Dance, My Angel

 Chapter 3Caitlyn

My parents have not changed an inch. My father as always has his unruly graying hair, and his piercing blue eyes same as mine, and my mother is dressed up in her tight pantsuit and her chignon without a single strand of hair sticking out. The way they stare at me is no way different from how they looked at me when I was little. As if I were an alien impossible to decipher.

— Thank you for honoring us with your presence Caitlyn. You took your time to join us! You know your mom cannot stay up for long.

In fact, my mother does have some knee problems due to failing joints, but it is only painful in cold and rainy weather and tonight the sky is incredibly clear.

— Hi, Dad. It's incredibly mild for the season, don't you think? We can even see the stars.

— Don't be rude Caitlyn.

Well, yes. My parents have always stood together, especially against me. My grandmother comes in before dinner is cut short. More than short, since we are not even at the restaurant yet.

— Let's go eat. I'm starving.

Grandma passes her arm under mine and we walk on the sidewalk in silence, at the head of our little procession. I have the unpleasant impression of being observed. It is like a look burning my back, making cold sweats grow along my spine. I might think this is due to the presence of my parents; however, they have never caused me such an epidermal reaction. I shudder when I look around, but the faint glow of the moon and the few scattered lampposts do not allow me to distinguish the surroundings well, creating at most disturbing shadows in the darkness.

— Are you cold, darling?

— No, Granny. I am OK. I just can't wait to get home. I am tired.

I did not tell my grandmother about the letters. I did not want her to worry about me. She leads a peaceful life and there is no question of that changing.

— When are you going to visit me in Virginia? Clean air and large spaces would do you the greatest good.

— I have no doubt, Granny, but the season is just beginning and the Sleeping Beauty shows will continue for several weeks.

— And then there will be the selection of a new ballet, which of course you will win hands down. Then the rehearsals for the new show and again the performances. It never stops, Cat.

I lower my head, ashamed to be such a bad granddaughter. These remarks are entirely justified.

— I'm sorry to disappoint you, Granny.

She stops so abruptly to look me in the face that my parents stumble upon us.

— You will never disappoint me Caitlyn Cat. Do you hear me? I'm extremely proud of you and so are your parents.

She gives them a strong look to which they can only respond positively.

— Of course Caitlyn. We're happy for you.

It is not really the same as being proud, but I would settle for it. I know I would not get anything better from them. We resume our slow walk.

— I just want you to discover something other than dance. Besides, I'd like to introduce you to Baraqiel.

— Your neighbor?

She agrees, nodding.

— You never told me his first name. It is very strange.

— Don't judge him without meeting him. He is an angel, darling.

Of course! My grandmother loves everyone regardless of anything. The good-natured conversation could have ended there, but obviously my mother had to get involved once we are sitting at the table.

— In any case, mother-in-law, you know well that Caitlyn has no time for love. For that she would have to be interested in someone other than herself, and this is not about to happen.

My mother is getting more and more bitter. I wonder why she forces herself to come to see me when she clearly does not want to. No doubt that is not my grandmother's fault. She knows how to be very persuasive. I would like to be able to tell my family that I love them, but that would require my parents to accept me as I am and they would never do it. Today it is too late and my silence is always taken as a rejection. In fact, it is more an acceptance of the situation. As always, my grandmother serves as a buffer in our conflicting relationships. I believe that without her, there would be no interaction at all between my parents and me.

─ Let's order. It's getting late for an old lady like me.

I choose my dishes, but I feel oppressed between the heavy silence at our table and the hubbub of other customers' conversations. My grandmother knows me well and squeezes my hand under the table.

─ Go ahead, you have time.

I get up hurriedly, ignoring my mother who is already starting to grumble. The air from the outside makes me feel good. The light breeze caresses my bare legs and makes my cheeks rosy. I take advantage of the calm of the night to take a few steps before leaning against a wall and looking up at the sky. There is not a single cloud and the stars twinkle on this beautiful black velvet carpet. I could stay here for hours to let this peace invade my tormented soul. When I was little, I dreamed of flying away and dancing on a cloud. Nevertheless, a sound of footsteps on my left makes me startle and realize where I am. I am a lonely woman in a dark alley in New York. I straighten up, an uneasiness choking my guts. I turn back to get to the door of the restaurant. I am not very far and yet the distance suddenly seems enormous. I feel like someone is following me. I am sure of it. Footsteps. Heavy breathing. I do not like it and a dull anguish squeezes my stomach while my heart beats fast. I quicken my pace, relieved until I finally reach my goal, and I thank the doorman who takes the lead by letting me pass without me having to slow down. In the shelter of the glass doors I turn around, but I only see the deserted and silent street. There is no one on the horizon. My heart resumes a calmer rhythm, but my head is stuck in anxiety. Emotions mix in me, threatening to cause an autistic crisis like I have not experienced in a long time. I take refuge in one of the toilet cubicles, I lock it, I curl up on myself on the floor, and I start to swing back and forth. I need to dance to externalize the fear that consumes me. Only it is impossible to do it right now. So I try to refocus on myself and to clear my mind. Easier said than done!

