Chapter 21
Mom called me in the morning and said Claus was still at her house and wanted to talk to me and to Peter.
“I’m not sure about that, Mom.” I stopped cleaning the kitchen and sat by the window. “Is it about dancing? Do you know?”
“Yes, he said he wants to talk about the audition and about an opportunity to dance in Columbus. But he also wants to talk to Peter. I’m assuming that means you and Peter are back together? What happened, Ana? I’m so lost.”
“Ask Claus—he’ll tell you all about it.” Saves me from having to admit to Mom that she was right about Claus’s involvement in the Romeo and Juliet thing.
“Well, obviously you still love Peter, and he still loves you, or I wouldn’t have a German dancer moping on my couch.”
“You’ve got that right, Mom.” Might as well make her day. “I’m staying in Georgia—the engagement is back on.”
“Wow! That’s a lot of change.”
“It is…” She was going to put two and two together fast and gloat about being right.
“Well, then let Claus talk to Peter. Claus deserves some closure, don’t you think? He’s in bad shape. Don’t you think talking would be good? And how about this dancing opportunity? Do you want to do it? Are Claus and Peter on good terms?”
“I don’t know, Mom. My head’s still spinning with everything that’s going on. Dancing is the last thing on my mind.” If she did put two and two together, she didn’t mention anything. That was unusual. Did she know I was planning to stop dancing? Had Claus told her anything at all about what’d happened?
“Try to figure out what you want, then talk to Peter and let him decide. This way he can’t complain later, and you’ll know for sure if he can handle it.”
“That doesn’t sound right either.” I traced the white cherry blossoms of the vinyl tablecloth with my fingertips. “Should I put this burden on him?” And should I put him in a position to have to handle more stress after all we’d been through?
“Of course you should. What’s the point of sharing your life with someone if you cannot share your burdens?”
Let him decide?
“Talk to him and then call me, okay?”
I nodded, getting up. “Okay.”
“Good luck, Ana. I love you.”
“Thanks, Mom. He went to a meeting but should be here soon.”
I finished cleaning our four-cheese omelet dishes and our coffee mugs.
Let him decide, huh?
I put on Peter’s blue-and-orange flannel jacket and opened the back porch door to a gorgeous Pine Mountain September morning—sunny, fragrant, and bright.
But I couldn’t step out.
Jäger, who’d rushed out ahead of me, cocked his head, as if asking, “What’s the holdup?”
Wondering the same thing myself, I wished I had my New Testament from Prague, but it was at Mom’s house.
Is Lorie’s Bible still here? I closed the door and walked to the living room bookshelf. “Lorie Ashley Allen” was engraved on the bottom-right corner of a pink and purple Bible. I touched the fading silver letters on the worn cover as Jäger scratched the door in protest, wanting to come in too.
Peter hated when he did that.
“Let’s go, boy.”
We walked straight to the water’s edge, and I sat at the end of the pier with Lorie’s Bible on one side and Jäger on the other. I buttoned up Peter’s jacket almost to my neck and enjoyed the lingering masculine scent, anxious for him to get home.
Better decide what I want to do before wishing him back. I picked up the Bible and folded my hands over it.
Dear God, I don’t know what to do.
Of course, I want to dance. Always. It’s like breathing for me, and You know it.
If You are there, You made me, and if You made me, You know it. I have to dance.
But I can’t do it anymore, Lord. It feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. I don’t even know what to pray for.
I can’t decide. I make bad decisions. I’m never happy.
I almost was—twice. And twice everything fell apart.
Just tell me what to do. This is your shot. I can’t fix my life. You do it.
Please…
I looked up at the bright blue sky and resisted the urge to ask if He were really there, if He cared, and if He was listening. A tiny puddle pooled on Lorie’s Bible, and I swiped it away. I tried to pat dry the spot with Peter’s sleeve and hoped the stain would disappear with time.
