Third Position

by Melody Grace

  Tonight, it’s both. Somehow, as my first routine unfolds, it feels like I’m removed from my body. On the outside, looking in. I can see the blaze of the spotlights, blinding me to the darkness of the audience beyond. I can feel the polished boards of the stage beneath my feet, sense every movement from my partner, and the corps de ballet behind. I’m acutely aware of my movements, every spin and lift, but I’m not me anymore.

  I’m not here.

  In my heart, I’m dancing in a cobbled courtyard with Raphael, in the haze of the afternoon sun. It’s his face I see before me, not Prince Siegfried’s. And as I leap and spin, entrancing him, pulling him into my world, I’m overcome with the bittersweet joy of my memories, transporting me to a time when passion ran like wildfire in my blood, and possibility shimmered, golden in the air.

  And then the music changes, and the illusion slips. I’m back onstage, caked in makeup, swathed in my heavy costume, performing a part. Playing at love, make-believe, mimicking the emotions I used to feel for real. I don’t miss a beat: the steps are like muscle memory to me by now, and my body could remember them in my sleep. I keep dancing like nothing has changed, but inside, I feel the joy rush out of me, leaving nothing but a heavy ache.

  I finish the sequence flawlessly. The curtain falls, the crowd goes wild. Applause echoes, booming through the auditorium, but I don’t feel a thing.

  I just danced the most perfect solo of my life, and I don’t feel anything at all.

  16.

  “Hurry.” Mademoiselle tugs at my arm, and I realize the other dancers have cleared the stage. “It’s intermission now. You need to change for Odile!”

  I let her pull me up and hustle me into the wings again. Dancers part the way for me, murmuring their congratulations, but it barely registers. I stumble on, down the narrow hallway to the dressing room. The door closes, and I’m suddenly alone.

  I did it. Everything I’ve been working for, all the sacrifice, it was right there, up on that stage.

  Perfect.

  I stare at myself blankly in the mirror, not recognizing the face that stares back. Then I see it: a huge bouquet of red roses, propped on the dressing table by the mirror. My name is scribbled on an envelope, tucked among the fragrant blooms.

  Raphael.

  My heart leaps into my throat. I scan back over the note, greedily drinking in the words.

  My Annalise,

  I’m sorry I made such a mess of things. I was trying to protect you. I knew you would risk everything for me, and I couldn’t be the one to take you away from your dream. One day, you would have regretted it, and then neither of us could have lived with the mistake.

  But I was wrong to go to Francesca without talking to you. I was wrong to let you walk away. I know that now. You were the first person to believe in me, and I let you down. I’m not dancing with her anymore. I can’t bear to dance with anyone but you.

  I only hope that you find the joy you deserve tonight. You’ve earned it a thousand times over. I won’t wish you good luck, because I know you don’t need it. Just dance what’s in your heart—it’s the only thing that matters. They can’t help but fall in love with you, the way I did. The way I always will.

  Mio amore.

  Raphael

  I lower the letter, my heart pounding.

  He loves me.

  He loves me!

  Adrenaline floods through my body.

  “Pretty flowers.” Cybil bustles in, holding my next costume, the black tutu for Odile. “And the guy who delivered them wasn’t too bad, either.” She winks.

  “He was here?” I gasp, clutching her arm. “Tall, dark hair—”

  “Carrying some kind of helmet,” Cybil finishes, nodding. “I said you’d be down in a moment, but he wouldn’t wait.”

  My mind races. He came! But what about his audition? “When was this?” I demand, breathless. “Before the show?”

  “No, just now.” Cybil lifts my arms and starts tugging my tutu over my head. I push the stiff tulle away from my body. “What are you doing?” she cries.

  “I have to go. I have to catch him!”

  “You’re crazy.” Cybil stares at me. “We have five minutes to get you dressed before the curtain goes up. Sit down!”

  I stop, suddenly realizing what I’m doing. What I’m about to do.

