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“That’s a pretty bold statement to make, Faith, but you are very, very smart,” I say. “You’re so much smarter than me, and you’re so much younger. I just clean toilets for a living.”
The girl giggles.
“But you’re a dancer!”
“In my dreams, Faith. In my dreams.”
A bus rolls by us. I can’t help but catch sight of the giant poster for the new Swan Lake production at the downtown theatre plastered on the side of the vehicle. That poster always draws my eye, no matter where it’s put.
“Look, Auntie Emma. That show!”
Faith points eagerly at the passing poster.
I smile.
“Yes, it’s Swan Lake.”
“It’s the one we watch. Why can’t you be in it, Auntie Emma?” Faith asks. “You’d be amazing. You’re so talented. You’d be the best dancer. And then I can come along every single night and watch you and give you flowers like they do in movies.”
“I’ve told you before, Faith. I gotta secure a spot at dance school first before I even dream of getting onto a stage like that. And before that, I need to somehow ace the actual audition to get into dance school. It’s only rich dancers with all the right equipment and the newest ballet shoes that ever get a shot at a production like that.”
Faith looks up at me with a big frown on her face.
“If it is your dream,” she says, “then you should go for it. Who cares about new ballet shoes when you’re so talented?”
“You really think I should go for it?” I ask her.
Faith nods furiously.
“Yes. Yes.Yes.”
I smile at the girl before the pedestrian light turns green, and we cross the road.
“Maybe I will, then. Thank you, Faith.”
* * *
One of the joys of working as a cleaner in a hospital is the number of random puddles of sick you have to clean up on a daily basis.
I nearly retch when I see the surprise waiting for me near the pediatric ward. It is truly one of the very worst I’ve ever had to witness in all my time here.
I lean against my mop and pull out my phone. I’ll need a little break before I even decide to tackle this particular slimy puddle.
Okay, screw it. I’ll do it. I’ll apply.
I pull up the online dance school audition application form on my phone.
My little chat with Faith this morning has inspired me in ways I don’t think she fully understands. It was liberating to talk over it with her – a happy girl without any of the concerns of a responsible adult. She doesn’t know how good of a listener she is.
But should I really do this? The same old familiar questions that always plague me when I think about dance school start to run through my head like film through a projector.
What if I fail? What if I’m crap? What if my dream crumbles? How will I mentally cope when I fall flat on my face?
Okay. Fuck it. This is it, then. I’ll actually do it this year.
I’ll do it for Faith. For the way she looks up at me.
I fill out the online form but still refrain from pressing send. I lock my phone and slide it into my pocket.