I opened the book with a deep breath and a quiet hope. First Kings? Okay. Chapter three. Blinking slowly to clear my eyes of the tears, I zeroed in on the word LORD in verse seven. And now, O LORD my God, thou hast made thy servant king instead of David my father: and I am but a little child: I know not how to go out or come in.
“Amen to that.” Who said it? I looked for context. “Ah, Solomon.” I went back to read the chapter from the beginning.
Halfway through it, I rested the open book on my lap and dropped my chin to my chest, unable to keep it up any longer beneath the weight dragging down my heart.
God, in a dream, had asked Solomon what he wanted. Much like a genie, He was granting a wish. Solomon, who’d just become king, didn’t ask for riches, for a long life, or for military victories. He thought of the people, the chosen people of God, and he felt inept to be their ruler. So he asked God for an understanding heart to judge the people.
God gave Solomon the wisdom he asked for, and He was so pleased with the character of Solomon’s wish that He also gave him the riches and honor he hadn’t asked for.
Selflessness. I nodded slowly and raised my eyes to the sky. I’m praying for selflessness, Lord.
The bright blue sky didn’t seem so empty anymore.
Teach me, Father.
I opened to another random page—Matthew, in the New Testament.
“And Zorobabel begat Abiud; and Abiud begat Eliakim; and Eliakim begat Azor; And Azor begat Sadoc; and Sadoc begat Achim; and Achim begat Eliud…”
Okay, let’s just stick with what we’ve got—selflessness. I patted Jäger, who looked at me with eager brown eyes.
Let him decide?
Yes.
Peter arrived at lunchtime and found me asleep on the swing—in the perfect shade of hundreds of red roses. I woke up with him teasing my nose with a rose and sat up, happy to have him back.
“Nice pillow.” He picked up Lorie’s Bible and sat next to me. “When did you become so interested in religion?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, my cheeks warm.
He handed the book to me. “That’s cool. I didn’t know. That’s all.”
I put the Bible on my lap, with Lorie’s name facing down.
“Claus came to see me today.” Peter’s eyes searched mine.
“He did?” Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. What had he said? “Mom called earlier saying he wants to dance…” Peter couldn’t help me decide if he didn’t look at the whole picture. “Did he tell you I’m quitting?”
“He did, but I don’t buy it. I’m sure that’s what you told him, and maybe that’s even what you think you’ll do, but I know you better than that.” Peter relaxed on the swing, with his elbow on the back of the seat and his head on his hand.
The man knew me too well. Balanchine once said, “I don’t want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance.” I was definitely the kind who had to, and in my mind, I was on the stage of the RiverCenter rehearsing already. But I could change, right? I’d prayed, and selflessness was the word that had come up, so I had to be selfless. Let him decide.
“What do you want to do? Do you want to dance in this mixed bill?” His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose.
“It would be weird to dance with Claus, after all that we’ve been through.” Could I do it and handle it professionally? Absolutely. Should I put Peter through it? No way. Let him decide. “I don’t have to do it, baby.”
“Why are you talking about quitting dancing?”
“It’s not working out.” A hurtful lump formed in my throat. “I’m just not good enough.”
“Nonsense.”
“Yes-sense,” I said, the urge to cry miraculously gone. “In Wiesbaden I had a chance because of Claus. Without him, I’m ordinary at best.”
“The ballet people in Columbus would beg to differ, and so would I.”
“Well, I’m not in Columbus anymore.”
“How about Atlanta?” Peter ran his hand through my hair. “The old plan?”
“The company there is big, like Wiesbaden.”
“You were in the company in Wiesbaden.”
“Not really. Not officially. I was going to audition late this month.”
“You would have made it.”
“Not exactly.” I shook my head, not sure how to approach the choreography and the Met part of my German life.
“What do you mean?”
If I were to have a future with Peter, I would have to be honest with him. No more secrets, or hiding, or framing. I had to tell him about my life in Germany, even if meant talking about Claus and unfulfilled dreams. “They pulled me aside in the summer, saying I wouldn’t make it, but that there was a chance under certain conditions.”