  “No,” I tell her, my heart pounding. “I’m not going on.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Cybil talks over me, bustling around the room. “Put it on. Here are the shoes, and the headdress...” she quickly assembles the rest of my costume change, but I stay stock still in the middle of the small room. I’m lightheaded, dizzy, like any moment I could just float away, but I know with more certainty than I’ve ever felt in my life, that this is the end.

  I’m not going out there again. I won’t dance my final piece.

  I’m going after Raphael.

  “Honey, everyone’s waiting,” Cybil tries to urge me, desperate.

  I pull on my sweatpants and shirt instead, grabbing pins out of my bun. “Find Lucia,” I tell her hurriedly. “She knows the steps. God knows, she wants it enough.” She’ll be ready, I know. Odile is the dark queen, glittering, soulless, and brilliant. Lucia will be perfect in the part.

  “I don’t understand,” Cybil gapes. “Are you sick?”

  “No,” I smile at her, sliding on my sneakers. “I’ve never felt better!”

  I grab my purse from under the bench, wondering if I’m already too late to catch him. His audition is across town, and if I have enough money for a cab—

  The door opens, and Cybil turns, her face flooding with relief. “Finally!” she exclaims. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  “What do you mean?” My mom steps into the room. She looks around, her eyes widening when she sees me in my regular clothes, the fancy costume cast aside. “Annalise!”

  “Go find Lucia,” I tell Cybil again.

  “Don’t go anywhere!” Mom orders her. “Get my daughter dressed.”

  I ignore her. “We’re the same size, the costume will fit. Hurry, there’s not much time!”

  Cybil looks back and forth between my mother and me for a minute, then swears under her breath and flees.

  “There’s no time to explain, Mom,” I tell her calmly, even though I feel like my heart is about to beat right out of my chest. “I have to go.”

  “You will put on that costume and get up on that stage if I have to drag you out there myself!” my mom screams, her face wild with fury. I feel a lurch of fear, but I push it back, resolved.

  “No, I won’t.” I meet her eyes, deadly serious. “I quit.”

  Her jaw drops. She gasps for air, speechless.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore.” My voice twists, my true emotions finally rising up and finding a voice, after so many years being pushed aside. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Mom, I don’t want to disappoint you. God, the only thing I ever wanted was to make you proud,” I add, pleading. “But it’s not enough, can’t you see that? I’m not like you. I need more than ballet in my life. I want to be happy!”

  Her face changes. “This is about that boy.”

  “He’s not a boy,” I correct her. “He’s a man. The best I’ve ever known. And yes, he’s part of it, but this is about so much more. I’m sorry,” I say again, feeling the seconds tick past. Every one of them, taking Raphael further away from me. “I have to go,” I tell her one last time. I dart forward and kiss her on the cheek, then head toward the door.

  “Annalise Taylor, don’t you dare walk out that door!” Mom’s voice echoes after me, desperate, but I don’t stop. I push out into the hallway, weaving through the crowds toward the stage exit. Lucia comes from the opposite direction, hurrying behind Cybil.

  “You’re giving me the spot?” she demands. “But why?”

  I smile. “I don’t need it anymore. Good luck,” I add, “You’ll do great.”

  There’s a beat, and then the backstage area explodes into chaos
. Cybil starts yelling out for the costume, and other dancers babble in confusion. I see Mademoiselle coming, and Gilbert too, so I turn away and slip unnoticed through the crowd, leaving the madness behind me. As I push through the exit and step out into the crisp night air, I wait for the regret to hit me. None comes; only a rush of relief. Excitement.

  Possibility.

  The future is suddenly wide open to me, holding anything I choose. Everything. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned here in Rome, one thing Raphael showed me, it’s that there’s more. More life, more passion, more to dance than this lonely, cold world of the company, where every friend is a competitor, every meal a battle—and everything I do feels not quite good enough.

  Dancing with him, I was gloriously, perfectly, imperfect. For the first time in my life, I felt whole and complete, and the only thing that mattered was the rhythm of the music, the joy that flowed through me with every step. No rules, no limits, just our love of dance. And each other.

