The Ballerina's Secret

Dr. Spencer nodded, and her smile grew even wider. “It means that the hearing in your right ear is potentially on the road to being restored.”

Her right ear only. That explained why she’d felt so lopsided and out of balance. And why she’d fallen out of a piqué turn during her audition.

“You don’t seem nearly as happy about this development as I’d expected. This is what we’ve been waiting for, Tessa. To be honest with you, I’d nearly given up on any kind of natural healing of the connectivity in your middle ear. It’s been a year.”

As if Tessa didn’t know the exact date she’d fallen. September 14. She’d never forget.

“It’s just nothing like I expected.” A siren wailed somewhere outside the building—an ambulance most likely. A migraine began to blossom behind Tessa’s right eye. “Everything is so loud. Distorted. Something must be wrong.”

She blinked back tears. Mr. B pawed at her foot and gazed up at her, his soft brown eyes wide with worry.

Dr. Spencer scooped the dog into her arms and placed her in Tessa’s lap. “I understand your concern, and I promise what you’re experiencing is completely normal. Remember how difficult it was to adjust to your hearing loss? It took time and patience. You need to be gentle with yourself now, just as you were before. Hearing has a profound effect on a person’s perspective on life. It’s time to alter your perspective again.”

Alter her perspective. She could do that. She’d done it before, hadn’t she? “How so, exactly?”

“The only surefire answer is time. I’m going to give you the same advice I give patients right after they receive cochlear implants. Reduce your amount of external stimuli as much as possible. Take things slow. Stay home so you can get used to the common sounds of everyday life. Eventually, the sound won’t be so disorienting for you.”

“Stay home,” Tessa echoed.

At least she’d already told her mother she couldn’t teach tap tonight. If she went straight home after this appointment, she’d have a solid eleven or twelve hours before she had to leave for the final day of auditions in the morning.

She nodded. “Fine. How long are we talking about, exactly?”

Dr. Spencer shrugged. “It varies. It’s different for everyone. Once you’ve gotten reacquainted with the surroundings in your own little world, you can start to venture out of your house. Sometimes it takes months. Most of the time, only a matter of weeks. You used to hear, so the process should go more smoothly for you. I’d say take two to three weeks to yourself before you venture out again.”

Two to three weeks? Impossible. “But I can’t do that. I’m auditioning for the Manhattan Ballet. I have to be in the studio tomorrow.”

Dr. Spencer’s smile vanished altogether. “Now probably isn’t the best time to tackle something new, Tessa.”

“I can’t drop out midaudition. I might never get this chance again.” She shook her head. No. Just no. She couldn’t lose another year of her life. She wouldn’t. “Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is. Could this be temporary? Remember the tinnitus I had just a few weeks after the accident? It went away. This could, too, right?”

She was grasping at straws. What’s more, she wasn’t making sense. What head injury patient with conductive hearing loss complained about her hearing potentially coming back?

Judging from the bewildered look on Dr. Spencer’s face, none of them did. Only Tessa. “The tinnitus was indeed temporary, thank goodness. Some patients go their entire lives with ringing in their ears. I was relieved beyond measure when it became clear you wouldn’t be one of them.”

Tessa swallowed around the lump in her throat. She should be grateful.

And she was. Truly.

She just wished her right ear had waited a day or two before deciding to heal itself, or whatever was going on in there.

Of course, what difference would a day or two have made if she got cast in the new ballet and earned a part in the company? None. Although that possibility was looking less likely by the minute.

“To answer your question, yes. This could only be temporary, too. Head trauma is unpredictable.” The doctor reached around Mr. B to give Tessa’s hand a squeeze. “I hope it’s not. Deep down, I think you hope the same thing.”

The doctor was right.

Tessa nodded.

But since the day thirteen months ago, when her partner dropped her at ballet rehearsal, Tessa’s hope had taken a serious hit. She wasn’t sure how much she had left anymore.

* * *

The solution seemed obvious—Tessa was going to have to withdraw from the auditions.

She waited until the next morning to decide, on the off chance that she’d wake up and find that everything had gone back to normal. Normal, meaning silent. She didn’t breathe a word about what happened at her doctor’s appointment to her mother, or anyone else, for that matter. How silly would it have been to have to go back and explain that she hadn’t gotten her hearing back after all?

She was in denial. Clearly. Because when she woke up and turned on the bathroom faucet to brush her teeth, it sounded as though she were standing on the edge of Niagara Falls.

I can’t keep going like this and pretending nothing is happening.

She was quitting.

Maybe someday she’d get to audition again, if they agreed to give her another chance. Tessa wasn’t holding her breath.

She was going to explain to Madame Daria in person, though, just in case it might make a difference next year. Or the year after that. It would be her last trip outside for the next few weeks. Her swan song. Then she’d follow Dr. Spencer’s advice and hole herself up until the world made sense again.