“Conditions?”
“Claus had been talking about choreographing, but he didn’t seem motivated to start anything.” I looked down and brushed my palms together. “So they told me I would have a chance if Claus created a piece for us to perform immediately after the audition.”
“Wow. What did Claus do?”
I made him mad. He made me mad. Then he proposed. “He choreographed. I guess, with the prize in mind, he just did it.”
“The prize?”
“The Met.”
“The Met?”
“His company is dancing at the Met in the spring. They were going to put the choreography in the Met program if they liked it. It would have been the perfect plug to sell a few extra tickets during a recession, I guess. Top dancer choreographing for his American wife.”
“No way.” He leaned closer. “You? At the Met?”
“Lots of ‘ifs,’ but we were hopeful.”
“Wait. Wife?”
“We were going to get married this Christmas.”
“Ana, wow.” He stood up, running his fingers through his hair, his hands stopping interlocked behind his neck. “Are you gonna be okay with not doing that?”
“Not doing what? The Met or marrying Claus?”
“Both.”
“I’m okay about Claus—I ache over what he must be going through, but you said it best, he broke his own heart. I’m not okay yet about letting go of the Met, but I will be.”
Peter looked at me, his smile quiet and fitting.
“I’ll be fine.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and tightened my lips.
“Oh, Ana, you will wonder forever.”
“True, but see, it was all just a possibility. If I had already auditioned, passed, and rehearsed, then it would be harder.”
“Then I would tell you just to do it.”
“Oh, you would tell me?”
“Yes,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “I would tell you.”
Let him decide? I tried to ignore the new feelings the mighty man in front of me had just ignited.
“Ana, are you okay?”
“Uh-huh.” I centered myself on the swing and pushed back before hugging my knees. “You know, to wonder forever doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” I shrugged, looking at the still lake. “I couldn’t have handled it if they told me it was still not good enough. Could you imagine? Traveling to New York to watch him dance with someone else what he had choreographed for me?”
“You would have made it, though.”
“Only God knows what if.” That’s what Claus always said.
“I’m sorry, Ana.” He sat back down and patted his lap.
“Me too.” I rested my head on his thigh and curled up on the swing. “Me too.”
A gentle breeze made delicate ripples on the lake’s surface and stirred up the roses just enough to make their sweet smell suddenly stronger.
“Do you love him?” Peter played with my hair, his voice tender.
This is the perfect time for a white lie. But the lying part of the program is over. Big time over. “I do. I love you both so much. So much, Peter.”
He nodded, quiet and composed. “Are you sure you want to be with me?”
“Positive.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I don’t know how I know—I just do. I love you. Life with you is laid back and fun. We’re complete opposites, and that’s exciting to me.” How could I explain to him what I myself couldn’t quite understand? His eyes were still on me. “See, when I’m not with you, I get intense and crazy and too busy. I’m never still, nothing is sufficient.” That was it right there. With Peter next to me, being was sufficient. I was sufficient. Our love wasn’t performance based—it was absolutely unconditional. With Claus I felt like I had to always be doing something to feel good about myself—not because of anything he’d ever said or done. It was just the way I was around him. “I’m absolutely sure that I am exactly where I need to be.”
“Need to be?”
Cautious, hmm? “Want to be.” I looked up at him. Couldn’t blame him for being cautious, could I? “Don’t lose any sleep over this. I’m one hundred percent sure I want to be with you. I was with you until the day you told me to go away. When you welcomed me back last night, I stayed. I’m here to stay forever. I do love you.”
“I love you too.” Peter organized my hair, securing loose strands behind my ear to keep them off my eyes. “And are you sure you don’t want to go back to the Allen Ballet?”
“Positive. There are many things I don’t know, but that’s another thing I know with absolute certainty. I’m done with the cycle of hope and disappointment and the pretense that I am happy being second best. I’m done with Columbus.”
Peter nodded.
