It is another chilly fall night here in Paris and I cannot sleep so I decide to go for a walk. As I start walking my mind drifts back into the days of my childhood, forcing, me to remember what it was to work at the Opera Populare. I had been a chorus girl under La Carlotta and later Christine Daae, my dear friend. When we were still young girls she and I would always cover our ears, during practice only even if it felt like our ears were bleeding when we were performing, when Carlotta started to sing. She was well past her prime and sounded like a crow that swallowed a toad or worse yet, on her bad days, a fog horn that was being strangled by old age and the salty moist air causing its throat to rust.
At the time, Christine was still in the chorus with me; during our free time we would tell stories, and practice our notes and ballet positions together. We used to try and out sing each other, but we usually ended up calling it a draw. I cannot help but to laugh out loud remembering Christine's little face turning beet red with laughter! She would laugh so hard that she would start crying, but that only made her laugh more!
One day after a hard long practice and all the drills that Madame Giry, our ballet mistress, made us perform that day, we were relaxing in our dorm room. I was brushing out Christine's beautiful long blonde hair, which has a tendency to snarl and knot up worse than an old sheep dog's fur. Meg, Madame Giry's daughter, was dancing and singing gaily around the room. She jumped up on her bed and started spinning around and around in a wild fury of white and gold and finally ending up laying on the soft surface in a daze.
"Christine?" Spoke the little fairy child with wide hazel eyes glowing with childish fancy. I glanced up in time to see the mischievous angel run over to sit on the floor beside Christine who was sitting on a red stool and leaning against the small vanity which was placed by the wall farthest from the door. A colossal mirror was on the wall beside the armoire that held our clothes.
"Yes Meg?" So the nightly ritual began. Meg always asked to hear a story, which she could probably recite herself.
"Please tell me a story." Meg said with an excited flutter in her voice. Her favorite one was the Angel of Music.
"All right Meg. What one would you like to hear tonight?" Christine said softy almost a whisper while standing up so we could exchange places. "Liz you are so lucky to have long wavy black hair. I wish I had wavy or curly hair."
I picked up a lock of my hair to examine it, "Christine, why would you want my hair? It's not as fine or as soft as yours. Mine will never stay in one style for long." I said looking in the mirror that was to my right. My blue eyes stared back at me as I searched for the answers in it's' silvery surface.
"Because it is very beautiful and wavy, Liz; actually it is very soft and it has the shine of ice or a crystal." Christine said with envy in her sad blue eyes. I put my hand on hers lovingly. She is like a sister to me. I only have my brother; our parents had been murdered in a robbery. They had saved us by putting us in our carriage and hitting the horse's rear end.
I realized that I was still standing and sat down on the stool. As I sat down Meg came running up and surrounded Christine, "the Spirit of Music one." Meg spiritedly spoke. Her golden curls cascading past her shoulders.
"You mean the Angel of Music." I said chuckling to myself. She is a wonderful and talented little dancer but her memory is not the best.
Christine glanced at me with a sparkle in her sea blue eyes, "Liz is right Meg. Besides you should know that one by heart by now." She said with a sad sigh. Poor Christine, that story is very personal for her. It was the story that her father used to tell her before he died. He said that he would send her the Angel of Music when he went to heaven; just like Little Lottie. We both looked at Meg and she looked right back at us with bulging eyes. "Ok, ok." Christine said with a hallow laugh. "Once upon a time there was a little girl named Lottie whose mind loved to wander. Her father…" My body relaxed with the slow motion of Christine brushing my hair; up and down, up and down again. My mind drifted onto a warm beach with the tide slowly flowing in and coming to rest on the sand beneath my feet. The sun was raining down its warm light. I could stay here forever… "Liz…" and ever. "Lizzy." I could hear someone softly calling my name, but upon looking around I saw no one just some tall palm trees laden with cocoanuts. "Liz. Lizzy." I closed my eyes and upon reopening them I realized that I had fallen asleep.
"I… I am sorry Christine. I did not mean to nod off on you there." I tried to say while yawning.
"It's alright right, Liz. Meg fell asleep too." She said glancing over at the young girl who was curled up in a warm wool blanket. Her face was so calm and happy that you could almost see the beautiful dream that was playing in her head.
Getting up I noticed that Christine had an odd smile on her face as if she were waiting for something wonderful to appear. "Is everything alright, Chris?" I said hearing the worry in my own voice.
"My dear Elizabeth, everything is fine." Excitement was rising in her voice. It was obvious to even me that she had a wonderful secret that she was bursting to share but couldn't.
"Are you sure? You are too wild eyed to be ready for sleep." I said while putting Meg's nodding head gently on the soft goose pillow. I looked up to see her give a light sigh and nod her answer. "How she can sleep with a heavy blanket during the summer I'll never know."
"I know what you mean she has always been able to slee…," I am driven from memory lane when a door up ahead slammed shut. There is a very faint shadow dancing along the side walk in my direction. I can hear footsteps now, slowly coming closer.
Not wanting to be seen by the tall, looming figure; I silently creep into the shadows of two tall trees. The only sounds are that of the rustling of leaves blowing on the dark stone road and the hard-soul footsteps growing louder. I now that I would not be seen for it is a starless night and the moon is hidden by the clouds. But the footsteps came closer, and closer, and closer still. "The person can see me!" I thought to myself. "This person knows where I am hiding! What am I going to do?" My mind is screaming at me to run but my feet will not move! "What is this person going to do to me?" I shake the thought fro my imaginative mind when I noticed that sound of the heavy footsteps have stopped. The owner of the sound has stopped only a foot or two away from where I am standing.
"Darn kids!" I can tell by the strength and tone of the voice that the person is a male around the age of fifty-five and is really mad. He is probably talking about the group of young men that had just left the neighborhood bar. From the sound of is they have found a good time with some young girls. I can't tell for sure but it sounds like they are singing something; I cannot understand them through their drunken slurs and mumbles. Thankfully I cannot tell what it is for a lady should not hear such words. "Why are they always out so late and make such loud noises that it would wake the dead?"
"Oh well." I think with a grateful sigh as I continue with my walk. I look around to see where I am and while I was lost in the corridors of my memory I have gotten myself lost.