Dance, My Angel

I lower my head, ashamed to be such a bad granddaughter. These remarks are entirely justified.

— I'm sorry to disappoint you, Granny.

She stops so abruptly to look me in the face that my parents stumble upon us.

— You will never disappoint me Caitlyn Cat. Do you hear me? I'm extremely proud of you and so are your parents.

She gives them a strong look to which they can only respond positively.

— Of course Caitlyn. We're happy for you.

It is not really the same as being proud, but I would settle for it. I know I would not get anything better from them. We resume our slow walk.

— I just want you to discover something other than dance. Besides, I'd like to introduce you to Baraqiel.

— Your neighbor?

She agrees, nodding.

— You never told me his first name. It is very strange.

— Don't judge him without meeting him. He is an angel, darling.

Of course! My grandmother loves everyone regardless of anything. The good-natured conversation could have ended there, but obviously my mother had to get involved once we are sitting at the table.

— In any case, mother-in-law, you know well that Caitlyn has no time for love. For that she would have to be interested in someone other than herself, and this is not about to happen.

My mother is getting more and more bitter. I wonder why she forces herself to come to see me when she clearly does not want to. No doubt that is not my grandmother's fault. She knows how to be very persuasive. I would like to be able to tell my family that I love them, but that would require my parents to accept me as I am and they would never do it. Today it is too late and my silence is always taken as a rejection. In fact, it is more an acceptance of the situation. As always, my grandmother serves as a buffer in our conflicting relationships. I believe that without her, there would be no interaction at all between my parents and me.

─ Let's order. It's getting late for an old lady like me.

I choose my dishes, but I feel oppressed between the heavy silence at our table and the hubbub of other customers' conversations. My grandmother knows me well and squeezes my hand under the table.

─ Go ahead, you have time.

I get up hurriedly, ignoring my mother who is already starting to grumble. The air from the outside makes me feel good. The light breeze caresses my bare legs and makes my cheeks rosy. I take advantage of the calm of the night to take a few steps before leaning against a wall and looking up at the sky. There is not a single cloud and the stars twinkle on this beautiful black velvet carpet. I could stay here for hours to let this peace invade my tormented soul. When I was little, I dreamed of flying away and dancing on a cloud. Nevertheless, a sound of footsteps on my left makes me startle and realize where I am. I am a lonely woman in a dark alley in New York. I straighten up, an uneasiness choking my guts. I turn back to get to the door of the restaurant. I am not very far and yet the distance suddenly seems enormous. I feel like someone is following me. I am sure of it. Footsteps. Heavy breathing. I do not like it and a dull anguish squeezes my stomach while my heart beats fast. I quicken my pace, relieved until I finally reach my goal, and I thank the doorman who takes the lead by letting me pass without me having to slow down. In the shelter of the glass doors I turn around, but I only see the deserted and silent street. There is no one on the horizon. My heart resumes a calmer rhythm, but my head is stuck in anxiety. Emotions mix in me, threatening to cause an autistic crisis like I have not experienced in a long time. I take refuge in one of the toilet cubicles, I lock it, I curl up on myself on the floor, and I start to swing back and forth. I need to dance to externalize the fear that consumes me. Only it is impossible to do it right now. So I try to refocus on myself and to clear my mind. Easier said than done!

There is a click of heels on the tiles in front of my door. I back off instinctively, but I am blocked by the toilet bowl behind my back.

─ Caitlyn kitten? You're okay? I saw you in the lobby, but you didn't come back to the table.

Hearing Grandma's voice makes me feel good. I choose to focus on that, on her and her voice, counting in my head. Inspiration, 1, 2, 3, 4. Expiration, 1, 2, 3, 4. I repeat the exercise five times in a row. My grandmother, after making a round trip along all the cubicles, stops at my door.

─ Open up kitten. I'm sure you're here.

I extend my arm to unlock the lock and Granny opens it gently. Her eyes are sad when she looks at me. She squats in front of me and strokes my hair as she always does when she feels I am tormented.

─ What's going on, darling?

I do not want to talk about it. Not now, and certainly not here. I am going to tell her everything. I need to. But I would do it at home, in the safety of my apartment. If I am still safe there, which I'm not sure about anymore.

─ Your parents love you Caitlyn Cat. They just don't know how to behave with you. They can't understand you.

─ I know, Granny. It doesn't matter.

I prefer that she thinks my reaction is due to this awkward dinner, for the moment anyway.

─ Come on, come on, darling. Don't stay on the floor, you'll catch a cold on that frozen tile.

She helps me get up and arranges the bottom of my dress which is slightly pulled up.

─ You are past the age of showing your panties, my dear.

Her comment draws a smile from me and we join our table hand in hand.

─ Finally here you are again. What were you doing Caitlyn? Were you handing out autographs?

I could laugh about it if only I did not want to cry. My mother is convinced that I prefer fame to family life by their side. How wrong she is! What I have chosen is normality, freedom. In the end, I chose to free my mind from all the feelings that bombard me all the time, to live an ordinary life, even if most people do not think it is that ordinary. It is true that a picture of me dressed as a classical dancer is on half of the buses of the city and that I regularly make an appearance in all trade magazines. However, all I see is that I do what I love. And until recently, I was able to ignore all the crap around me.

— You could at least sit down, so we can finally start!

— Sorry. Of course!

Indeed, as usual, I was lost in my thoughts and I remained frozen next to the table. Then I sit on my chair and the meal goes like all the others, in an almost religious silence, only interspersed with phrases from my grandmother who desperately tries to renew the dialogue between all of us.

— Maybe tomorrow we could visit the city together.

— Certainly not! Our national star surely has better things to do than spend time with us.

Definitely my mother will never forgive me for being who I am: independent. When I was diagnosed with autism, she was upset, my tantrums being unmanageable, but she also thought that I would always need her by my side to succeed in life, and she liked that idea. She thought I would be mommy’s little girl forever. The future has shown her otherwise.

I would rather answer grandma so I do not argue with my mom.

— I'm not working tomorrow. We are given a day off. I just have to practice in the morning and then I'm all yours.

— A real miracle! It doesn't have to happen often, because you don't even take the time to call us!

Grandma intervenes, as always.

— I'd love to visit Ellis Island. We have never been there before.

I have never set foot there either. Being stuck on a ferry has never excited me more than that, but walking away with my grandma from the Big Apple and my worries, even for a few hours, is a very seductive idea.

— That's a great idea, Granny. We will go there after lunch. I'll get the tickets before my rehearsal.

— And you don't even ask us if we would like to join you, of course!

I swallow the lump that is blocking my throat. My mother will not spare me anything tonight. Looks like it is time to settle our accounts. Unfortunately, I can't stand it but I'd rather be docile than face it, even if I break the armrest of my chair by clenching my fingers on it.