“Maybe someday I can find another small company, a small place with good ideas. But not now and not with the lofty dreams I’ve been dreaming. I can’t take that kind of intensity anymore. If I dance again, it will have to be for the fun of it—not as a professional.”
“Would you teach one day?”
“One day.” I shrugged, unsure.
“Well, it does sound as if you need a farewell of sorts then.”
He caressed my face, his gentle cool fingers on my warm cheek.
“Let Claus do it.” He rested his hand on my chest. “He told me he talked to Brian last night, and Brian said he would put it in the October program. Sales are rough, and he thinks you and Claus will draw a crowd.”
“That would be nice.” I looked at the sky beyond the roses. “I haven’t been on stage since Romeo and Juliet, and that was all so tumultuous. I do want to be in this performance.” I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”
“I think this will be good for all of us,” Peter said. “Does that make sense?”
Had the Romeo and Juliet dress rehearsal been his last experience at the theater? I nodded yes without asking questions.
At Peter’s request, Claus joined us for dinner.
“I’ll grill while you guys come up with the farewell plan,” Peter said after awkward hellos.
I pulled a chair out for Claus and sat opposite him. His eyes were fixed on Peter, who was busy arranging hickory chunks on only one side of the grill for a two-zone approach to grilling he’d learned from the men in my mom’s family. The hot side would create the crust and get the kosher salt to stick. The other side would cook the inside to perfection: tender, juicy, and pink.
Think of something to say … the food, the weather … anything?
Watching Peter light the fire, I wondered if the farewell was a good idea after all. It was certainly good in theory, but could we deliver? We couldn’t even talk.
Peter turned around and chuckled. “Are you guys just going to stare at me? I know this is all really odd. It’s odd for me too. But talking about dancing has got to be better than watching me grill all night.”
He cleaned his hands with a kitchen rag and approached the table. “You seem like an okay guy, Claus. And I have no desire to beat a man who’s already down. But for the sake of being productive here tonight, wrap your mind around this idea—game over, my friend. I got the girl.
“Treat this ballet as a consolation prize that I’m only letting you have because I love Ana and believe she should have something better than the Romeo and Juliet mess, which you and Lorie created, to hang her pointe shoes on. If that’s too much for you to handle, maybe the company can squeeze her into something that’s already on the program.”
“Sorry,” Claus said, his voice throaty. His jaw tightened and his face dulled.
I nodded, lowering my head.
Peter went back to the grill, and the smell of hickory slowly dominated the air.
“So what are we dancing?” Claus cleared his throat. “Do you want to dance Praha? It’s ready, so it would be the easiest.”
“Dancing Praha anywhere, other than the Met, would be depressing.” And that’s a ballet about beginnings and two people in love. “Absolutely not.”
“Balcony scene?” Claus’s eyes narrowed.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Peter’s head snap in our direction. “No.” I cocked my head. Was he serious?
“That leaves us two choices.” Claus made a steeple of his fingers. “Pick any grand pas de deux or come up with something new. We have a little over a month, so that’s enough time to do either.”
I faced the strong fire in the fireplace and put my legs up on the chair next to me. “How about that Gallastegui music you’ve been listening to?”
His mouth twisted. “An intermezzo?”
“Ta, dada dada dada dada dada dada dada, pa. Ta, dada dada dada dada dada dada dada, pa.” I hummed the melody with precision, my hand making a circle with each “dada” and ending with an accent, like an old amusement park rotor ride.
He nodded and hummed along. “I’ve been obsessed with it, but it’s short— and it’s class music.”
“I don’t need a big splash. It doesn’t even need to be the closing act. I’m a soloist, not a principal.”
“We can run it by Brian. He may have a spot where people are rushing to change, so we can go in, have some fun, and buy them some time.”
“I’m perfectly fine with that. Quality, not quantity, right? We’ll make it special.”
Claus nodded and closed his eyes. His right hand moved much like mine had when I was describing the music.
My eyes rested on Peter as he prepared the steaks. He caught me looking and smiled with a wink.
