Song: Offer, by Alanis Morissette.
Ivonne Napoli wasn't born to be a star. She didn't excel in the pointy shoes. Nobody seemed to notice her when she danced. She had a birthmark on her shoulder, an asymmetrical nose, little lungs, and rapid eyes. She couldn't stand practices. Her sweat dominated her body. Still, the joy of moving was a bliss. Ivonne had dreams. Big dreams. She wanted to be a prima ballerina, a phenomenon of art. Gorgeous, light, and pale. Yet, life wasn't a simple canvas but a gruesome race with rotund obstacles. She wasn't talented. For the most part of the time, Ivonne was just a girl dancing. There was nothing in her body that impressed the viewers. Dreaming wasn't enough. Enduring practices wasn't enough.
That's what her father told her. A master of chisels and strings, the sensei of doctors and, as he had said during a happy dinner, the apprentice of God's science. Ivonne's father was the best surgeon in Italy according to many. And Ivonne, like every good daughter, really praised that. If he could only understand how incompatible she and medicine were. But no. The man wanted her to excel. He didn't force her to study, he didn't punish her for her bad grades. But it was deep in the soul. The stark color in his eyes, the miasma of disappointment and almost grief.
He was upset when she returned from Paris with a peculiar news stirring in her belly. He didn't ask her if she loved the poor musician, if she had discovered another hobby, if the view from the hotel window was pleasant, if she had slept soundly that night or if the phantoms of gestation had crossed the gates. Because it didn't matter. "You need to graduate and move out. I want your name ruling America. With or without a son, married or not. Your life is your choice, but your success is what I highly expect from you. It is my greatest dream."
Her twin brother was silent. Why father would never expect much from Ricardo, Ivonne would never understand.
She called Octave. "Are you coming with me after I get my diploma?" she asked the French guy. Octave was, at that time, working as a music teacher at a public school. Ivonne pictured the kids crying at their super teacher's departure, but life was a real movie. She had a baby and Octave needed to be a father.
Delicate tears streamed down his cheeks when he heard that the baby was a girl.
And he named her Gwen.
Gwen Napoli Foucher.
"I've always wanted to have a girl," Octave confessed to Ivonne as they embarked. "It was my greatest dream."
From that moment on, Ivonne ceased to dream. The word itself was irritating, and in her case, pressuring. She was alive to fulfill these men's dreams, not the girl she was many years ago. The pointy shoes were tucked deep in her baggage as a token of failure and lesson. Real life had begun. It was all over.
"You ought to be the most perfect woman this world has ever faced, Gwen," Ivonne whispered, feeling odd for talking to her belly. But what to do.
She was already a mother.
"And you'll make your grandpa proud. Maybe he'll forgive me for having you."
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YOU ARE READING
BEING ANITA
Romance'I love you,' Asher told me while the police man handcuffed him. The night glimmered in his green eyes. His dark hair was tousled, strands like conductors of the energy in his chest. "I fucking love you." In other circumstances, a few years ago, I w...
