Juilliard or Else Read online

  "Fermé, too close, Abigail. Now, Pirouette again," he yelled, again. I was en pointe and started to turn repeatedly. I lost my balance on my toes, and it became my focus to correct myself, which caused me to fall flat on my butt.

  I was exhausted and out of breath.

  "Abigail!" My mother's high heels clicked loudly on the wood floor, alerting me of her approach. "Get up! When you fall, pick yourself back up." I stood up on shaking legs and faced my mother. "You never fall again, young lady." She pointed at me, pushing at my chest with her finger and causing me to step backwards; she always became furious with me when I fell.

  "Yes, mother." I faced Ramón once she left the room and he had a look on his face as though he could spit needles at her, very displeased with my mother on how she always treated me when I made a mistake. However, that "one mistake could cause the most damage to my future," was what she always told me.

  "We're done for today, my flower," Ramón said, turning off the music. "You've done well as Odette, but you have yet to master Odile. She needs some work." He handed me a bottle of water and I took a long pull from it, hydrating myself. It was very refreshing.

  "I can do it, Ramón," I assured him, taking another sip from my water.

  "Oui, I know, but I won't push you too hard." He rolled up a towel and pointed to the ground. I obeyed and laid down flat on my back, resting my head on the rolled-up towel. Ramón then unlaced my slippers and started to rub my feet. I winced at the pain in my foot. "Oh, you bleed," he whined.

  I looked down at my sore and swollen feet. I had blood between my toes and under my toenails. He put another towel down and poured some water on them to wash the blood away. Having the cold helped; I would have to remind myself to soak them later. When Ramón was done rubbing my feet and legs so I wouldn't cramp up, he packed up and left.

  After three hours of hard-core dance plus a new routine I had never done before, I really wanted a shower. I shut the studio down and walked into the hallway, almost running right into my mother. She was standing there with her arms crossed, tapping her high heel on the tile floor, disappointment written all over her face.

  "Abigail, you disappointed me in the worst way just now," she huffed, her hands and arms flailing about. She looked more pissed than disappointed. "You had Ramón yelling at you for three hours; you could have done better. You better not embarrass me when you go to Juilliard or else there will be consequences." She pointed, slowly walking towards me. "You better get the leading role in every dance while you're there or so help me, I will pull you out of that school in a heartbeat."

  That hurt worse than telling me I weighed one hundred and eight pounds and was overweight. With that said, she turned and left me in the hallway where I dropped to my knees, holding my head in my hands, and for the first time in three years, I cried instead of making myself throw up.

  With the last of my room packed and ready, I came to a stop and glanced around once more. I had to admit, in some ways, it screamed "baby girl arrival". Despite its juvenile décor, I had mixed emotions over leaving it behind. When I wasn't dancing in my studio, I spent most of my time in the pink, girlish space. I stood in my childhood room, considering the many memories it'd brought to me playing by myself, alone. My bed had fluffy, white pillows and a beautiful matching comforter that I would hide underneath when I was scared of my mother. I was actually more anxious about moving in with girls my age than about my audition for Juilliard.

  I moved into my bathroom to get ready to go through my bedtime routine, but before I could make my way to the toilet, I heard a soft knock on my bedroom door. When I answered, my dad stood on the other side, wearing his burgundy robe and reading glasses. With his hands behind his back, he rocked back on his heels. "May I come in, angel?"

  I didn't say anything to him; I just held the door open. He brushed past me and in just a couple of steps, sat on my bed and padded the spot next to him. He seemed nervous; I could feel the bed shaking which meant that he was shaking.

  What was his deal?

  "Abigail," he started, but stopped. I tilted my head to get a clear look at his face, and that's when I realized that his eyes were glossed over. My heart started to break for him.

  My dear, sweet daddy – what has him troubled enough to start crying? My throat began to tighten and squeeze shut as I felt my own tears pricking away at the corners.

  "Abi…" He couldn't even finish his sentence. His sob caught in his throat as he took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. I couldn't stand seeing him like this; it broke my heart. Something very troubling was eating away at him.

