towels to dry their faces. They stepped around her, not noticing that they knew her, grabbed their bags, and headed out. One girl, a stranger to Marta, stopped and stared. She looked from Marta’s face to the photo hanging on the wall and back to Marta’s face again.
“Are you her? I mean, are you Marta?”
“I am. What’s your name?”
The girl blushed and looked to the photo again. “I’m Rosalia. You dance for a ballet company, don’t you?”
“I did until I got injured.”
“But, uh…why are you here? I mean, when did you come back?”
“In May.”
“And now she’s here, Rosalia,” said Miss Holland as she exited the practice room.
Marta stood and hurried to hug her long time instructor and mentor.
Rosalia stared until Miss Holland spoke. “Marta will be back to talk with your class one of these days. You can ask all your questions then.”
“Can I have your autograph, please? I can’t imagine how the others missed seeing you sitting here!”
Marta smiled and signed a recital program she found in her mom’s desk. Rosalia hugged Marta, packed up her ballet bag, and waved as she left the building.
“Looks like you have an admirer, Marta. Welcome back. Let’s sit in my office and chat.”
The crowded office space sat tucked in a corner of the large studio. It held Miss Holland’s desk, two chairs, and overcrowded shelves that reached to the ceiling. Pink Capezio pointe shoe boxes and stacks of costume catalogs and dog-eared magazines shared space with a dying plant, a box marked ”old receipts,” and several bags of colorful trims. Despite her mom’s efforts, Miss Holland’s chaos hadn’t changed over the intervening months.
Neither had Miss Holland. She was tall, blonde, beautiful, and thin with her long hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Her damp leotard accentuated her muscular body. She didn’t look to be as old as her mom, but she was. Maybe the sparkle in her blue eyes made her look younger. She cleared off the extra chair and sat behind the desk facing Marta.
“Well,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Sorry about missing the recital.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Miss Holland said. “You’ve had lots to work through. Want to talk about it?”
Marta nodded. “It’s hard to know where to start. So much happened over the nine months I was away.”
“Start with the best parts. Tell me how it felt to be a professional dancer.”
“Magic. Total magic. We practiced three hours every morning, doing many of the same barre and floor exercises I did here, plus we reviewed choreography.”
“I knew I needed to push you ladies to practice longer hours.”
“You were right to push us even though we complained. In fact the afternoons were more challenging. We learned new choreography and broke into groups to practice bits and pieces. Knowing ballerinas around the world followed the same routine and listened to the same music decade after decade, I felt like I’d joined a fellowship of dancers; they moved through my muscles, guiding me from one step to the next.”
“That’s amazing.” Miss Holland looked as if she were imagining that sensation. “Your mom told me that the artistic director wasn’t supportive.”
“Madame Cosper? You could say that. She’s a perfectionist. She didn’t like me even though I worked hard so she’d respect me. Damien Black led most of our classes. He was easier to work with and gave me practice sessions while I prepared to return to the company.”
“How’s your ankle now?”
Marta shrugged. “It’s improving. I still have lots of pain and stiffness, but when I massage it and exercise cautiously, the pain lessens. That’s one reason I wanted to see you. I’d like to use a practice room when you have open hours. I’ll pay as if it were a lesson.”
“I’d be happy to have you here. For now we’ll be sharing the large practice room since the physical therapist still rents out the small studio.”
“I
“Are you her? I mean, are you Marta?”
“I am. What’s your name?”
The girl blushed and looked to the photo again. “I’m Rosalia. You dance for a ballet company, don’t you?”
“I did until I got injured.”
“But, uh…why are you here? I mean, when did you come back?”
“In May.”
“And now she’s here, Rosalia,” said Miss Holland as she exited the practice room.
Marta stood and hurried to hug her long time instructor and mentor.
Rosalia stared until Miss Holland spoke. “Marta will be back to talk with your class one of these days. You can ask all your questions then.”
“Can I have your autograph, please? I can’t imagine how the others missed seeing you sitting here!”
Marta smiled and signed a recital program she found in her mom’s desk. Rosalia hugged Marta, packed up her ballet bag, and waved as she left the building.
“Looks like you have an admirer, Marta. Welcome back. Let’s sit in my office and chat.”
The crowded office space sat tucked in a corner of the large studio. It held Miss Holland’s desk, two chairs, and overcrowded shelves that reached to the ceiling. Pink Capezio pointe shoe boxes and stacks of costume catalogs and dog-eared magazines shared space with a dying plant, a box marked ”old receipts,” and several bags of colorful trims. Despite her mom’s efforts, Miss Holland’s chaos hadn’t changed over the intervening months.
Neither had Miss Holland. She was tall, blonde, beautiful, and thin with her long hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Her damp leotard accentuated her muscular body. She didn’t look to be as old as her mom, but she was. Maybe the sparkle in her blue eyes made her look younger. She cleared off the extra chair and sat behind the desk facing Marta.
“Well,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Sorry about missing the recital.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Miss Holland said. “You’ve had lots to work through. Want to talk about it?”
Marta nodded. “It’s hard to know where to start. So much happened over the nine months I was away.”
“Start with the best parts. Tell me how it felt to be a professional dancer.”
“Magic. Total magic. We practiced three hours every morning, doing many of the same barre and floor exercises I did here, plus we reviewed choreography.”
“I knew I needed to push you ladies to practice longer hours.”
“You were right to push us even though we complained. In fact the afternoons were more challenging. We learned new choreography and broke into groups to practice bits and pieces. Knowing ballerinas around the world followed the same routine and listened to the same music decade after decade, I felt like I’d joined a fellowship of dancers; they moved through my muscles, guiding me from one step to the next.”
“That’s amazing.” Miss Holland looked as if she were imagining that sensation. “Your mom told me that the artistic director wasn’t supportive.”
“Madame Cosper? You could say that. She’s a perfectionist. She didn’t like me even though I worked hard so she’d respect me. Damien Black led most of our classes. He was easier to work with and gave me practice sessions while I prepared to return to the company.”
“How’s your ankle now?”
Marta shrugged. “It’s improving. I still have lots of pain and stiffness, but when I massage it and exercise cautiously, the pain lessens. That’s one reason I wanted to see you. I’d like to use a practice room when you have open hours. I’ll pay as if it were a lesson.”
“I’d be happy to have you here. For now we’ll be sharing the large practice room since the physical therapist still rents out the small studio.”
“I
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