Chapter Five
EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO
Mimi’s house was always cool. Summers in Tristesse, Louisiana, reached highs of over one hundred degrees. My house was always sweltering. The walls were hot. The floors were hot. When you turned on the shower, the water was hot. Fans blew constantly, but all they were doing was exhaling heavy, hot sighs. In the dead of summer, I would often wake up in the middle of the night with a pounding heart and pulsing skin, and go to the bathroom where I would take handfuls of water and paste it over my body so that the fans in my room would waft over my wet skin and make me cooler.
But Mimi’s house was always cool. Her backyard was lush with dewy grass intermittently being sprayed by sprinklers on timers. Things could grow in her garden. She tried to help me plant some flowers in ours once, but they died so fast I’d barely cleaned the soil off my hands before they were gone.
It was on a hot day in August, a few weeks before school started up again. I was seven years old, getting ready to start second grade. I felt very grown-up, finally being well into the grades instead of just kindergarten.
I was lying on the floor in front of Mimi’s box-shaped TV, eating a homemade raspberry-lemonade popsicle, watching Some Like It Hot . I was considering putting my bathing suit on and going out back to play in the sprinklers with Benny, Mimi’s sweet old mutt. My plan was interrupted at the sound of tires and squeaking brakes outside.
My heart sank as I realized it must be my mom.
I pretended not to hear her come in, even though the screen door slamming behind her was unmistakable, and even though I was tucked away in the back den where I could hear but not be seen.
“Oh, hi, honey,” said Mimi, “close the door, will you? The air-conditioning.”
My mom shut the front door. “Mom, we need to talk.”
“Come on in, I was just making an Arnold Palmer. Would you like one?”
I strained my ears. I was always eavesdropping, even though I almost never heard anything interesting. The number of stairwells I’d perched at the top of and corners I’d hidden behind. I think I was always hoping that I’d overhear some kind of secret about myself. Some when do we tell her she’s a princess –type thing.
“Thanks,” said my mom, presumably accepting the cold drink. “Listen, I got your message. I appreciate you offering, but it’s not going to happen.”
There was a thick pause.
“Brandy, the schools are better here. I’m up early every day, I can make her breakfast, I can make sure she gets there on time. Your schedule is so inconsistent, you deserve to sleep in, all those late nights you work at the bar.”
“But she’s my daughter, Mom. You think I’m just going to miss her childhood so I can sleep in?”
“Is it worth her education going down the pipes? Those schools near you, honey, they just don’t have the—”
“Mom, please. Just respect what I’m saying! Jesus.”
My mom always started off calm, but her fuse was short. Especially with Mimi, which I could never understand, because to me, Mimi was perfect.
Were they arguing about whether or not I’d get to live with Mimi?
My mind went wild with imagination. I was already mentally decorating the bedroom I always slept in—which had a canopy bed and a desk with tons of secret drawers. There was a table with a skirt around it where I could hide or read. The sheets were always cool and soft. And mornings at Mimi’s, I was always given real food—no Toaster Scrambles or Eggo waffles. I was given fresh scrambled eggs and pancakes topped with butter and thick, amber maple syrup.
“Sometimes you have to do what is best for your child. I’m not saying you can’t come see her—”
“Of course you’re fucking not, are you joking ? She’s my daughter, you don’t get to tell me whether or not I can see her!”
“That’s what I just said, honey. Will you please just consider it?”
“Absolutely not. And by the way, I am doing what’s best for her. I’m giving her as many opportunities as possible.”
“What, dragging her all over the country to those auditions? Brandy, that’s not opportunity. You’re trotting her out like some dog, trying to win best in show.”
“Wow. I mean, really , Mom? You say that like we didn’t almost get the Gerber commercial. And just last week, the people at the audition said she’d be perfect if she could just calm down a little and gain a bit more poise.”
“And now you’re going to start taking her to these ballet classes, I know. But is that healthy for her? My god, those girls work themselves to death and for what, to retire by twenty-five?”
“It’s not a career, Mom, it’s just to help her gain some more, you know, grace. To make her a little more elegant.”
“You’ll take her to classes where they’ll whip her into elegance instead of just providing her with a better education. Your priorities are—”
“Okay, you know what? We have to go. She has a ballet class today at two, and I nearly killed myself to get her in with Mrs.O’Hara.”
“Mrs.O’Hara? The one who runs that fancy place in town here? How are you affording that?”
There’s another heavy pause. “I know her husband.”
Yet another pause, and the sound of a heavy-bottomed glass being set down on the wood of the kitchen table.
“Don’t even start—”
“Brandy, this is no life for that little girl.”
“Just butt out! Fucking hell.” The last part came bellowing down the hallway as my mom approached the den.
The popsicle, which I’d stopped paying attention to, was now melting all the way down my hand and arm.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Go get cleaned up—now. We have to go.”
“I want to live with Mimi,” I said, as she yanked me up.
“Shut up ,” whisper-screamed my mom as her own mother rounded the corner into the room.
“Listen to her, Brandy, she’s not being paid to say it, you know.” She gave a frustrated laugh.