  "Dad," I croaked out, but he didn't answer me; he just silently cried and trembled, the heel of his hands pressed into his eyes.

  I couldn't take it; I slid my arms around his neck and pulled him snug against my side. I felt the wetness of his tears on my own cheeks as I cried into his shoulder. In all my years, my father had been a kindhearted person to everyone. He had taken more crap from my mother than I had, and not once had I ever seen him cry. He was supposed to be the strong one – the one who I could go to with my problems, and he would pound them into the ground for me, making them all go away.

  When both of our tears were dry and our hiccups stopped, he cupped my face. His dark brown eyes rimmed red from the salty tears. "Abigail, I'm so proud of you." I started to cry again. "I want you to be your own person when you get there. Remember to have fun." I shut my eyes and felt my tears cascade down while I nodded in his hands. I felt his thumbs wipe the tears away from my face.

  To be very honest, I had the greatest dad a child could ever ask for. He knew I didn't like the whole glamour or the extra schooling my mom put me through. I just wanted to dance. He was proud of me for becoming a ballerina – his ballerina – and for following my dream.

  "I have something for you…more like a good-bye gift," he said, reaching into the pocket of his robe as he pulled out a velvet box.

  I smiled weakly at him. "It will never be good-bye, daddy. Just…see ya later." I wiped my nose on my sleeve with more tears sliding down.

  "If you don't like it, we can find something else," he sniffed, handing over the little black box.

  I noticed as I held the velvet box in my hand that it was smooth against my fingertips. I usually only received gifts on my birthday or Christmas, but never as a reward. Mother said she didn't want to spoil me with worthless presents, especially since I already had everything I could want or need.

  I opened the lid and sitting there was a perfect, elegant, little heart, covered in tiny diamonds and dangling from the silver chain. It was perfect and simple – very me.

  I gasped at the sight of it, "Oh, Daddy, it's beautiful."

  I took the sparkly necklace and held it up as it shimmered in the lamplight. He took it out of my hand and held the two loose ends open towards me. Leaning forward, he clasped it behind my neck and locked it into place, making it mine. My hand went up to touch the cool metal that was now placed perfectly on my chest.

  I threw my arms back around his neck. "I love it," I said gratefully into his shoulder.

  "I'm glad to hear that; I was nervous."

  I pulled back and looked at him. "Nervous? Why?" Why would he be nervous to give such a gorgeous gift to me?

  "Well, your mother has to pick out everything," he said, shrugging his shoulders as if it didn't bother him. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day." He kissed my forehead once more and then left my room without another word.

  I walked back into my bathroom. I didn't have the nerve to kneel in front of the toilet. I didn't feel disappointed in myself, nor did I have anger towards my mother. I was too happy, and all thanks go to my dad. I brushed my teeth and went to bed, falling into a relaxing, dreamless sleep.

  The next morning, I woke before my alarm went off at seven. I laid there fumbling with my new necklace from my dad, sliding the heart back and forth along the chain. It was such a thoughtful gift. You wouldn't catch my mother doing a
nything nice like that for me. When I was little, I overheard one of the servants saying she didn't have a heart and that it was blackened. I asked my dad what that meant, but he just chuckled and then said I would understand one day – but I never saw that servant again.

  I lay there for far too long, and when I checked the clock again, it read seven thirty-five. I knew my mother would be annoyed at me for wasting the day away in bed. Right then, my bedroom door burst open and in walked Mrs. Queen Bee herself.

  "Abigail! What are you…get up." She clapped her hands. She walked over and threw open the drapes that I had closed to block out the sun. It's too early, I wanted to shout at her, but couldn't find the courage. I never found the nerve to do so; I'm such a wimp.

  Squinting my eyes at the devil sun, I tossed my arm over my face, shielding myself from the dangerous light.

  "Abigail," my mother snapped at me.

