Cabbage Roses
~By Lizzie~
I have always been a big patron of the arts. Especially ballet. It has always seemed to be the most elegant of the performing arts to me. The dancers, all moving with precise rhythm. With elegant grace. But it isn't always that way. For a long time, the ballet bored me. The primas were sloppy; the choreography simplistic, and the overall effect was disappointing. I had once considered giving up on the ballet for good, until someone changed my view of ballet altogether.
I am sorry, let me introduce myself. My name is Daisuke Ando. Die for short. I have lived my life as the rich heir to a rather large fortune. I did not choose this life for myself, and for a long time I regretted ever having money. But I have come to realize that money is a curse only if you let it be.
I must seem the stereotypical "rich boy" to you. The kind who has whatever he wants whenever he wants. The kind to whom the world is handed on a silver platter. Sometimes I wish that were true. It is true that my story ends happily; but it was far from perfect on the road to the eventual happiness. At times I thought that things would never work, that everything would go against me forever. Looking back, I see that it is always bleakest before the sun breaks through; and that things always seem worse when you're experiencing them.
Would you like to hear my story? I'm afraid that it might take a little time, but if you're willing.
* * *
I remember it well. It was to be the last ballet performance I would attend. Everything was going downhill since the most wonderful prima retired at the age of 29. The girl who replaced her was not nearly of the caliber she was. Most everyone noticed, and so she was replaced. Her replacement was no better. A string of low-quality prima ballerinas was the norm for a long time. And with the lacking quality came a laziness. Choreographers knew that the girls couldn't handle dances that were intricate and beautiful, so they lowered their standards and produced ballets that were. well, they were not what they used to be.
The mediocrity that permeated the business was beginning to disgust me, so I had made up my mind not to attend anymore. I recall distinctly what performance was to be my last. My favorite ballet, "Copellia", was to be performed. It seemed to me to be the best way to break off my ties with the ballet.
I didn't even glance at the program beforehand. I had seen this particular ballet so many times before, that I knew the story by heart. I sat gazing at the stage from the private box seats, wistfully remembering the past when girls of true talent graced the audience with their presence. I didn't even realize that I was wringing my white calfskin gloves in my hands until I looked down to my lap and saw the bundle I had twisted them in. I didn't realize that trying to leave something I loved would be this hard; but I was also determined.
My heart quickened as the house lights dimmed and the curtain lifted. I was sitting back in my seat, and I scooted forward slightly to get a better view, while putting a set of opera glasses to my eyes. The music started and the familiar strains soothed me as the dancers took their places upon the well-worn stage. At first everything seemed to be well. And then one of the chorus girls missed a step and stumbled in the middle of a set of easy steps. That threw the entire group off. I sighed, they obviously didn't practice enough. Before any more mistakes were made, I lowered the opera glasses from my face and set them in my lap. More blunders would be painful enough to watch from up there, I didn't need to see them up close.
Thus far, it had been a very disappointing evening. And the ballet had barely begun. At this point, I was sardonically thinking about what kind of mistakes the prima would make. Hopefully it wouldn't be too terrible.
The music changed and the chorus girls left in a flutter of tutus, leaving the stage empty, save for one girl who had made her entrance as the others were leaving. It wasn't who I was expecting. 'The prima was replaced again.' I thought idly to myself. My eyes traveled over the unfamiliar body of the dancer standing in her starting pose, waiting for her cue. She was very thin and tall, unusual for a female dancer. Her hair was a chestnutty- reddish color, and was tied back in a neat bun. Her costume wasn't the customary frilly tutu; but a loose, flowy dress befitting of an enchanted doll. Her limbs were long and graceful-looking.
She wasn't remarkable-looking at first, until I once again placed the opera glasses in front of my eyes and looked closer. Still, she wouldn't have caught the eye of any other. But she caught mine. With baited breath, I waited for her to begin dancing, and when she did, I was amazed. She was nothing like the others. She had a talent, and it seemed a passion that showed through her movement. Elegance and grace shone through in each movement. Her dancing was exquisite; there are no other words for it.
I didn't want to tear my eyes away from her for a moment, but I managed to do so to look at my program. I needed to know her name. Flipping quickly through the pages, trying to find the cast, my eyes came upon a black and white picture next to a name. It was the same lovely girl wearing a neutral expression, but with her hair hanging around her face, resting on her shoulders in ringlets. The caption under the photo read "Shinya Terachi".
I remember at that point I uttered the word "Shinya" as my eyes once again found the dancing figure on the stage. By then she had been joined by the rest of the corps du ballet, but I didn't notice anyone but her. I was captivated, and I knew it. I'm sure that a smile was upon my lips, and that I was leaning over the balcony as far as I could without looking like a fool.
The rest of the ballet passed in a blur. The only thing that I remember was that I barely took in a breath as I watched. She was the best I had ever seen; and I had seen a lot. The applause at the end roused me out of the trance I had found myself in, and I reluctantly stood from my seat, clapping gently. Shinya was curtsying, standing on the edge of the stage as flowers were given to her by many people from the audience. I suddenly wished that I had brought some flora with me as well.
"Tomorrow night," I spoke quietly to myself so as not to draw attention, "I bring roses."
A/N No, Shinya's not a girl in this one, this part is just Die's initial thoughts. After all, they've not met yet!
To Be Continued