Think of Me

The afternoon was a flurry of activity for Christine among rushed rehearsals, reviewing the score, and other last minute details. Yet, here she stood before a full house, in a position in which she never thought to be. She, an orphaned ballet rat, had the star role during a gala performance to be given before Paris' high society. Rumor had it that even Emperor Louis Napoleon III and his wife had turned out for the opera by Chalumeau, along with countless other nobles and wealthy citizens.

Christine tried to quell the nervousness beginning to bubble up inside of her. High above in the balconies, a hot spotlight shone in her eyes and blurred her vision, obliterating the audience. She could hear them, though; the sounds of their hushed whispers and rustling skirts and waistcoats came rushing up at her like waves in the ocean, thanks to the supreme acoustics of the theatre.

Clinging to the idea that his spirit was with her, she took a tiny step forward. The full skirt and train of her gown dragged across the stage behind her, tugging heavily on her hips. The gossamer fabric was a brilliant white, with starbursts of crystal sewn meticulously on the gown at regular intervals. Crystals in the same starburst shape hung from her ears and lay nestled in her thick curls. The tight bodice and off-the-shoulder sleeves emphasized her slender form, but did nothing to increase her comfort. She had never worn such a fine garment-only the cheap costumes of the ballet corps and her own simple dresses. She felt gorgeous, but she also had the sensation of being someone else.

Then she remembered how she felt when he taught her, and how his presence would wrap itself around her, bringing peace that would last for days on end. Memories of his whispers echoed through her mind, and she once again felt that peace. Christine carefully recalled every single thing he had taught her and wove his training into the song that glided from her lips.

"We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea, but if you can still remember, stop and think of me." She took in a breath and felt her ribs strain against the rigid, pinching corset. "Think of all the things we've shared and seen…don't think about the way things might have been."

She let her eyes fall to the shimmering skirt of her gown as premonition tainted the last notes. What if the words of my song prove true? I wouldn't be able to bear it if singing took me away from Meg and Madame Giry. He won't allow that to happen, though, will he? He has always only protected me-just like Father did.

She shoved her qualms aside and raised her head. "Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned…" Her soft voice strengthened as she continued. "…imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind."

"Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do. There will never be a day when I won't think of you!" She let the final notes take flight, hoping he could hear what he had accomplished. She might have always had her voice within her, but he had the key to its cage, and it was he, not Christine, that released it from its prison.

Still lost in her world of music and thoughts, Christine gave a start when the audience rose to its feet. The applause and bravos were almost deafening. To have this warm of a reception mid-aria is unheard of! Christine wiggled her toes in excitement and shock, relieved they were covered by the dress.

In so many ways, she still felt the simple ballet girl, content to dance in the background. To have all attention centered on her was an entirely new experience, and one that she wasn't sure she was entirely comfortable with.

The applause continued, and she abruptly remembered what protocol demanded. As gracefully as possible, she sank into a curtsy, darting a quick look off-stage. Meg's eyes shone brightly with admiration and encouragement from where she stood in the shadows. Madame Giry, though, was nowhere to be found. A trace of doubt passed through Christine and settled in the back of her mind.

The crowd finally seated itself once more, allowing Christine to finish her aria. She was still troubled by Madame Giry's absence, but she managed to begin singing once again and the music soon took over.

"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we. But please promise me that sometimes you will think…" She let the notes trail off in preparation for what she was about to do. She only prayed she could pull it off.

She drew a deep breath and allowed the notes to skip off her tongue in a seemingly random order. One key higher and she repeated the pattern. Then she let the notes descend, tripping over each other in a graceful way. She sang one final low note, and then let it jump an octave, holding it long and full. Finally she floated down, singing the last words with all the power she could muster. "Of me!"

Cadenza. Even the word sounded like the music exercise, all up and downs. She couldn't count how many times she had sung the scales during her music lessons. He was relentless, demanding accuracy each and every time. Now, she longed to thank him for drilling that standard so intensely into her. She had never sung such a flawless cadenza.

Apparently, the audience was pleased, too, and rose to its feet in a vociferous ovation. Above the whistles and clapping, she head one of the managers, and raised her eyes in the direction of their box. "Brava! Magnifica! Stupenda!" Andre roared ostentatiously over the crowd.

Slightly embarrassed for the short little man, she flicked her eyes toward Meg as she again made a deep curtsy. Meg's blue eyes sparkled while she clapped her hands ecstatically and grinned. Christine sent her a smile of her own, and then looked to Monsieur Reyer in the orchestra pit.

He met her eye and whispered one word. "Brava."

Christine flushed with pleasure at his compliment even as the audience threw roses and favors at her feet. His praises were few and far between, his taste in music exquisite and fastidious. The audience was easily wooed with loud music, and Meg was loyal to a fault-incapable of anything less than total approbation for Christine. Reyer, though, was blunt; perhaps even more so than Madame Giry, and thus, his opinion carried much weight with Christine. She tucked his praise neatly away in her memory.

She had made it through the performance. Now she only had one desire-to find solace. As soon as she was able, she exited off the stage and made a quick escape to the chapel.