“How about a music box?” Claus cocked his head. “The magnetic ballerina kind with the lit-up circle, a gold puffy tutu, a mirror. Your breathtaking bourrées, finger turns, promenades of all kinds. Good idea? Bad idea?”
“Ooh. Good idea.” Like my grandmother’s…
“Let me run with it a little and talk to Brian.”
I nodded with a grin. “I like that idea.”
“Good.” Claus smiled for the first time since he’d arrived.
As if he’d been waiting for his cue, Peter brought over a party tub with a selection of American beers on ice.
We each chose one and lifted our bottles in a silent toast. So the farewell was a good idea, and yes, we could deliver. Perfect. From my grandma’s music box to the onstage music box, everything dance would come full circle after this final piece. I would be free to start the rest of my life.
“The house is now open. The house is now open.”
The theater announcement elicited the usual butterflies and ignited a fight-or-flight response I’d learned to manage.
I looked like the music box ballerina of years gone by in my gorgeous tutu with its dark gold bodice of rich velvet and undulated white skirt layered in large-holed mesh. Red lipstick and a glamorous bun enhanced the look, and glancing at the mirror, I placed one hand on my shoulder and extended my opposite arm up, just like my grandma’s music box ballerina.
For five weeks, Claus and I had rehearsed daily in Atlanta and finished early each day so I could be home when Peter got off work. Evenings with my fiancé were filled with music, laughter, and wedding planning. Our relationship felt incredibly right—like I knew it would—like it once had been. We were back on track.
We’d decided to keep our original wedding date, November fifth, but we had dropped the idea of having it at the Callaway Gardens chapel and planned a home wedding instead.
For once in my life, I had it all.
I’d enjoyed it cautiously, though, knowing that my ballet glory had an expiration date. I hoped my last time on stage wouldn’t be defined by managing difficult emotions. But as tonight’s performance had approached, managing my emotions became harder and harder.
The class we’d had on stage in the afternoon had been easy on the body but hard on the mind. I’d started thinking things like, “How many pliés before I retire from professional dancing? Am I really within hours of my last grand battements? Last pirouette preparation?” Staying calm became a challenge, and I’d had to resort to counting—twenty seats in the center portion of the first row; nineteen on the second; fourteen lights hung from the mezzanine; seventy line sets in the theater; forty-four dancers on stage.
That had been my theater experience, until that moment, on my last day at the RiverCenter for the Performing Arts.
And then there was a knock on the door.
“Ms. Ana?”
I recognized the voice of the wardrobe mistress and opened the door. “Perfect timing.” I turned around to let her close my tutu and immediately felt her quick fingers on my back. “Thank you.”
“Are you coming to the stage area?” Her voice cracked, and I held both her hands.
What a sweet lady. “I will soon.” The intermezzo would be the second piece after the interval, but I didn’t want to spend the whole first half of the program in the dressing room. But I didn’t want to talk to people either, so I would have to find a happy medium. I put on my headpiece, a delicate gold tiara, and bundled up to keep my muscles warm.
I particularly didn’t want to be around Lorie, not when she had the opportunity to talk. When the Allen Ballet moved classes and rehearsals to the theater a week prior to the performance, Claus and I moved our operation there too. Peter showed up often, and Lorie avoided all three of us the whole time. But I didn’t want to give her a single opportunity to spoil my day.
The first notes of Les Sylphides came through the dressing room speakers. Time to go to the stage area. I wanted to watch a young dancer make her professional debut alongside Lorie. I’d noticed her in class. She was fifteen, had impeccable technique, a perfect ballet body, and the presence to go with it. How would her in-class elegance translate to the stage? That’s what I wanted to see. With a powerful stage presence, she would be a prima fast.
As I reached for the doorknob, I noticed a small envelope under the door. It contained a simple note.
YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN MY FAVORITE BALLERINA. GOOD LUCK TONIGHT.
– J.
“Oh, that’s sweet.” The wardrobe mistress, whose long name was difficult to pronounce, went by J. But what was her actual name? My mind was blank of anything except dance.
