but arty, what do you mean GREENGRASS SISTERS ANGST? the type of memory that haunts both girls, when daphne was barely eight and astoria was nearing her seventh birthday.
if there's something you must know about mrs. greengrass, is that she loves to watch ballet—an ambitious performance at the end of the day, sipping from the champagne left in the vip box mr. greengrass bought for a higher price, just to make his wife happier. naturally, because daphne was only eight or nine years old back then, winning her parents' attention was still a competition she fought in, teeth and nails, without giving up even when sadness caught up to her.
for that reason, daphne began ballet lessons.
it began with a request, an interest she voiced over a meal, cautious to not be interrupted by astoria coughing or her parents' conversation. silly as it was, daphne remembers how her mother's eyes shone back then—for almost twelve minutes, mrs. greengrass' attention was daphne's, and daphne's alone.
on the following day, daphne greengrass' name was written on a studio's list. two days later, she went on a shopping trip with her mom—a girls day, without astoria!—to buy her the pointy shoes, along with new clothes and ribbons to make daphne a proper ballerina. pink, baby pink, actually; all of her new clothes, shoes and materials had a very similar tone.
truth to be told, daphne didn't really care about ballet. it looked painful, rigid and sometimes a bit silly in her opinion—that was what she thought, until the kind teacher who helped daphne get a move right praised her, generous with her words, mentioning how daphne was a natural. from then on, daphne rushed to her classes with greater enthusiasm and motivation than ever before.
daphne practiced. made sure her teacher watched every move, questioned if she was doing it right, if there was space for improvement so she's perfect, when her class is finally ready to perform in front of their parents. daphne even practiced at home, closing her door and yelling through it at astoria because she's busy!
the attention, the compliments—how mommy asked daphne to do that move again, how daddy personally came to pick her up from classes with a big smile. how astoria wasn't the center of attention every meal and conversation ever held in the greengrass household. daphne was, at last, creating space for herself in her parents' hearts while her feet ached more and more due to the pointy shoes.
the heartbreaking part is that daphne did fall in love with ballet. it would have been a path that daphne might have pursued in the long-term, if the rehearsal she practiced so hard for had gone through as she wanted. as daphne envisioned it. as she deserved.
because throughout those four days daphne practiced the hardest, counting down the days, hours and minutes for the performance...
well. through those same four days, astoria almost choked on her own coughs, holding them back with a very serious and panicked face, so their parents wouldn't notice that she's sick again. if astoria was with a fever, then their mother would fuss over her all over again, and for sure, astoria would be bedridden—which also meant that she couldn't peak from the doorframe, and watch daphne dance a song from the nutcracker. the one she'd be dancing alone in four days, also participating in two other songs with her classmates.
astoria envied that. envied a little bit, in her small and weak heart, that she could go to those classes too, partner up with daphne when the girls warm up for the class ahead, ask daphne to teach her some moves so they can dance together. astoria, at the tender age of seven, decided that it's for the best—she'd probably freeze like a bunny held in a stranger's arms, if she had to dance on a stage, facing countless of strangers.
so, astoria did her best on her performance, too. did her best to feign health, pressed her lips together when her body ached a little more. only four more days to go. three. two. one. a couple of hours. a handful of minutes before they have to dress up and leave.
in the end, it seems that holding back her coughing and not saying a thing about feeling unwell, worsened astoria's condition. feverish, pushing through her sore numbness to sluggishly fit a boot on her left foot, astoria groaned and thrashed around and complained that no, she wants to watch her big sis on a stage today, and that she's feeling perfectly fine, thank you.
when the curtains draw, the first thing daphne does is search through the crowd in the dimlit room for her parents. at first, daphne believes that she might need some glasses, or that it's a difficult thing to do, given the darker ambience. daphne doesn't believe that her parents didn't come.
through the first act, daphne keeps a big smile, still looking around for her mother and father, discreetly so. not missing a single step—just in case mom and dad are watching. her solo is where she starts losing hope, her huge smile slowly fading when she stares at the left corner for the fifteenth time in two minutes. by the time the last act joins all the girls together for a last song, daphne's shoulders don't slump because she's too busy holding her arms up, a perfect curve as she twirls for other girls' parents.
envy. daphne feels the ugliest envy in the world, eating at her from the inside out, as she sits on a chair—lonely, visibly forgotten, still wearing her tutu and a puffy coat covering her justaucorp—watching her friends leave, one by one, through the door.
holding their parents' hands, the center of attention and the object of endless praise, even though daphne danced way better than them—she didn't make a single mistake!
but that doesn't make any difference, does it? daphne was the best dancer, the most committed to the show, the one who practiced the most... so why is she the only kid with no parents around? mrs. and mr. greengrass didn't come to watch her perform, and at this point, daphne wonders if they forgot her here. if they'll come to pick her up at all.
on the verge of crying, the door jingles. it's not mommy. not daddy either, although he never missed a single pick up. no—it's someone daphne recognizes, her family's motorist. a warm hand that tries to soothe her tantrum, panicked eyes that don't really know what to do with her—no one ever does.
the ride back home is silent. daphne keeps her arms crossed from the moment she sits on the backseat, to the moment she's coaxed out of the car upon arriving.
daphne dragged her bag on the floor as she walked, each step heavier than the other, perhaps in hopes that her messy steps would draw attention. ungraceful, unlike the talented little girl who performed so well tonight.
her feet betray her. no, perhaps it was her eyes instead.
daphne stops in front of astoria's bedroom. the door is, in a matter of unintentional cruelty, half-closed; open enough to allow daphne to peak inside without meaning to.
and there, tucked in by her mother's trembling hands, astoria half-sits, half-lays in her bed. the blankets almost drown her, fussed over excessively. astoria's eyes are a little wide despite the fever, communicating a small plea for help even though there's no one there to speak some sense to their parents. their father sits there, too, his heavy hand gently patting over astoria's legs above the thick covers.
oh. so that's where they were. it's a dry thought, one that squints daphne's eyes with a hatred far too big for her chest—perhaps so consuming, that daphne might not even cry tonight.
astoria feels so guilty, though. she wanted to see daphne perform—truly, she did! it was unlucky, how her symptoms got visibly worse two hours before daphne's rehearsal!
but daphne would never forgive astoria for this, would she? deep down, both girls know this, for a fact. no matter astoria's good intentions. nevermind daphne's efforts.
her ballerina shoes are thrown into a deep corner of her closet, abandoned there, somewhere amidst the mess that tangles further throughout the years. even in her late teenage years, daphne doesn't feel brave enough to reach for them.
but maybe, in another life... daphne would have pursued ballet—and astoria wouldn't miss a single show, not one rehearsal left unattended.