“Bathroom—now. Get it all off. And change into these,” she said, thrusting some fabric into my chest. I hesitated, and she said, “Now.”
I scurried off, using soap and warm water to get the sticky juice off my skin, and then looked at the clothes I’d been handed. I was momentarily confused, but then through the door I heard my mom say, “The tights go under the leotard, Jocelyn.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me, and then took off my jean shorts and floral T-shirt and slithered into the stockings. Next, I put on the thing I’d just learned was called a leotard , and looked at myself in the mirror and grinned.
As soon as that compressing fabric was on me, I felt something new. I loved the way it held me. I loved how slinky and powerful it made me feel. I felt like a wild animal, finally in the right skin.
And I looked like a ballerina. I knew them from cartoons and movies and things. I loved what I saw in the mirror.
When I came out of the bathroom, Mimi and my mom—who had clearly still been arguing—both looked at me with unfamiliar looks on their faces.
“Come here, Jocelyn, you’re missing one thing. Ballerinas wear their hair up.” Mimi quickly but softly pulled my hair off my neck and twisted it up into a knot.
“Are you excited for ballet, Jocelyn?” she whispered.
I nodded, not sure that I was, necessarily, but knowing for sure that I was enjoying the outfit.
“Jocelyn, let’s go,” said my mom. “Put on your sneakers and let’s go.”
I pulled on my white sneakers—now less white and more gray and black from all the scuffs—and went out into the hot summer heat.
The Camry’s air-conditioning system had been on the fritz , as my mom called it, so it was incredibly hot in the car. My mom turned it on and lowered the windows, which did almost nothing to alleviate the oppressive air, and pulled out of the driveway.
“Think about it, Brandy!” yelled Mimi after us, her hands on her hips.
“Un-fucking-believable,” muttered my mom, then cranked up the song “Rio” by Duran Duran, which was playing from one of her CDs. She loved that song. I hoped it made her feel better.
—
We walked into the ballet studio and I felt the same thing I’d felt when I saw myself in the mirror—an utter right ness. My heart was pounding hard, as if I was about to get on a roller coaster. There were lots of other girls there, all of whom were dressed like me but in plenty of other colors. I made a mental note to ask my mom for the purple set.
A woman walked over to us. “You must be Brandy and Jocelyn Banks, is that right?”
“Yes,” said my mom.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Brandy. And this must be Jocelyn.” She crouched down to talk to me, and I noticed she moved with more youth and flexibility than most grown-ups I knew. Even my mom groaned when she crouched down like that, and she was a lot younger than all my friends’ moms.
“Yes,” I said, holding out a hand to shake hers. “Pleased to meet you.”
“What nice manners,” she said, shaking my hand. “I’m Mrs.O’Hara. Have you ever danced before?”
“All the time,” I said, wanting to elaborate about how much I loved music and dancing. “I love Duran Duran and—”
“That’s not what she means, honey,” said my mom. “No, this is her first class.”
“Okay,” said Mrs.O’Hara, now surveying me. She stood and said to my mom, “She’s got just the right build. If she’s got any talent, she’ll do very well.”
“A big if , right?” joked my mom.
Mrs.O’Hara did not laugh, and my mom’s smile faded.
“Okay, that’s all we need from you, Mom. You filled out all the necessary paperwork when you were here yesterday, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can go. Class lets out at three thirty, please be timely.”
Mrs.O’Hara started to lead me away from my mom, who I could see watching me in about four different mirrors.
I saw her turn and go, then Mrs.O’Hara said, “All right, love, go pick out a tutu from the box over there.”
I nodded and then my heart lifted as I realized I’d get to wear an actual tutu . I ran over to the box and found the purple one.
“Ladies, please collect a tutu from the box and then take your places. Thank you.”
The girls ran over to the box, and I scooted away as fast as I could so no one took the purple one.
“Hey, get in line!” said one of the girls.
The kids at school were always snatching things from each other, always screaming and bullying. But I looked now and saw that these girls had formed a neat little line, each taking one and then going over to stand at the wall. All the walls were mirrored, and there was a bar like a stair rail going across the middle.
I got in the back of the line, bouncing a little on my tiptoes as I watched what color each girl chose.
Two ahead of me was the girl in all lavender. She would probably take it because it matched. I hated her for it already.
And then she didn’t. She took a sparkly black one.
So if the girl in front of me didn’t choose it…
She didn’t. She picked white.
I got up to the trunk and reached in for the purple tutu. I clutched it to my chest and then looked around for an empty spot.
“Jocelyn, let’s put you here, okay?” Mrs.O’Hara put a gentle hand on my back and led me. She had me stand between two girls who smiled politely at me. “For today, just try to follow along. Copy what the other girls do. I’ll take those shoes of yours.”
I took off my shoes.
“Good girl,” she said, and then, “now you can have these.”
She held out a pair of pig-pink ballet slippers with cascading ribbons.
“Really?” I asked, excited.
She laughed. “That’s right. Now go on.”