There is a click of heels on the tiles in front of my door. I back off instinctively, but I am blocked by the toilet bowl behind my back.

─ Caitlyn kitten? You're okay? I saw you in the lobby, but you didn't come back to the table.

Hearing Grandma's voice makes me feel good. I choose to focus on that, on her and her voice, counting in my head. Inspiration, 1, 2, 3, 4. Expiration, 1, 2, 3, 4. I repeat the exercise five times in a row. My grandmother, after making a round trip along all the cubicles, stops at my door.

─ Open up kitten. I'm sure you're here.

I extend my arm to unlock the lock and Granny opens it gently. Her eyes are sad when she looks at me. She squats in front of me and strokes my hair as she always does when she feels I am tormented.

─ What's going on, darling?

I do not want to talk about it. Not now, and certainly not here. I am going to tell her everything. I need to. But I would do it at home, in the safety of my apartment. If I am still safe there, which I'm not sure about anymore.

─ Your parents love you Caitlyn Cat. They just don't know how to behave with you. They can't understand you.

─ I know, Granny. It doesn't matter.

I prefer that she thinks my reaction is due to this awkward dinner, for the moment anyway.

─ Come on, come on, darling. Don't stay on the floor, you'll catch a cold on that frozen tile.

She helps me get up and arranges the bottom of my dress which is slightly pulled up.

─ You are past the age of showing your panties, my dear.

Her comment draws a smile from me and we join our table hand in hand.

─ Finally here you are again. What were you doing Caitlyn? Were you handing out autographs?

I could laugh about it if only I did not want to cry. My mother is convinced that I prefer fame to family life by their side. How wrong she is! What I have chosen is normality, freedom. In the end, I chose to free my mind from all the feelings that bombard me all the time, to live an ordinary life, even if most people do not think it is that ordinary. It is true that a picture of me dressed as a classical dancer is on half of the buses of the city and that I regularly make an appearance in all trade magazines. However, all I see is that I do what I love. And until recently, I was able to ignore all the crap around me.

— You could at least sit down, so we can finally start!

— Sorry. Of course!

Indeed, as usual, I was lost in my thoughts and I remained frozen next to the table. Then I sit on my chair and the meal goes like all the others, in an almost religious silence, only interspersed with phrases from my grandmother who desperately tries to renew the dialogue between all of us.

— Maybe tomorrow we could visit the city together.

— Certainly not! Our national star surely has better things to do than spend time with us.

Definitely my mother will never forgive me for being who I am: independent. When I was diagnosed with autism, she was upset, my tantrums being unmanageable, but she also thought that I would always need her by my side to succeed in life, and she liked that idea. She thought I would be mommy’s little girl forever. The future has shown her otherwise.

I would rather answer grandma so I do not argue with my mom.

— I'm not working tomorrow. We are given a day off. I just have to practice in the morning and then I'm all yours.

— A real miracle! It doesn't have to happen often, because you don't even take the time to call us!

Grandma intervenes, as always.

— I'd love to visit Ellis Island. We have never been there before.

I have never set foot there either. Being stuck on a ferry has never excited me more than that, but walking away with my grandma from the Big Apple and my worries, even for a few hours, is a very seductive idea.

— That's a great idea, Granny. We will go there after lunch. I'll get the tickets before my rehearsal.

— And you don't even ask us if we would like to join you, of course!

I swallow the lump that is blocking my throat. My mother will not spare me anything tonight. Looks like it is time to settle our accounts. Unfortunately, I can't stand it but I'd rather be docile than face it, even if I break the armrest of my chair by clenching my fingers on it.

— Dad, mommy, would you like to come with us to Ellis Island tomorrow?

— Well, it so happens that we cannot do it. We are working tomorrow. We are not available when the lady decides to give us some of her time.

That is what it is all about! And after that they are going to blame me for making no effort. I bite my tongue to avoid screaming, so hard that blood fills my mouth. I cannot wait for this meal to end so that I can finally take refuge at home and get rid of my overflow of tension. I have set up at home a whole room for this single purpose with a mirror and a crossbar on the wall. A mini personal dance hall that will serve me well if I want to be able to close my eyes tonight.

