How I wish he was.
I continue to dance for him. Continue to pretend. I strike my final pose, the moment Romeo has found Juliet, and I can’t help but imagine it’s real. That Jax is here, taking the form of the invisible man I’m embracing.
I barely realize the music has stopped. My attention is pinned to the back of the room and those eyes staring back at me.
In a flash, they disappear.
Snap out of it, Jolie. He’s not here.
I don’t have a moment for that to disappoint me, though, because just like magic, the crowd erupts in applause, standing before me in a wave of fancy suits and gowns. My smile widens as it echoes through me, vibrating deep in my soul.
I did it.
33
JOLIE
I’m still floating on cloud nine the day after my performance when my phone buzzes.
Lark:
Still rallying from last night’s celebrations.
Feel better.
Lark:
We’ll try to meet you there.