  I sat up, rubbing my tired eyes and glanced at my perfectly put together mother. Not a hair was out of place, her nails were perfectly manicured, and her penciled skirt and blouse didn't have any wrinkles in it. This woman was nothing but perfection on heels, covered in pearls. I climbed out of bed and padded over to my bathroom to brush out my morning breath. My mother followed me and scrunched up her nose in disgust as she entered my bathroom.

  "Has Isabelle come in here to clean lately?" she asked. I continued to brush my teeth, knowing that if I answered her with a mouth full of paste, another notch would be on my belt for the morning.

  I spit out and rinsed. "I don't know, mother," I stated, rolling my eyes in secret so she wouldn't see.

  "Unbelievable!" she shouted and I jumped. My mother threw her hands up in the air with a "displeased with Isabelle" look on her face, which I'd seen many times before.

  Watching her pace in my mirror, I started stripping for my shower. My mother then walked over to the door and screamed "Isabelle" at the top of her lungs. I covered my ears as her voice echoed off the bathroom tiled walls and not even twenty seconds later, Isabelle was at the door with a frantic look on her face. She was looking around my room to find her mistake before my mother told her what she did wrong.

  "Follow me," my mother commanded through her gritted teeth. I knew when my mother talked through her teeth, you should turn around and run the other way as if hell itself was trying to swallow you whole. That was never a good sign. Her temper would only rise higher.

  When they both appeared in my bathroom, I was only in my white cotton bra and panties, but continued to strip and climb in the shower as if they weren't even there. I didn't even wait until the water was warm. I stepped into the freezing line of water to put my head underneath and ignore what was going to come, making me focus on the cold water, but unfortunately, I still heard her.

  "Isabelle," she started to say cuttingly, "why does it smell as if something has died in this bathroom?" She commanded an answer from Isabelle. I could hear her high heel just tapping away on the tile, waiting impatiently – something she always did.

  I was thankful for the spray of the now warm water to cover my face, so my mother couldn't see the guilt that was smothered all over it. I tried to ignore the conversation for Isabelle's sake, but couldn't help myself. I was actually afraid of my mother's shrieking voice, and before Isabelle could even started to explain, my mother interrupted her.

  "I do not want any excuses, Isabelle. Clean the bathroom and I want it to sparkle." She emphasized the last words through her teeth, making me shutter. I felt Isabelle's pain; I knew exactly what she was going through at that moment.

  I could see my mother's figure through the shower door, waving her hands about in front of Isabelle's face. I picked up the shampoo and started scrubbing my hair, letting the menthol suds soak into my scalp.

  "You're on very thin ice, Isabelle!" I heard my mother yell.

  When I was done, I padded back into my room with a towel wrapped around my body. I found that my mother had already selected an outfit for me to wear along with black leather boots that killed my feet every time I wore them. My ballet feet were made for flats or something without heels. Some girls could do it, but my feet were always too sore. Besides, I hated wearing heels, because being five feet six inches, they just made me even taller.

  When I was dressed in my mother's choice of outfit, I stuffed my necklace underneath the sweater for my sake, so mother wouldn't bring up how unfashionable it was – plus she would just call it tacky and tell me to take it off.

  When I walked back into my new, sparkling clean bathroom, it no longer smelled as if something "had died" as my mother put it. But trying not to ruin the cleaning job that Isabelle had just done, I still found my way back to the gleaming white porcelain to complete my morning ritual.

  Eventually, I finished making myself feel dirty and pulled my blond hair back in my usual ballerina bun. Then I put on a light amount of mascara and lip gloss to complete my simple look. I was never one to wear makeup; I was lucky to know how to put mascara on.

  On one hand, I was happy to get out of this house and leave my mother, but on the other, I felt sad to leave my father behind to deal with her every day.

  Brushing away the confusing feelings that were eating away at my conscience, and my heart, I turned around, leaving my childhood buried in my past. Finally ready to be on my own and become my own person, I was no longer the person who my mother saw; I was me.