Mrs.O’Hara walked off with my shoes held delicately from her index and middle finger, set them down by the front door, and then clapped her hands together and raised her voice to say, “Ladies, first position, please!”
The girls all seemed to move as one, suddenly going silent and rigid. What was first position ?
I noticed the girl in front of me had her feet splayed out heel to heel and her hands just so. I maneuvered myself until my hands and feet did the same.
“Now second,” said the instructor.
The girls spread their feet apart and put their arms out. I copied.
“And third !”
This one was like first. But one arm out in front of me and one to the side.
“Fourth,” she hollered.
This one was more complicated, a space between the legs and feet but toes going in opposite directions. I did it and glanced at the teacher for approval.
“And fifth ,” she said, not giving it to me.
The girls’ hands went in the air, feet slid together. Right heel to left toe. Left toe to right heel.
My heart pounded.
I was in love . I could hardly contain myself. I wanted to run around and jump on things, swing from the bar and watch myself in the mirror in my cute outfit. But I knew I was supposed to be calm and poised , a word my mom had taught me after I didn’t get the last audition.
This was so cool . I felt glamorous and fancy and—oh, I mean, I was just beyond words.
For the rest of class, I copied what all the other girls did. I’d always been a fast learner. In P.E., I always picked up the physical games and things faster than everyone else. I remembered every little note Mrs.O’Hara gave; when she said to shift our shoulder blades down and lift our chins high, the other girls forgot to keep things where they belonged when they shifted from position to position, but I remembered. It was like “The House That Jack Built”—each note and instruction layering onto the last one, and me remembering each and every one. It was a skill of mine, clearly.
At the end of class, I met some of the other girls. They’d all been taking Mrs.O’Hara’s class since they were four or five. I was behind already, but I didn’t mind. Usually, I felt embarrassed when I didn’t have something the kids around me had, but I was too happy just being there to feel bad or weird about anything.
When my mom came to pick me up, Mrs.O’Hara walked right over and started talking to her. Fear gripped me—was she going to tell me I was too late? I wasn’t good enough? That I should have joined her class two years ago if I wanted any sort of chance at being allowed to keep taking it?
I ran over and heard the tail end of what she was saying.
“—truly exceptional. She’s got a natural gift, I’m telling you.”
“Oh, this is just to get her to calm down, learn some manners, get a little more poised.”
My ears pinged the way they always did when I’d recently learned a word and heard it being used.
“To look at it that way would be a mistake, in my opinion,” said Mrs.O’Hara. Both adults were ignoring my presence. “She has a talent, and I think she enjoyed it. It would be a mistake to look at this as something supplemental. I think she should begin classes twice a week to catch up with the other girls, and I don’t think it’ll take long for her to surpass them.”
“Oh, I don’t know…to be quite honest, Mrs.O’Hara, we just can’t afford it.”
Mrs.O’Hara turned to look at me. I had idly propped one of my legs up on the rail and was bending to meet my nose to my knee.
“I’ll tell you what, come in tomorrow and we’ll see what we can work out,” said Mrs.O’Hara, turning back to my mother.
“I also don’t know if—”
“My husband said you thought she might be a prodigy. After he met you at the fundraiser last week, he spoke very highly of you. It’s the only reason I allowed her into my very full class. But it seems you were not exaggerating.”
“Right. Well—”
“Three o’clock.” She then turned and walked away, raising her voice at another girl. “Maria, get your mouth off the floor, absolutely not.”
I took my foot down and ran to my mom. “I loved it, Mom, I loved it! Please let me keep coming. Please? Please .”
“Time to go, come on.”
“You met her husband at a—fun…a fun raiser? What is that?”
She glanced behind her and wrenched me out of the studio and toward the car.
“It doesn’t matter, honey. Did you really like that class?”
I felt the sudden, unexpected urge to cry. My eyes welled with tears, and I nodded. “I loved it, Mommy! It was so fun, I felt like a fairy.” I spun around in a circle.
She looked conflicted, and then squeezed my hand. “Into the car. We can think about it.”
“Mommy, it’s the only thing I’ve ever liked, ever ! Ow!”
My skin burned on the hot back seat.
“Ballet costs money, Jocelyn, it doesn’t make money. That’s not really what we’re going for right now.”
I didn’t quite understand her meaning, but instead I kicked the back of the seat and made a humph sound.
“Jocelyn, do not kick the back of the seat.”
I was tempted to do it again, as I often was when she told me not to do something, but for the first time, I had something I really wanted. And I was not willing to risk losing it.
“Sorry,” I said, in a small voice.
A few minutes later, once we were on the road we always took home, my mom asked, “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to live with Mimi?”
I almost nodded and blurted out yeah . Instead, I considered. My mom did not want me to live with Mimi. I wanted to make my mom happy so she’d let me keep doing ballet. That meant there was only one thing to say.
“No, Mommy, I was just saying that to be nice. I want to live with you.”
Her eyes landed on the rearview mirror and met mine. She smiled a sad smile. “Really?”
I nodded. And then, after a moment, said, “And I want to do ballet.”