CHARLES
I am twenty-five today, yet I feel no different than the day I turned sixteen except the fact that Mother isn't here to kiss me on both cheeks like she did every year. As a child, I adored her to the point of worship. Everything I had created was for her. Music, art, everything. I always felt as though I had to prove my worth to her, yet she never showed me anything but pure love. When she looked at me, she had such a glow in her warm brown eyes I thought I would die of happiness. My father was more than any child could ask for, wise, kind, gentle and doting. He loved my mother with every inch of his soul and told her that until the day she died.
When Mother died, the only experience I'd ever had with death was when her Siamese cat, my beloved Ayesha died. My father could never understand why she loved that cat so much, or why Ayesha clung to me when I was born. As if there was something inside of me that no one else had. When she finally succumbed to disease, my world was shattered, but I felt strangely at ease knowing she was finally at peace. I remember lying in bed as a child and hearing her weep, calling out a name which I could not make out so I assumed it was my father's name. I never asked her about it, I dared not, for what if she stopped loving me?
The last time I saw her alive was days after my sixteenth birthday. She was ghastly white and her lips pale and chalky. Not at all like the vibrant woman she had once been. The doctors had called her illness cancer. At the funeral, my father had mumbled something like,
"She is with Erik now…" My head snapped up. I'd heard the name before, but decided to keep my mouth shut. It wasn't until later that year at the opera, did I find out who he was. Some sort of genius architect who had known my mother quite well. I never asked about him again after that incident. It wasn't really important. Just an old acquaintance. Still, it was that conversation and seeing the Paris opera that inspired me to become an architect.
Dad keeps asking me when I am going to fall in love. Honestly, it isn't my top priority. I live in my music and my architecture. Girls were stupid and shallow anyway and I wasn't one to fawn over a pretty face. I also make sure my silly cousins have enough pride in themselves not to be shallow. Their mother would never allow it anyhow. Aunt Laney took over somewhat as my mother figure when Mother passed, and in her children I found the brother and sisters I'd never had. Camille and I were closest, she was my partner in crime as I like to call her, always getting into mischief and I was wildly protective of all three girls as was Daniel. When Rosie got engaged last year, we stood solid as stone and made the poor boy stutter in fear until Dad and Uncle Garrett came in and scolded us. We now get along famously with Drake, her fiancé, but we still snicker about that day with him.
Tonight, Dad got us tickets for Faust. Opera is the great love of my life, and Dad knows it. He always made sure to know what I loved. After Ayesha died, my bed was so lonely and cold at night for she had curled up around my head, giving my forehead a quick lick before purring and falling asleep. Dad saw how unhappy I was, so when I was twenty, for my birthday he brought home a beautiful Siamese kitten, which I named Aida, after the opera. Funny how he found a kitten with almost the exact same markings as my Ayesha.
As I am getting ready for the opera, Dad walks in and begins to tie my bowtie. I let him, knowing he needs this. He loves to feel needed and who am I to take that from him?
"How do I look?" He asks with a grin and I smile,
"Like a twenty year old Dad, the same way you've looked since I was a kid!" He chuckles and gives me another quick hug. Ever since Mother died, he really showered me with affection as if I could fill the void in his life that Mother's death had caused. Turning serious, he put a hand on my shoulder and said,
"Listen Charles, there really is no pressure for you to get married. I just want you to know that…" I smile, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Did Aunt Laney tell you to say that?" I ask jokingly and his expression doesn't change.
"I'm serious Charles. I love you, and you can decide when you are ready." I pull him close.
"Thanks Dad, I love you too." He smiles.
"You don't know how great it feels to hear you say that…"
We arrive at the opera house with the normal chaos unfolding before us. People rushing in, chatting loudly. Suddenly I heard my name called as a small blonde ballerina in full costume comes running at me full speed and jumped into his arms. Laughing, I spun her around and set her gently on her feet. Deirdre Bennett, daughter of Meg Giry-Bennett, my adoptive aunt, and granddaughter of my adoptive grandmother Annie. She was now twenty-one, yet she looked like she was only a girl of sixteen. I ruffled her hair and she giggled.
"Decided to come home, did you?" She asked, inquiring about my trip.I pinched her nose gently and said,
"I suppose…where's your mother?" I asked and she shook her head, smiling.
"Backstage with the other dancers. I should really get back before she has my head! I just wanted to say hello!" Silly Girl, I thought to myself as she kissed Dad on the cheek and flounced back the way she'd come. The ushers were motioning for us to take our seats and we made our way up to our normal seat in Box Five. It really did have the best view. We had just gotten to our seat as the overture began and I flipped open my program. I was surprised to read that there would be two solo ballerinas tonight, Deirdre of course being one and the other a girl I had never heard of. Madeleine Denton. She had to be good to meet Aunt Meg's standards.
As the opera began, I rolled my eyes as the mediocre diva Benedetta began her first aria. She was, like so many before her, an egotistical, loud mouthed overrated name who thought she was God's gift. Yet, the managers still were blind to true talent. Always, they regretted their decisions of diva, but the contract chained them to her for at least two years. The opera was good enough, being Faust, but it bothered me that it could have been done so much better. Still, I clapped when the diva finished her aria and patiently waited for the ballet to begin.
The curtain closed as the cast set up for the ballet, and opened back up to reveal the corps de ballet. Deirdre glided out, turning en Pointe and pirouetting perfectly as always. The crowd went mad as she did her Chaines and finally whipped into her fouettes, spinning with such precision as she pirouetted out of it and stepped off stage as the next girl flitted on stage with her back to the audience, with exquisite port de bras, or carriage of the arms. As she gracefully turned to face the audience, I felt all of the blood drain from my face and my palms become sweaty. I looked over to Dad, who was staring at the girl in wonder. It felt like my entire world had been ripped apart…
