Well, that's it, then. Nineteen years of my life totally wasted. A headful of specialist knowledge, a body rich with muscle memory, and what has it got me" Back in my old room here in Birch Rise, with only my mother's disappointment for company. Oh, yes, hail the returning hero.
How was I supposed to know what was going to happen" Surely Mother would have told me if she'd known. At least, I hope she would have. It would, admittedly, be out of character for her to risk crippling me for her own vicarious dreams. But would she really do that' Really' The whole problem is genetic, according to the doctors I've seen.
"I really am very sorry, Miss Granger," Doctor Macleish told me, and I know just from that sentence that my sprained ankle meant a lot more than just a few weeks in bandages. "It is my recommendation that you do not put yourself in a situation where such stresses on your bone structure are commonplace."
I stared at him for a long time while this sank in. Not just the medical recomendation, but what he hadn't said as well. Stresses on my bone structure ....had this freak accident somehow made me more vulnerable to breaks" But the first thing I said had everything to do with my immediate future.
"You're talking about dancing, aren't you?" I asked warily. "Are you telling me that I can't dance anymore?"
He sighed heavily, passing his hand over his brow, and raised his eyes to meet mine, no doubt wanting me to be absolutely sure of his sincerity. "Due to the genetic weakness in your bones, particularly of the lower leg, I would strongly suggest you find another career path," he nodded slowly. "You could, naturally, continue dancing; I cannot stop you, I can only give you my professional opinion. But if you do continue, I cannot guarantee that the next such accident will not result in the snapping of both your ankles, not just a sprain."
"So just like that, my career is over" One - one! - bad landing, and all of a sudden I can't dance anymore?" I could feel the shock coursing through me, not quite able to think clearly. But I could think clearly enough for one thing. "You say this is genetic, right' Why the hell haven't I had an accident like this before" Why now, why not when I was a teenager, when I was still in training?" When I could have convinced my mother to let me study something else.
"Indeed, you have been incredibly lucky not to have taken such a fall long before now," Dr Macleish nodded again, his expression suggesting that luck was all I'd had and, oh look, now it had run out. "You have been in the corps de ballet for three years now?"
"Four," I corrected him, biting down the desire to either shout or cry. This wasn't fair. What the hell had I done wrong that I was going to be ousted from my only source of income thanks to some mutant genetics? "I'd just been given the prima role in Tchaikovsky's The Sleeping Beauty; we were blocking out the lifts in the pas de deux ....One bad landing, that's all it was, just one! This isn't fair!"
"No, Miss Granger, it is not," the doctor agreed with me, validating my sense of self-righteous anger while at the same time reprimanding me for the outburst. But then, I had noticed that English people did that a lot in my time here. "Should you continue dancing, there is a high probability that the next accident will break your ankles, and the next will cripple you. It is your decision, of course, but I would not like to see you confined to a wheelchair for the rest of your life through idiocy."
And that was that. The doctor passed his assessment on to Madame Mason and Monsieur McGregor - the director and the choreographer at the Royal Ballet, where I worked - and within a couple of days, I was dismissed with half my pay for the month ahead, and gently but firmly evicted from my room in the Opera House itself. There was pity from the others in the corps, but no sympathy. Most of them were in their mid-twenties anyway; they only had another four or five years at best to make their mark before being forced to retire themselves.
So here I am, back in a city I barely know, living with a mother who thinks I gave up too easily, a part of a family I never really had the opportunity to get to know in the first place. On crutches, in bandages, and thoroughly disillusioned with life in general. Not the triumphal return most people will have expected.
How was I supposed to know what was going to happen" Surely Mother would have told me if she'd known. At least, I hope she would have. It would, admittedly, be out of character for her to risk crippling me for her own vicarious dreams. But would she really do that' Really' The whole problem is genetic, according to the doctors I've seen.
"I really am very sorry, Miss Granger," Doctor Macleish told me, and I know just from that sentence that my sprained ankle meant a lot more than just a few weeks in bandages. "It is my recommendation that you do not put yourself in a situation where such stresses on your bone structure are commonplace."
I stared at him for a long time while this sank in. Not just the medical recomendation, but what he hadn't said as well. Stresses on my bone structure ....had this freak accident somehow made me more vulnerable to breaks" But the first thing I said had everything to do with my immediate future.
"You're talking about dancing, aren't you?" I asked warily. "Are you telling me that I can't dance anymore?"
He sighed heavily, passing his hand over his brow, and raised his eyes to meet mine, no doubt wanting me to be absolutely sure of his sincerity. "Due to the genetic weakness in your bones, particularly of the lower leg, I would strongly suggest you find another career path," he nodded slowly. "You could, naturally, continue dancing; I cannot stop you, I can only give you my professional opinion. But if you do continue, I cannot guarantee that the next such accident will not result in the snapping of both your ankles, not just a sprain."
"So just like that, my career is over" One - one! - bad landing, and all of a sudden I can't dance anymore?" I could feel the shock coursing through me, not quite able to think clearly. But I could think clearly enough for one thing. "You say this is genetic, right' Why the hell haven't I had an accident like this before" Why now, why not when I was a teenager, when I was still in training?" When I could have convinced my mother to let me study something else.
"Indeed, you have been incredibly lucky not to have taken such a fall long before now," Dr Macleish nodded again, his expression suggesting that luck was all I'd had and, oh look, now it had run out. "You have been in the corps de ballet for three years now?"
"Four," I corrected him, biting down the desire to either shout or cry. This wasn't fair. What the hell had I done wrong that I was going to be ousted from my only source of income thanks to some mutant genetics? "I'd just been given the prima role in Tchaikovsky's The Sleeping Beauty; we were blocking out the lifts in the pas de deux ....One bad landing, that's all it was, just one! This isn't fair!"
"No, Miss Granger, it is not," the doctor agreed with me, validating my sense of self-righteous anger while at the same time reprimanding me for the outburst. But then, I had noticed that English people did that a lot in my time here. "Should you continue dancing, there is a high probability that the next accident will break your ankles, and the next will cripple you. It is your decision, of course, but I would not like to see you confined to a wheelchair for the rest of your life through idiocy."
And that was that. The doctor passed his assessment on to Madame Mason and Monsieur McGregor - the director and the choreographer at the Royal Ballet, where I worked - and within a couple of days, I was dismissed with half my pay for the month ahead, and gently but firmly evicted from my room in the Opera House itself. There was pity from the others in the corps, but no sympathy. Most of them were in their mid-twenties anyway; they only had another four or five years at best to make their mark before being forced to retire themselves.
So here I am, back in a city I barely know, living with a mother who thinks I gave up too easily, a part of a family I never really had the opportunity to get to know in the first place. On crutches, in bandages, and thoroughly disillusioned with life in general. Not the triumphal return most people will have expected.