Even Swans Make Mistakes

Has any other well-to-do girl ever seemed like as much of a criminal as me? Camille pondered, sitting in the garden, watching her trembling hands. She felt like she had stolen something. In fact, she knew she had. Not something, however, but someone. All she could do now was wait until he woke up.

***

An experienced dancer since she was six, Camille took new members of her class under her wing. They were usually complete beginners, more interested in having fun than anything else. She stuck to the basics with them. That afternoon, she taught a group of three how to do a plié and, while the two struggled, one had no problem. He simply stood, switching his curious gaze between them and Camille. She stepped over to him, careful not to seem intimidating.

“So, you have some experience in ballet?” she asked.

The man scratched his chin and hesitated. Emily, the instructor, passed by, stopping cold. She smiled and gave Camille a sideways glance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Emily asked her quietly.

“Oh, nothing too advanced.”

“Honey,” Emily replied, shaking her head. “He is advanced.”

“What do you mean?”

Camille hated to be embarrassed. It was the reason she took up dancing again, after her fiancé cheated on her just two months ago. She was determined to never look like a fool again. Yet, now, she could sense something disastrous coming.

“Here, Camille,” Emily said, pointing to the man’s shirt.

That was when Camille spotted the small crest on the man’s shirt and nearly slapped herself. It was the crest of the Académie de Danse, a prestigious French institution that taught some of the best dancers in Europe. Despite the man, whose name was Will, humbly accepting her apologies, Camille’s whole face reddened with shame.

Once class officially started, she realized just how wrong she had been. Emily introduced Will to the others, stating he was a professional dancer from Paris, traveling around the world to learn and improve. She winked at Camille as she said the last part. Afterward, she allowed Will to step up and demonstrate some of his techniques. It was immediately clear he was better than everyone in the room. He leapt and contorted his body in a way that Camille had never seen before, and with such grace that it seemed he was gliding on air. Nothing was too difficult for him. He could dance in multitudes of styles, from the Vaganova, to the Cecchetti, to the Bournonville, and more, as if he was born doing them. All anyone could do was watch.

After that incident, Camille needed to show she wasn’t inferior. She had to do a pas de deux, a partner piece, the next week, for an abridged version of Swan Lake that the class would soon perform. Possibly by a twist of fate, or for everyone’s entertainment, she was matched up with Will. Here, the tables were completely turned. Will took the lead, his hands on her waist and his head dipped, whispering instructions and helping with the more intricate aspects of the dance. Frustration bubbled within Camille as she made mistakes and had to listen to him correct her. At the same time, she also got to see a different side of Will.

They would practice for hours some days after class. Camille would get upset and tell him to let her go over her moves herself. He’d calmly nod and sit, leaning against the mirrors, offering advice when she looked at him. Then, when nobody else was in the studio and they were both exhausted, Will began to talk. He asked what sparked her love for dance. At first, Camille shook him off, but eventually, she told him, and then about her fiancé.

“Does he still try to talk to you?” Will asked.

“Yes, every day.”

“What does he say?”

“He told me once that everything after him is just a fling.”

Will rolled his eyes when he heard that. He told Camille a story of something similar, when his girlfriend of five years had cheated on him. Camille didn’t say anything, but she was shocked. The more time she spent with Will, the harder it was to spot any flaws he had. Or, the less they began to matter. It made her competitive before, but now, much like with his dancing, she could only appreciate it.

Friday was the last day of class before the show. They had the next week off for a holiday. At the end of the day, though, Will stopped Camille outside of class.

“Would you like to go over our dance next week?” he asked.

Camille knew he was aware they had a break. Nevertheless, she accepted. A few days later, when Will asked if she would like to practice at his house, she said yes again.

It was a cottage in the countryside. Surrounding it were dozens of blooming magnolia trees. Their cream white flowers floated down, swaying with the falling leaves to a chorus of songbirds, like they were dancing a waltz. Below, Camille and Will stood by a flowing fountain, quietly dancing along.

“This place is very nice,” she remarked, looking around. “It’s yours?”

“My uncle’s. He left me the house after he passed away.”

“Would you ever live here?”

“It depends.”

By the time they had dinner, and the moon was out, they still hadn’t practiced. Both had forgotten about it.

***

In the morning, Camille awoke and silently slipped out. She sat in a wicker chair with a sweater wrapped tight around her. Frost gathered on the grass. Winter had arrived. Honeybees buzzed around the various bushes in the garden, making their early commutes. Soon, she heard footsteps behind her. It was Will with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

“So, what did you say before?” he asked, smiling. “You feel like a criminal?”

“Yes. I’ve stolen you away.”

“But you know I was happy to leave France for you?”

Camille shrugged gloomily. Leaning down, Will offered his hand. Camille rose, and they performed their dance like they used to. 

“Left foot in,” Will said, guiding her, “right arm out.”

Their eyes met when they finished. Camille studied Will’s face, and the grays in his hair and beard. After forty years of marriage, she still felt nervous that one day he might leave. She sometime remembered her ex-fiancé’s words and how much they had worried her. It was their engagement that had been the fling. Now, she looked back and saw that she had been a fool, and she couldn’t be happier.