Natasha's Kid

Chapter 4 - Ballet Class & Training

I stand in first position in class waiting for the five minute timer to be up. I had come with a minute and three seconds to spare. The teacher is
standing by the door. We stand in two rows. The first row has six people in it. I stand third from the right. The row behind me has seven people in it. The girls heads are poking out in the gaps between the first rows head.

My ballet uniform is short and black, small straps digging into my shoulders, I had scraped my hair into a high bun. My head starts to feel light, but I stuff the feeling down. My feet itch in the satin pointe shoes I wear. The ribbon cutting off blood from my feet, I raise my left foot to itch my right lower shin. I quickly return to first position as the teacher looks back at the class. Her uniform the same as Madame B's however she doesn't have the golden pin.

The timer goes off. The teachers uniform is the only bit of colour in the dull room. Facing a mirror covering the entire wall, I wait for instructions. "Arabesque," the teacher states.

I remember the steps flawlessly, I start in first position, my toes pointing outwards and my heels touching. I extend one leg straight behind me rotating outward on my hip, my arms raised in front of me. I raise my leg, engage with my core, focusing on not falling over and make sure both of my legs are completely straight as I lift my heel off the ground balancing en pointe.

This all flows, going to the beat of the music the teacher plays on the piano. I hold my position for five beats before placing my foot into first position. I look at the teacher with a stone expression. In the mirror I could see we all had done it in unison.

Again.

I comply, the girls around me doing the same thing.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Completing the move again and again.

What are we doing wrong?

I try to stuff the question down, but thoughts are disturbed by the teacher screaming "halt!" Everyone stops exactly as they are, our legs still in the air, still balancing on our toes.

The teacher is testing us. I stare straight at the mirror. I try not to think of the pain coursing through my body. The girl right next to me falls down, her entire arm hitting mine on the way down, I try to readjust myself to stop myself from falling however she takes me down with her. I stay on the floor as the teacher walks over to us both, grabbing her cane as she comes over. "Inna, Alina, stand up both of you." We obey.

Both Alina and I hold out our hands waiting for punishment. No one objects, no one complains. Alina's hand is struck first. Two sharp, precise whacks in exactly the same spot. In my peripheral vision I see a red red line coming over Alina's hand, "Alina report to Madame B's office immediately." the teachers voice is as always, emotionless and cold. The girl looks up, her eyes pleading that she is not sent there. After a few painful seconds she leaves.

My hand stings as the cane sharply hits it. The line I see is straight down the center of my hand, the tip of my thumb also catching the end of the cane. "Inna, show us your routine." I straighten and take my place on the floor. All the other girls retreating to the wall.

The routine is one that we have all learnt. I wait for the music to start, the teacher gently sitting down in front of the piano and hovering her hands over the keys. I remember my routine, it is only three steps yet I feel as if it is one hundred.

I start in fifth position, my legs crossed over one another. My back foots toes touching my front foots heel. In the mirror I see the unwavering faces of those behind me, then my own, one word almost explodes out of the flection, stone. I preform an assemblè. Jumping, my front leg extending to the side off the floor while my back foot hops. My feet change positions so they are now switched. I then preform a sissone. My grande jetè is flawless. Finally, I perform an emboîtè. Balancing on my toes once more, I am leaning over to one side with my arms extended, my left foot pressed against my right thigh.