Finally home! My comfortable income allows me to have this big 3-bedroom apartment in the heart of New York, close to the American Ballet Theater, so I do not have to take public transportation. A real luxury for me. I can walk everywhere and that suits me very well. I open the door and ask my grandmother to come in before me. She may be fit for her age, but I feel she is tired and I am sure she will be looking forward to go to her room. Because she has her own room in my house. I never invite anyone but her, so the third room has been furnished according to her tastes and desires.

— Look, Caitlyn Cat. A letter has been slipped under your door. Is it that you have a secret admirer whose existence you have hidden from me?

 Chapter 4Caitlyn

I feel all color leaving my face, my heart freezes in my chest and my hands become sweaty. I do not have to look at the envelope she is holding in her hands to know what is it about and who it is coming from. Three the same day, this is the kind of premiere that I would have very well done without.

— Caitlyn? Is there a problem?

— No. Nothing.

My hands tremble as much as my voice when I grab the envelope as red as the blood in my veins, contradicting my words.

— I know you better than you know yourself. What's going on, darling? And don't answer me it is nothing!

Given my lack of response and reaction, my grandmother takes the lead. She takes the envelope, opens it and reads it aloud, frowning.

— Get ready, I'll be there soon. Very soon.

She rereads the missive several times in silence as I collapse against the door after locking it with a double turn. Then I lock and unlock the door several times, that way my obsessive OCDs start to resurface under pressure.

— What does this mean, Caitlyn? It's not romantic, am I wrong?

I shake my head from left to right, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I begin to hit the back of my head against the hardwood behind me, hoping to spew out the black ideas and the anxieties that run through it. The dry noise echoes in my apartment.

— No, Caitlyn. That’s not the solution.

She puts her hand behind my neck to prevent me from hurting myself, and leads me manu militari into my dance hall by pulling me by the arm.

— I give you half an hour to calm down. After that, I want to have a serious discussion both of us. Did you get me right?

I nod before I start the music without wasting a second. I had this room fully soundproofed for the tranquility of my neighbors for situations like this where the need to let off steam is felt at a late hour. I doubt they would enjoy hearing music and the sounds of my jumps at 11pm past. The rhythm is fast, powerful, reasoning in me like drums. That is exactly what I need. I jump, twirl and follow improvisational movements to externalize the rage and anguish that these letters bring to me. I cannot stand them anymore. And I cannot stand the fact that from now on they will be coming to my house. I only realize time has passed when grandma turns off the sound.

— It's very violent Cat.

I had not realized that my grandmother had stayed with me instead of going to rest and I have no doubt that she is talking about how I move.

— This is not the first letter of this kind that you have received, is it?

I grab one of the clean towels that I always have in the room to wipe my face. This gives me time to resume a more regular breathing and slow my heart rate.

— No. I've been getting some since I was nominated as Sleeping Beauty. They were more and more frequent in the run-up to the first performance of the show, and this is the third one today.

She comes to hug me to comfort me.

— Oh. My Caitlyn kitten. You should have told me about it. I would have come to support you much sooner if I had known.

— I know, Granny. Only, you have your life and I'm an adult. I have to take responsibility. Besides, they're just letters after all. You know that I have had trouble managing unknown situations and it is clear that I do not understand the interest of sending this kind of mail.

— But taking responsibility does not mean isolating yourself, my dear. And these letters are not innocent. Have you told the police?

— The ballet director did it for me since so far the letters had been coming to the theatre, but the investigation has stalled. They have no leads and as I have never been physically threatened, they do not take the matter seriously. He thinks I'm overdoing it for not much.

— I see. Only the letters are now coming straight to your house. It changes everything.

— That has only been the case since this morning. The director will notify investigators of this development.

— Good. Until this story is settled, I will stay with you and make sure you are safe.

— Granny...

— There is no need to discuss this. You are my granddaughter and there is no way that someone will threaten you, even if it is just to scare you.

— It could take months for the police to arrest someone.

— Well, let's say I'm taking a long vacation. I am retired Cat, I have all my time and Baraqiel can look after my house in my absence. I'm going to call him right away and ask him.

There is no need to waste my breath trying to change her mind. My grandmother is more stubborn than a mule and deep down, I would be reassured to have someone with me for a while. Anyway, she has already pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number.

— Hello Baraqiel. I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I know you, I'm sure you weren't sleeping.

— …

— I'm going to have to extend my stay in New York. Could you take care of my house in my absence?

— …

— Yes, everything is fine. Just a few details to work out.

— …

— Thank you. You're an angel, but you know that. I’ll contact you as soon as I have the day of my return. See you soon.

My grandmother has a smile on her face when she hangs up.

— You seem to love your neighbor very much.

— I told you, he is an angel.

— I adore you Granny, but you know that I am not a believer, so angels and all that goes with it...

