“I saw my name on the card.” I pull my brows together, certain I had seen my name in block letters on the little envelope.
“You were mistaken, Aurora.” Her glare is cold, and her words are final.
I grab my bag from the drawer and start packing away all my things. This is the last performance, and I have to take all my things with me. I leave for Germany early tomorrow morning. No sense in putting off the inevitable.
“We’re going to miss you,” one of the girls from the front line says as she comes over and gives me a hug. It’s warm and feels genuine, but even now, I can’t recall her name. “It’s a shame you can’t tour with us. Maybe next year when you get back?”
I smile and nod, thinking my mother must have told everyone my plans. A year off is a death sentence for most dancers. This career is for the young and the strong. But taking a year to hone your feet and come back on top is a chance anyone in the company would have taken.
A few of the other dancers wave as I walk out, my mother hot on my heels. She’s anxious to get me out of here. I think she’s scared I’ll ask if it’s okay to write to some of the dancers while I’m away. She doesn’t want any distractions, and isolation is her key to that.
I’m accustomed to being alone, so I don’t see how this will really benefit my training, but I just go along with it. I’m hoping to buy a few books at the airport and sneak them into my carry-on before Germany. I don’t know what’s allowed, but I plan on sneaking in some reading.
“The driver will be waiting for you at six in the morning tomorrow. I have your things already packed,” she says once we are in the car and on the way home.
“You’re not coming with me to the airport?” I ask, surprised she won’t see me off.
“No. It’s far too early. I’ll say my goodbyes to you at home.”
The cold finality of her words shouldn’t sting me, but it does. An entire year without seeing me, yet she doesn’t seem phased at all. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always been more of an accessory than a child to her, and this is no different.
I stare out the window and watch the streets of New York pass by. The lights of restaurants I’ve never been allowed to enter gleam, and sadness washes over me. The most beautiful city in the world, and I’ve never seen any of it.
I wonder if this is what a caged bird feels like.
Chapter Three
Aurora
I stand in the entryway holding the handle of my one piece of luggage. The space feels as cold as it always does, but I wonder if that’s the reality or if it’s just because it feels so unwelcoming.
My mom wouldn’t let me bring anything with me. Not that I have much to begin with. She said I would be living and breathing dance, so all I really needed were clothes for that. She packed everything for me and tsked disapprovingly when I tried to add items. I was hoping to sneak a few books in, but to her that wasn’t a necessity.
The one thing I did love about dancing was that I had pretty dresses and shoes for some of the parties I was required to go to. I loved them. I didn’t love the events, because most of the time my mom made me stay by her side while she showed me off, but I loved having the dresses after.
Sometimes late at night I would put one on and wear it around my room all alone after I knew she was asleep. Sometimes I even pretended I was a princess waiting for my prince to come save me. It’s silly and childish, but I couldn’t stop myself from having some kind of fantasy about a life away from here.
I turn when I hear footsteps and see my mom standing there. I think I’ll miss the dresses more than her. That thought saddens me. It shouldn’t, but it does. I know my mother is mean, but on some level I think she has to love me. Maybe even miss me a little? Or maybe that’s just another one of my childish thoughts, and wishful thinking. There is a cold distance that has grown between us the older I have gotten, and sometimes I wonder if it’s because every year that I age is one less year I’m able to dance. And that’s the only thing keeping us together.
“Pull that hair up,” she says with an annoyed sigh.
Doing as she says, I reach for the hair tie on my wrist, pulling my hair up into a ponytail. I don’t know why she doesn’t like my hair. She even made a request to the production company that my hair be pulled up in the last show, but they refused, and Mom didn’t fight them. She never fights them. She’ll put on the fake smile and agree they are right.
When I hear the buzzer, I know my ride is here to take me to the airport. Disappointment hits me that my own mom can’t even be bothered to take me herself. I won’t see her for over a year. I don’t know why I still long for her attention, her kindness and care. I should know by now she’s not going to give it to me. Yet I still I take a step toward her to give her a hug goodbye.