  That’s what I want in my life right now. To finally feel something other than fear and insecurity, to explore life on my terms. I love dance, but it’s not all I am as a person, and although I have no idea what comes next, that freedom fills me with a sweet, reckless joy.

  I’ve danced in the shadows long enough. Now, it’s time to choose my own steps.

  I look around, searching for a cab. There’s a flash of motion in the corner of my eye, and I turn to see the familiar red frame of Raphael’s Vespa turning the corner at the end of the block.

  17.

  My heart leaps. “Raphael!” I yell, but he disappears out of sight.

  I take off in a run, hurling myself through the pedestrians blocking my path. “Raphael!” I scream again, louder, as I race down the street. People leap out of my way, staring at me as if I’m crazy, and I know that to them I must seem insane. I still have my heavy stage makeup caked on, my hair tumbling down from its feathered tiara as I race through the evening crowds, yelling at the top of my lungs.

  I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except finding him and telling him how I feel.

  “Raphael!” I round the corner and see him up ahead, sitting in the middle of a throng of cars. Without a thought, I dash into the street, sprinting through the traffic until I reach him. I pull him around.

  “What the—?” Raphael stops, his face lighting up as he realizes it’s me. He climbs off the Vespa, clutching my arms in disbelief. “But what are you doing? You should be out on stage!”

  I shake my head, breathless from my sprint. “I’m not…I’m not going on. I quit.”

  “I don’t understand.” Raphael keeps holding me, and I swear, I could dance just from the feel of his arms around me, the warmth of his body so close to mine. “That role was everything to you. Why would you walk away?”

  I don’t reply, simply drinking in the sight of him, the proud arch of his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes over those beautiful midnight eyes. I could look at him forever, but first, I need something more than a letter to base my hopes on.

  “Did you mean what you wrote to me?” I ask him urgently, everything hinging on his reply. I would move mountains for this man, follow him to hell and back, but only if he feels this too. “I need to hear it from you. Please.”

  “I meant it.” Raphael’s gaze holds mine, so full of emotion it takes my breath away. He reaches to cradle my face in his hands, achingly tender. “I love you, Annalise. I need you in my life. I’ve never felt this way before, I didn’t even realize it until you were walking away. You belong to me.” He shakes his head, desperate. “Forgive me, please, amore mio. Say it’s not too late.”

  Joy sweeps through me and I realize that even with all the missteps I’ve made, I’m finally on the right path. I’ve made the right choice. “It’s never too late,” I promise, shaking with emotion. “I’ll always be yours. I love you!”

  Raphael’s eyes flash darkly, and then he pulls me into a passionate embrace. His lips claim mine with animal desire. Sensation shatters through me as I fall into the kiss, tasting him, giving myself to him. The last shards of ice in my chest melt clean away, leaving me breathless with pure joy.

  This is it. Nothing matters now, nothing except the feel his arms locked safe around me, and the drum of his heart against mine, the wild rhythm sounding out our love.

  Raphael breaks away. Reality comes crashing back in with an angry blare: all around us, cars are sounding their horns, people yelling in rapid-fire Italian. The lights have changed to green: we’re blocking all the traffic.

  “Uscire dal modo!” a driver behind us screams. Raphael just waves him away.

  “Are you ready?” he asks me, handing me the helmet and climbing onto the Vespa. I settle behind him, holding him close.

  “I’m ready for anything now,” I laugh, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. I hold on tight, and feel the engine roar to life beneath us. “Anything in the world.”

  We make it to the warehouse for his callback audition with moments to spare. I don’t have time to change or prepare, and suddenly, I’m out in the middle of the floor with Raphael. It couldn’t be more different from the stage I left behind, far across the city. There are no spotlights and heavy velvet curtains, no layers of crisp tulle, gilt-edged gala boxes, an audience decked in tuxes and evening gowns.

  I don’t care.

  Here, gazing across the floor at Raphael, waiting for the first chords of music to ripple through me, I feel a joy like nothing I’ve ever known.

