Chapter 10 - The Unbroken Line
Two weeks later.
Opening night of The Nutcracker at the historic Auditorium Theatre in downtown Chicago.
The theater was packed to its twenty-five-hundred-seat capacity. The air backstage was charged with that electric, intoxicating mixture of hairspray, stage makeup, wool costumes, and pure adrenaline.
I stood in the stage left wing, dressed in the sparkling gold and ivory tutu of the Sugar Plum Fairy. My tiara glittered under the stage lights; my pointe shoes were freshly powdered with rosin.
Through the heavy velvet curtain, I could hear the roar of the audience as the orchestra began tuning their instruments in the pit below.
Julian Vance walked up behind me, his hands resting on his silver cane. He looked at my costume, then looked into my eyes.
"Nervous, Grace?" he asked quietly.
"No, Julian," I said, smiling faintly. "I'm ready."
Julian looked at me thoughtfully. "You've changed over the last month, Grace. Your technique was always flawless, but now... there is an edge to your movement. A authority."
"I stopped trying to be careful," I said.
Julian chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. "Good. Careful dancers are boring. Dangerous dancers make history. Go out there and make history."
The house lights dimmed. The orchestra struck the grand, sweeping opening chords of the overture.
I walked out onto the wooden stage floor, stepping into the brilliant, blinding beam of the center spotlight.
The heat of the lights wrapped around me like a warm embrace. I looked out into the vast, dark ocean of the audience. Somewhere in the middle rows sat my grandmother, wearing her favorite blue velvet dress, smiling with pure pride.
And sitting three rows behind her, completely alone in the dark, was a man in a dark suit.
Miles.
He was staring up at the stage, his face pale, his posture slumped, holding a single red rose in his lap.
Our eyes met for a fraction of a second across the blinding light.
He looked at me with an expression of desperate, longing regret—a man standing outside a window, watching a warmth he could no longer touch.
I didn't flinch. I didn't smile. I didn't miss a single beat of the music.
I turned my head away, lifted my chin toward the high balcony, raised my arms into a flawless fifth position, and leaped into the air.
The audience gasped as I soared through the light, landing silently on the tip of my shoe, my body moving with absolute, effortless grace.
May you like
I was no longer dancing for Miles. I was no longer dancing for his father. I was no longer dancing to prove my worth to anyone in the world.
I was dancing because I was free.