  I found my father in his very spacious office, surrounded by stacks of paperwork. The walls were lined with an array of books, but most of them pertained to law. My father owned his own law firm and was the top Criminal Justice attorney in New York…plus he had the best team around. He's even had celebrities hire him to handle some of their cases. He was sweet and loving at home, but in the courtroom, he was ruthless, cruel, and emotionless; he could eat you alive for breakfast and make you feel like you were nothing your whole life.

  I couldn't believe my eyes and ears when I observed him one day in court. I was terrified of him and he saw that. Later that day, he pulled me onto his lap to have one of our talks. I ended up confessing how mean he sounded. He kissed my cheek with an apology and explained to me that it's his job to win and to be cruel no matter what. It became a lot clearer the older I got. He's had thousands of cases but has only lost three in his eighteen years of being a lawyer.

  Ruthless.

  He always buried himself away in his work, but in a way, he had to become a workalcoholic in order to keep my mother's shopping habit up to her standards. We had to have the finest things that topped New York living. Not only did my parents have a prime house on 5th Avenue, but everyone knew who we were. I could understand why my mother was so worried I would drag her name through the mud about attending Juilliard. She was the Queen Bee of New York high society. Every woman wanted to be her. She was cold and heartless, just like my father when he was in the courtroom, but she has always been that way; he has not.

  I watched my dad highlight some paragraphs in a law book before he noticed me standing there, watching him. He looked up over his glasses and set the highlighter down before he spoke.

  "Yes, Angel?" My father sat back in his chair, stretching out his legs beneath the desk and folding his arms over his chest.

  "I just wanted to say 'see ya later' before I left," I answered. I reached in my sweater and pulled out my new necklace, sliding the little heart back and forth across the chain.

  When I met his dark brown eyes, they clouded over with sadness, and I wanted nothing more than to comfort him. Walking around his desk until I was standing in front of him, he grabbed my hand to pull me into his lap, coddling me one last time. He kissed my head and I pulled back to look at him. He reached out to take hold of my stunning new necklace, which I already cherished.

  "This is perfect, just like you." He smiled as it slipped from his grasp and landed back on my chest, the perfect brilliant silver shining against my black top.

  "Thank you, Daddy. I love it." I smiled at him. "Let's take a pic." Pu
lling out my iPhone, I opened the camera, making sure to turn on the front facing camera feature so we could see our faces on the little screen.

  "Smile," I said quite cheesily. My dad chose that moment to dig his fingers in my side. Making me giggle and squirm, I almost fell backwards off his knee. I heard the camera click as I laughed and tried to move out of his reach. He started to chuckle and held me up in his strong arms. Once we settled down from our excitement, I reached down to pick up the phone which I had dropped in the process of our enjoyment. It landed on the Persian rug below our feet.

  When I looked at the screen, I was in awe with the results. It was really a picture-perfect moment of me and my dad together. He was looking up at me with a big grin, his dimples showing the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. I, on the other hand, looked like I was in complete disarray. My head was thrown back in happiness and I looked like I was about to fall backwards. I smiled and saved it as my wallpaper so I could see it every time I looked at my phone. Kissing his cheek, I left his office with a new memory of us.

  Entering the empty kitchen, I went to the fridge for some orange juice and something small to eat. Digging around, I finally found some cut strawberries and blueberries. Perfect. Making my way over to the granite countertop to set the bowl of fruit down, I started to eat the delicious, juicy fruit. The fresh strawberries mixed with blueberries were so refreshing; I was enjoying every single bite. After eating only a couple of bites of my food, I heard the footsteps of Queen Bee's heels on the tile floor entering the kitchen.

  I took a deep breath and groaned. I was never prepared for whatever was coming my way. I felt like I had a checklist whenever she walked into a room; back straight, feet and legs together, elbows off the counter.

  "Abigail. There you are," she huffed. "We need to get going. Andrew already put your belongings in the truck and I want to leave before the traffic hits," she explained to me while moving about in the kitchen, not really doing anything – just moving around, making me dizzy watching her.