| Dance, My Angel | |
| I de the fallen angels | |
| Virginie T. | |
Caitlyn has been the lead dancer of the American Ballet Theater of New York for several years. Lonely and withdrawn, her life revolves around dance, and her biggest fan is none other than her grandmother. Everything changes when someone starts to harass her. Who can it be and for what purpose? Her grandmother is ready to do anything to protect her, including putting her on the path of her mysterious neighbor Baraqiel.
Dance, My Angel
The fallen angels – tome 1
Virginie T
Translated by Eduardo Jiménez López
© 2020. T. Virginie
Chapter 1Caitlyn
After dancing for so long, I should not be so stressed any more. After all, rehearsals always go the same way and I already have the leading role, just like the last five times.
They do not call me the rising star of the American Ballet Theater for nothing, and certainly I am far from having stolen my place. I have fought and sacrificed enormously to be at this point.
Dance is an integral part of my life, of my being myself, and it is out of the question that I will let the last events prevent me from being me. I close my eyes, clear my thoughts, and remember the crucial stages that took me to where I am now.
I came to New York during my younger years, thanks to my dance teacher at the time and his constant insistence before my parents. I could never thank him enough for the future he allowed me to have. I still remember the harassment he inflicted on my parents. Mason Jaz is a very determined person, to say the least, and my success was something he had close to his heart. I started classic dance at age four, like many little girls, pushed by my mother who that way hoped to channel my overflow of energy, while at the same time to allow me to open up to the world and to the people around me. At only three feet tall, I was a very withdrawn child, in search of an outlet for the whirlwind of emotions that boiled inside me, and that I did not understand. Everything was a source of inner conflicts, of stress, reaching almost panic attacks. So, very early on I made the choice to speak very little and to stay away from any social interactions. A doctor had diagnosed me with a form of autism, mild enough to allow me to have an almost normal life and average intellectual capacities, but sufficiently developed for human relations to be a real problem for me. At the time, that meant nothing to the young child I was, except that I was different from other children, and I did not see the need of this gentleman in a white coat to notice it. My mother had thought dance could be a cure for my ailments, a way to express what I was holding in my body and in my heart. If she had known at the time how far that would take us, she might have thought twice about it. Mason quickly saw my potential, and from a simple hobby this activity became my passion, devouring, invasive, and one that changed the life of the whole family, as well as their vision of the future.
Dance was indeed a miraculous cure. Through it, I could express my most inner feelings: rage, envy, love. I started dance competitions at only six years old, impressing the juries with my maturity, and snatching up the prizes every time I participated. On the other hand, my parents, willingly or not, took me from town to town, roaming Florida up and down and across. At that time my parents gave me everything so as not to hinder my progress, even putting aside their own desires and needs. Nothing existed other than dance, at the end quite the opposite of what my parents wanted from me, which was that I opened up to the world. My school schedule was overloaded, between the regular school classes that I put up with by obligation, and the 10 hours of dance a week, but that was never enough for me. Back then, dance already was the only thing I lived for. My father worked countless overtime hours to pay for my classes and the family budget was tight, even though Mason did not charge us his whole fees. My parents had to give up their desire for a second child because of lack of time and of resources. When I was eight years old, it was obvious to everyone that things could not go on like this forever. The problem was that dance had become my drug and I was unable to do without it. The weeks I was on vacation were always a real physical torture for me, even though I trained in solitary, and the return to the dance classes a real relief, the breath of oxygen that was essential to my survival. So my teacher suggested to my parents the idea of sending me to New York, to The School of American Ballet, which for me was paradise on earth. Their categorical and immediate refusal was a stab to my little heart. They were denying me the right to be normal, to be me.
In retrospective, I am now aware of all the sacrifices they made so that I could realize my dream, but at the time I was too young to understand, and I was mad at them. Very much.
─ Send me to this specialized school, please. Mason said it would be perfect for me.
─It is not possible Caitlyn. We have a job, friends, home, and there is no way you will go alone thousands of miles away.
─But I am always alone anyway, what would then be the difference?
Under their wounded gaze, I left to find refuge with my confidante and my number one unconditional fan, my grandmother, who lived only a few blocks away.
─Granny, they won't let me make my dream come true. They would rather have me end up as a waitress. But I was born to dance, you know that. I can say everything I want with ballet steps. I need it to feel good. Why is that they don't understand this?
─ Hey, my Caitlyn kitten, calm down. Come and give grandma a hug.
Snuggled in her arms, listening to her slow and steady breathing, my torments always subsided. Even today, she has that scent of roses that goes to your head and that calm voice after her long experience of life. She has always been the only one with whom I feel I am like everybody else. She understands me even if I do not say a single word. She has never considered me a weirdo. For her I am her beloved granddaughter, whom she affectionately nicknames Caitlyn kitten.
─Everything will be sorted out in due course, my kitten. You will see.
I did not believe her, but I did not reply because she was, and still is today, the only person I did not want to disappoint under any circumstances. Besides, my grandmother was right. It took two years. Two long years of battle between my stubborn parents and my persistent teacher, two years of frustration and of going back and forth to grandma to calm me down, but we ended up leaving Florida. My parents were transferred to New York so they could follow me on this adventure, finding me too young to be away from my family. That day was a real heartbreak. In my eagerness to attend a specialized school that lived up to my expectations, I had not realized that leaving this sunny place also meant I would be away from my grandmother. That was an immeasurable pain, just soothed by the promise she made me.
─I will go to see you regularly, and I will never miss any of your premieres. I promise you Caitlyn kitten. And you, promise me to do whatever it takes to be at the top. Make your dream come true, and show the world who the real Caitlyn is.
─I'm going to miss you, Grandma.
While I had cried in the car that was taking me to my destiny, I was unable to say a word of thanks to my parents, who had left everything for me: their family, their friends, their home. Even today, when I remember the moment when I said goodbye to my grandmother, I feel a pinch in my heart and a smile, all at once. Because she has kept her promise, and I have kept mine.
For many, the admission to The School of American Ballet is a myth, something that one hopes for, something you dream about, but you never achieve because it is something reserved for the elite and the privileged few with an exceptional life. Fortunately for me, Mason had prepared me well and it turned out to be just a formality. With only 10 years old, I dazzled the older ones with