  I meet his eyes and see the passion there, a mirror of my own, and I know, whatever the uncertain future holds—whether he gets this job or not, wherever we go, whatever I do with my dance now—it will be OK. More than OK. We’re together. As long as we share this bond, everything else will fall into place.

  This love is ours, and it’s everything.

  I hear the music begin, and I dance.

  3 months later - New York City.

  “And first position...second...third, and plie.”

  The afternoon sun falls in golden bands across the polished honey floor as a dozen pairs of feet move in unison, sweeping into position, toes pointed. I’m back in a rehearsal studio, but it couldn’t be more different from the one at the American Ballet Company.

  “Watch the arms, everyone.” I slowly walk the line, checking my students’ positions. “That’s it. Beautiful!”

  The twelve tiny dancers that make up my beginner’s ballet class wobble and wave, stumbling through the exercise. I give them a nudge and some pointers, but mainly, I cheer them along until finally, the lilting piano music comes to a stop. I clap my hands together. “That’s all for this week. Great job, you guys! Now, how do we finish every rehearsal?”

  They burst into cheers. “Dance party!”

  I laugh. “Time to go crazy.”

  I set my iPod to play some pop music, and watch as the girls leap around, jumping and twirling in their tiny tutus. The smiles on their faces fill me with joy: the simple love of dance, without stress or rules. I join in, spinning them around and showing them some fun moves until it’s time to go open the doors and let the parents in.

  “Great class.” The owner of the studio, Miriam, comes over as the studio empties out: the kids all bundled up in their warm winter coats. I wave them off, saying goodbye and chatting to some of the parents as they go, until we’re left alone to tidy up the studio.

  “Word is traveling fast about you.” Miriam pauses, looking over at me. “We’ve already got a waiting list for your next semester. You know, if you wanted to add another session...”

  “No thank you,” I say, deflecting her regular request. “Just one is fine for me. I’m still figuring things out.”

  Miriam gives me a rueful smile. “Let me know if you change your mind. The kids love you, Annalise. You have a real gift. I wish you’d think about teaching full-time.”

  “Not right now,” I smile. “I love my lesson, but I don’t know if I’m ready to commit to something like that. T
here are still all kinds of things I’m discovering.”

  “I forget, you’re still so young.” Miriam laughs. “Well, I’ll see you next week.”

  “I can’t wait.” And I mean it.

  I layer on my parka and gloves, and skip down the steps and out into the bustle of Manhattan. Spring is on the horizon, but the cotton-wool skies still cloud the city with a bitter chill. I wind my scarf tighter as I duck through the crowds of pedestrians and tourists cramming the sidewalk, thinking fondly of the warmth of Rome.

  My phone buzzes with a call, and I answer happily, seeing the caller ID.

  “Ciao, amore mio,” I answer in Italian.

  Raphael laughs. “You’re sounding like a native,” he praises me. “How was class?”

  “Fun! I’m just heading home now. How about you?” I duck out of the flow of traffic to hear him better, his rich accent sliding down my spine like sweet molasses.

  “Rehearsal is going well. I think we’re almost ready for the shoot.”

  “Tell me, is she as much of a diva as they say?” I ask, eager for gossip. Raphael’s dance troupe are shooting a music video for a big pop star next week, and I’ve been waiting for the scoop on their superstar client.

  “Not yet, but we’ve been warned.” Raphael sounds amused. There’s a noise in the background, somebody calling to him. “I’ve got to run. I’ll be home around six?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Me either. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Ciao, bella.” Raphael murmurs, then hangs up.

  I can’t keep the smile off my face as I skip down to the subway and take my place on the packed platform. It hasn’t been easy, the last three months, but somehow, with Raphael beside me, everything has worked out OK.

  After I walked out of the performance, my mother cut me off completely. I’m not sure if she thought she could force me back to ballet, or if she took my leaving as a personal insult. Either way, she hasn’t spoken to me since. My bags were packed and waiting in the lobby of the apartment building when I returned from Raphael’s audition. She had already caught a flight back to New York without me.