Soloists

Part 1 Gosia #4

I ran through the station corridors to the main exit, where the cabs usually stood. People I passed looked at me with strange smiles, but I did not have time to think about it. It wasn't until I was in the cab that the reason for the stares came to me.

- To Hollywood? - the cab driver asked with a laugh.

- What? - I was surprised and then I saw my reflection in the rearview mirror. Well, yes, the avatar.

- Close - I said. - To the Grand Theatre.

I was late. The audition was supposed to start at 8:00, and it was already 9:30. The train made up for it, but it still didn't look good. By the time we got through the damn traffic, it took twenty minutes. I could have walked faster!

Tough luck. I crawled out of the cab, thanked, paid and rushed to the main entrance. Although I did not have time for it, I decided to stand in front of the Grand Theatre and admire it. It always made a great impression on me. Its majesty and grandeur made me feel as if I was about to enter some sanctuary. When to that add the spirit of the nation, which you could undoubtedly feel in every element of the building, it made my head spin from the feeling of holiness of this place.

Also this time, I stood before it as if hoping that its spirit would enable me today to win a ticket to the career I had dreamed of since the first time I put on the tiny ballet shoes my father bought me. What a day that was. I was maybe five years old, and my childish heart went out to every television clip of people dancing. I loved watching the gymnastics competitions, twirling with a ribbon or some string or tossing a ball, doing spins, jumps and swings. When I discovered figure skating, it was a shock and fascination mainly with the richly decorated outfits of the athletes. But everything was nothing compared to the moment I first saw ballet on the screen. Mom said it was "Swan Lake" (what else would it be). Apparently I stood there like I saw a magic, with my mouth open, all the while moving my hands the whole time as if in a trance. From that day on, dance was for me life, passion, sacrum and what else could be something that crept into my little heart and took it over. That day I watched for probably the thousandth time the recording of "Swan Lake" from 1988 with the wonderful Sylvie Guillem as Odetta. How she was perfect, those beautiful lines, that wonderful majestic posture and gracefully raised head. 

Dad stood in the doorway calling me to him, but I was as enchanted as ever and only glanced at him. My little brain must have registered the image of my father with something interesting in his hands, because I looked again in his direction. He had bought me ballet shoes, real ballet shoes, not some gym shoes or any of that training crap. He bought, or rather commissioned, to make these little points. I don't remember anything else about that day, except the immense joy that was melting over me like chocolate in a fountain. It was the happiest day of my life. Mom would later let me to wear these shoes on special occasions, and then I didn't understand why I couldn't wear them all the time. I was angry with her. Years later I thanked her that she didn't let me bend my feet irreparably, so I could get into ballet school.

The thought of school shook me enough to wake me up from my daydream. I cast one last admiring glance at the theater building, took a few breaths, and entered my temple.

If the building was so impressive from the outside, the interiors were breathless. Spacious corridors lined with marble floors, high arches, and rich ornamentation the mood of readiness for the highest experience of art.

I couldn't take the time to marvel, knowing in the back of my mind that I was already very late. I looked around and encountered a smiling woman at the console next to the central hall. It was Mrs. Mira, my wonderful good soul, thanks to whom I could visit this place many times and attend performances, which I could not afford. She also often wiped my tears after disputes with Koterbinska.