A Lily in the Light(47)
“Look at your mother. No matter how sad she feels, when she sews, only beautiful things happen. She makes a lot of people happy because of it. That’s what’s inside your mother, beautiful things, whether she always feels it or not. You and her are the same. There’s only one outcome, Esme, because once you’re in that room and the music starts, you’ll do what your heart wants even if your head is confused, and it will be beautiful too.”
Esme was surprised her father had so many things to say, more than he’d ever said about her and Cerise at home. How could he be so sure? She believed him but wished he could lift her to his hip like he did with Lily so she could see the world from his height instead of her own. If she could see things the way he saw them, maybe she wouldn’t be so confused.
She nodded, pushing away the doubt she’d felt moments before. Her father rested his hand on her shoulder as they waited for security, backpack in hand. There’s only one outcome. Was that true about everything, even things that didn’t seem important? If one thing led to the next and tumbled the future into place, had he just tipped the first domino when he bought their tickets, or had it already tipped a long time ago, and she just hadn’t noticed? Only last week, he’d said no. They couldn’t go to San Francisco, not with everything, but now they were being scanned through an x-ray machine, and the answer was yes.
They stayed in the cheapest hotel Andre could find, but Esme loved it. Windows opened to a hallway full of real and fake plants. The rooms didn’t have bathrooms, only sinks. It was fun to have just a sink, even if it was weird to wash her face and brush her teeth without the bathroom door closed, but Andre didn’t pay her much attention. He opened and closed the windows and came back with a bar of sandalwood soap from the real bathroom down the hall and held it out for her to smell. It tickled the inside of her nose. The whole place was dark and wooden, a maze of meandering hallways that Esme was sure she’d get lost in, and everything shook a little when cars passed outside. She tried not to think about earthquakes.
“You’re where?” Cerise screamed through the phone that night, so loud Esme heard her from the bed on the other side of the room. “How dare you leave me with this,” Cerise rambled on the other end of the line, but Andre’s voice cut over hers.
“We’re here. We’re fine. We’ll work it out. She has to do this, Cerise.” It almost sounded like a prayer. Andre hung up the phone, but there was already a separation between them that felt permanent, like the last day of school when you knew your teacher wasn’t your teacher anymore. Esme wondered if her mother would call them back, but the phone was silent. Andre shut the light off. A shadow car drove past on the ceiling.
“Get some sleep,” he whispered, and for the first time in a long time, he kissed her on the forehead. His mother’s cross, the one he always wore, brushed the side of her face. She closed her eyes, focusing on all the love she felt, until she fell asleep.
She woke up before dawn. The city was quiet below. Her father was still asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes. It was too early, but she pulled on her tights and leotard in the darkness and curled up by the window, tucking her good-luck note into the top of her tights. Bring me my swan costume. Anna Pavlova’s last words. It was Anna’s ending but her beginning.
Outside, the whole world was slanted. Everything leaned with the hills. The houses were almost triangular, built into the slant, but everything was painted so beautifully. There were no boring brick buildings. If a house was blue, it was dark blue, light blue, sky blue, all in one, covering all the unusual shapes like costumes. Esme wrapped her arms around herself tighter. Was she colorful enough to live here too? Her father was a sleeping gray shape in the darkness. Soon she’d wake him, they’d leave, and she’d know for sure if she could ever live here or not. The world here was as off balance and tilted as she felt inside. It fit.
They took a taxi to the audition. Her stomach swelled with every hill. Everything outside the window flashed by in a blur. Her father offered her a muffin. She broke off a small piece, but it felt like sand between her fingers, and when she tried to eat it, the blueberries tasted sour. She sipped water instead. Amelia would have made her eat an egg or miso soup, something mild for fuel, but she was running on something else now. She knew the building before the driver stopped: blue glass and white stone. The sun was rising. The last of her nerves burned away with the morning fog. She was ready.
Inside, she registered, safety pinned her number to her chest, and waited to be called. She stretched, and when she was done, she sat up straight, thinking of the mother cardinal in the nest. One day, she’d left and never come back. There had been five eggs, one cracked; the rest were blue and speckled brown. She’d put them under a lamp in the basement and wrapped them in a blanket, but nothing had happened. In every ballet she’d ever seen, everyone lost something. The Swan Queen, the Firebird, Giselle, Sleeping Beauty. Esme looked around at the other eleven-year-olds in the waiting area. They might have the right technique, but how could they be something they’d never experienced? She could be the mother bird, the broken egg, because she’d lost something too. For the first time in her life, Esme felt older than her eleven years. Anna Pavlova, she prayed, thinking of her frail hero, I think I understand now.
“Dad?” They were sitting by the Palace of Fine Arts, watching ducks swim past on the pond, their feathers gold in the afternoon sun. He used to tell her stories about a golden goose when she was little. It was strange to remember that now, sitting on the curb with her audition number still pinned to her leotard. “Do you think it’s a stupid thing to do?”