MADELEINE

As Deirdre and I take our individual bows, I cannot help but smile, for once satisfied with something that has happened to me. When I came to the opera six years ago, I had expected nothing more than the trash I had been given all my life. I'd been living on the streets of Paris from a very young age as an orphan. My mother, Chloe, had been a prostitute, my father a wealthy married man who'd wanted nothing to do with me. She'd died of syphilis when I was six and since I had no family, I would have had to live in an orphanage, which is really just a fancy word for a filthy, abusive, disgusting environment where children are spit on until they are old enough and lucky enough to get out. I ran from the house before the police had a chance to find Mother's rotting corpse.

I had always been determined and got my first job at age seven after a year of eating other people's garbage as a dishwasher at a local café. It wasn't a particularly pleasant job, but at least I could afford to eat. The manager, Monsieur Dupont let me sleep on the kitchen floor near the stove at night so I wouldn't have to sleep out in the chilly weather. Not that he didn't require a repayment; he was by no means a kind man. I try not to think of those days when my innocence was lost well before it should have been, but I do not regret it for if I hadn't agreed to his terms, I would probably be dead today.

By the age of twelve, I was avoiding going back to the café until after it had closed since my working hours ended about an hour before closing. I was so incredibly tired. Tired of being used as an outlet for a man's anger and desires. Tired of being a filthy little nothing, who people avoided on the street because I smelled like trash and dish soap. One particularly cold night when I was twelve, Monsieur Dupont and I had had a horrible fight after I'd accidentally cried out that he was hurting me. He'd hit me across the face with his huge fist and told me to get out. I'd didn't hesitate and quickly pulled my clothes over my body before I stumbled out the door, afraid he'd come after me if I moved too slow. I had no possessions to speak of other than my mother's locket, which I never removed.

I walked down the streets of Paris, my teeth chattering as I clutched my thin chemise and old pinafore to my body. The wind was blowing and it was beginning to snow. I'd walked so far and so fast that soon I was quite lost and didn't know where to turn. I finally came to a huge magnificent building which I knew was the Paris Opera house. Maybe if I lay on the steps, it will not be so bad…I tried to lie as close to the door as possible, aching to feel the warmth from inside. I pulled my legs up into my pinafore as far as I could for it was much too short, having stolen it from someone's trash. I had almost fallen asleep before I'd heard a girl's voice.

"Maman! Look there!" She cried. I slowly opened my eyes to see a blonde girl and a woman who was quite obviously her mother. There was also an older woman dressed in all black, who had a sharp but warm look to her. I braced myself for what was to come next, but the next thing I knew, the old lady had me by the arm and was firmly saying,
"Child! Get into this building before you catch your death out here!" She practically dragged me into the building, the warmth hitting my ice cold face pleasantly. I stumbled behind the old lady, trying to keep up with her as she held my arm.
They brought me into a dormitory room and sat me on a small twin bed. The blonde lady leaned down to look at my face, gasping when she saw my cuts and bruises.
"Mother, will you look at this?" She said to the old woman, who had retrieved a warm cloth from the bathroom and had begun to wipe my face with it. She shook her head sadly at the sight of me. She was rough but I could sense there was softness to her as she did the same for my arms and legs. I couldn't remember the last time I had bathed and, feeling embarrassed I began to cry. The old lady took my face into her hands ever so gently and said,
"Relax child, you are safe now…no one here is going to hurt you. Now why don't you tell us who you are and how you came to our door."

I told them everything from Mother, to Monsieur Dupont. They sat in stunned silence, just listening, trying not to seem too alarmed, but I knew what they were thinking. I was nothing more than street trash and deserved nothing but pity. Well, damn their pity! I began to get up to leave but the old woman sat me back down, firmly saying.
"You will stay here in the opera. I will talk to Messieurs Firmin and Andre, the managers tomorrow to see about you getting a job here." I breathed, finally hopeful.
"Really?" I asked, looking to both woman. The blonde lady nodded, smiling as the old woman disappeared into the room where the younger girl was.

"What shall we call you girl?" She asked me and I gasped, realizing I had not told them my name.
"Madeleine," I said, "Madeleine Denton…" The old woman returned with a clean white nightgown in hand and said,
"I am Antoinette Giry and this is my daughter, Meg Bennett. That girl in the other room is her daughter, Deirdre. She is fifteen, how old are you?" I blushed.
"Twelve…" I said, quietly and her eyes widened.
"Twelve years old and have already lived a life no thirty year old has." She muttered to herself, "Well then, off with those filthy rags." I didn't hesitate for I had no doubt she would strike me with her cane if I didn't obey her.

I started out as a maid and was given hand me down dresses from the older girls. I cleaned up the dressing rooms after the performers had done with them, and I scrubbed the floors of the grand ballroom. I didn't mind the work for at least I didn't have to worry about being beaten on a daily basis. Still, it had its pros and cons. For instance, some of the older ballerinas would make fun of me as I worked, calling me a dust bunny and other pointless names. Nothing I hadn't been called before, so I just ignored their pettiness and went on with my work silently. If I wanted to I could exceed all of them in talent, and from the first day they teased me on, I vowed to make it happen.

I woke up three hours earlier than usual every morning to finish my work early and then I would sneak into the backstage area and mimic the ballerina's moves, teaching myself. I paid close attention to Madame Bennett as she taught, soaking in the vocabulary and watching as she demonstrated for the class. Soon after I began this, as I did my work every day, I would find myself doing Petit rond de jambe par terres, and pirouettes as I mopped the floor or polished furniture. I was obsessed with excelling in the ballet and even at night before bed, I practiced before the small mirror in my meager dormitory room.

No one ever spoke to me except for Deirdre Bennett, who was three years older than I and we became fast friends. She gave me tips on ballet, giving me the one on one tuition I needed. I admit, it wasn't the greatest tuition but I really did appreciate the gesture. So few people in my life had treated me with kindness, I took any I could get. One morning, after I had finished the chores for the day, I stood in the shadows backstage, practicing the routine that Madame Bennett had taught to the class that day when I heard someone clear their throat. I whirled about to see Madame Giry standing there with a rare smile on her face as she approached me.

"You dance?" She asked me, surprised. I flushed, embarrassed that I had been caught.
"I'm sorry Madame, I only watch and mimic, I am no dancer." I said, hoping she wouldn't tell the managers what I had been up to. She clicked her tongue,
"That's really too bad, Madeleine, because I was going to say you are one of the best I've seen." My eyes brightened, as I sighed in relief.
"You were?" She laughed.
"Yes, I was…in fact I think I will talk to Meg tonight and see if we can't arrange for you to join the corps de ballet." Without thinking, I threw my arms tightly around her in a rare show of affection, immediately feeling embarrassed.
"I'm sorry…" I said, looking down and she tilted my chin up.
"Nonsense." She said.

The next day, I was introduced to the class as the new student along with some grumbling from the crueler girls. Madame Bennett threatened them to hush or leave and they never bothered me again. Six years later, here I am, having just danced my first solo in Faust. As Deirdre, whom I lovingly call Didi and I walk backstage we are crowded by our fellow performers and friends. As I am laughing with Didi about how nervous we both were I look up and meet the most captivating pair of silvery green eyes I have ever seen. I look away, ignoring it and go back into my conversation until I feel a gently tap on my shoulder. I turn and find myself once again lost in those surreal eyes, almost entirely speechless, but careful not to make it obvious. He offers me a bouquet of red roses and says in the most beautiful voice I've ever heard,
"Mademoiselle, would you please accept these flowers and my invitation to accompany me to the gala tonight?"