She dragged me to church several times when I was little, after each of my violent nervous breakdowns, in order for me to find support elsewhere than at home. She suspected that I would eventually take off and she wanted that I always had someone to talk to, wherever I was. Unfortunately, the reverent side, a bit rigid, of the place did not suit me and I did not find my place there. My grandmother gently pats my hand with an understanding air.

— You are still young Caitlyn Cat. You haven't seen it all yet. You can believe my long experience. With that, I'm going to go to bed.

I'm exhausted. Good night, darling.

— Good night, Granny. I'll leave early for my rehearsal, but I'll be home for lunch.

— Perfect. We'll eat together and then go on our excursion. A day in the great outdoors, far from the hustle and bustle of the city, will do you the greatest good.

I adore my grandmother. Just her presence in my house reassures me and stabilizes my emotions. I just hope that staying by my side is not going to put her in danger. Anonymous letters may be letters, but their contents have become disturbing and I do not want anything to happen to her.

No need to worry just before I go to bed or I will not be able to get any sleep. I prefer to focus on the positive side of this day and to surf the internet to book tickets for the next day. Once done, I slip into my bed and close my eyes for a few poor hours of sleep that turn out to be agitated and not very restful. Indeed, my night is invaded by the somber presence of a man who grabs me to hurt me and to hurt Granny when she came to my rescue. My waking up at six in the morning, after only five hours of sleep, is difficult, and the dark circles under my eyes are glaring proof of it. A lukewarm shower wakes up my sore muscles before I go to the theatre for another rehearsal, a cup of coffee, my best friend, at hand. Agatha's grimacing face when I arrive does not cheer me up. Her thoughts, said aloud to draw attention to us, neither.

— You look awful. Is it too much to ask you to take ballet seriously? You preferred to celebrate all night your mediocre performance with a guy you picked up in some seedy bar?

Definitely, she really does not know me. It might be funny if it were not so pathetic.

— Concentrate on your own performance instead of worrying about mine.

— Unlike you, my steps are always perfect.

Perfect yes, but monotonous, lifeless, emotionless. A robot that dances would express more things than her on stage.

— One wonders why you have never had the leading roles since I joined the troupe.

Her red face of shame and anger gives me a little boost before throwing myself into the lion's den under the piercing gaze of the choreographer.

Time runs slowly. Despite the obvious pleasure I have evolving on stage, I am exhausted and I welcome the end of the rehearsal with pleasure. The good news of the day was the lack of a new letter, both at home and in my dressing room, and the manager promised to keep me informed of the police actions. I hope my stalker got tired of my lack of reaction. You can always dream and I do not lack imagination. On the contrary, like many autistics, I have an above-average IQ and my intelligence manifests itself by a sharp mind and an overflowing imagination in which I like to take refuge when I dance. I leave the theater and enjoy the rays of the sun that warm my face. I love that feeling. It is time to eat and the streets are rather quiet, in complete opposition to the crowded restaurants. I cross in a leisurely way the double-lane road that borders my apartment, when squealing tires on my right make me turn my head. A car speeds in my direction and I am completely petrified on the spot, like a doe blinded by the headlights of a car. I just have the reflex to turn to one side but when I try to go back the vehicle is already on me. The car hits me with incredible violence. You know, they always say that at the gates of death you see your whole life parading before your eyes. I guess I am not dying because I do not. In fact, I feel more as if I am outside my body. I see myself being thrown forward, on the hood of the car, until it brakes abruptly, sending me a few meters further after a gliding flight. I hit the road violently and the pain then explodes all over my body. I become aware of what has just happened and my first reflex is to try to straighten myself to look at my legs while passers-by rush towards me to rescue me. I scream in pain when they try to help me and then I hear the only voice that could reassure me among all.

— CAITLYN!

The fact that Grandma screams is not very encouraging about my condition, but knowing her by my side relieves me.

— Don't move, darling. Help is on its way. I wanted to surprise you by joining you. I'm sorry I'm late. It's my fault.

I grit my teeth so as not to scream in pain and I speak with my jaw clenched.

— It was an accident Granny. You couldn't have done anything.

I notice her pinched lips, but I do not stop at that detail. I have a key question. And an existential one in fact.

— Granny, how are my legs? I can't move them.

— They are both there, my dear. That's all that matters.

That is far from enough. Tears come to my eyes and my sobs shake me, amplifying my pain and compressing my ribcage a little more.

— No! Not that, Granny.

— Shut up my darling. Take it easy. You're going to make your condition worse.

My grandmother barely dares to stroke my hair. I must really be in a bad shape. I am having a hard time thinking. Ideas get confused in my mind, mixing with the confusion caused by the accident. I vaguely distinguish Granny's lips moving, but I hear no sound. Then a black hole.