“It’s a full house,” a man I’d never seen before told me as soon as I got to the stage area.
“Good,” I whispered.
I didn’t expect to see Claus watching from the wings, but there he was.
The new girl was the first to catch my attention as I stood next to him.
Claus noticed my presence and pointed at the girl. “She’s fantastic. Look at her lines.”
“And graceful,” I placed my hands on my hips. “Great stage presence—she’s Lorie and me put together, stuffed into one tiny young body.”
“I think you’re right.” The corners of his mouth turned up.
She needs to watch her shoulder blades. There’s a little bit of tension, and it’s transferring to her arms. “Give her a couple of years, and she’ll be a prima here.”
“Right again.”
We watched the entire first half—the classical half—from the obscurity of the wings and spent the interval on stage, getting warm again and practicing along with two Arcangelo couples.
Soon, Lorie and her partner showed up ready for Closer, and they practiced a lift by the piano that had just been placed on the stage for their piece, set to composer Philip Glass’s haunting “Mad Rush.” She looked beautiful in a short white gown that emphasized her long legs and perfect lines, and with every passé, her lower body looked like a perfect number four.
“Just so you know”—Claus held both my hands—”I’m scared.”
I tightened my lips, bobbing my head. “Me too.”
He wasn’t talking about the performance. Performances excited him and made him nervous, at best. Now life—life was scary, and we both knew it.
Claus was going home with broken dreams to an empty apartment. I was going home with broken dreams of my own but to a completely different life. How would I ever empty myself from the brokenness, and what dreams would take their place? I had no idea.
As I watched Claus pacing in slow motion in the wings, I wished things had ended differently for us. I hope something good happens for him. I hope he can find someone nice. He caught me staring at him, and I turned my attention to the dark stage.
Tonight was a turning point. Nothing would ever be the same. This was our last goodbye and last révérence. The heavy curtains opened and the second half of the program started.
Lorie and her partner moved as one in Closer, with intertwined legs and braided arms that rarely ever broke skin-to-skin contact in a twenty-minute romantic piece in which their blent shadows were a third character, with a story of its own, and in which movement and music alternated seamlessly from quiet to severe without ever lacking flow, like a Virginia Woolf sentence that started casually and was too beautiful to end.
They received an enthusiastic and well-deserved ovation. And then the stage was dark. The crew set up the music box floor and mirror, and Claus and I followed them to the stage to take our positions.
“I guess this is it,” Claus whispered in my ear as he squeezed my cold hands.
Yep, this is it, and we’ll make it beautiful—one last time.
When the amber and red circle under our feet lit up, my pose was that of the vintage music box ballerina: legs in passé, one hand on my shoulder, and the other arm up. Claus held the hand that was up in the air as butterflies flew in formation in my tummy—I was ready to start a dizzying series of finger turns and fast promenades.
Over the next fifteen minutes, I would be spun, supported, lifted, and carried with movements that were delicate and beautiful, transporting the audience into the purity of the relationship between the ballerina and her cavalier.
The circularity of Gallastegui’s “Intermezzo” would evoke the music box mood—for the ladies, the ballerina dream, and for the gentlemen, the love of ballerinas.
After the initial turns, we used the full length of the stage to paint a picture of the elegance and chivalry of the ballet world. Oh, how I was going to miss that world with all its customs and civilities—niceties now so lost beyond the doors of the theater and of the studio.
Balanchine’s words were in my head again. People who want to dance … people who have to dance. How was I going to stop?
The orchestra played faster as the end of the piece approached, and we finished back where we’d started, in the circle, repeating the opening series of finger turns and fast promenades. Were they my last ever?
The music ended gradually, amber lights dimmed slowly, and the stage darkened completely.
My intermezzo … Lord, please bless what comes next.
“Bravo!”
Claus led me toward the audience, and I was overwhelmed by a shower of flowers and multiple shouts of “bravo” from the standing crowd. My heart beat loud and fast as I curtsied in these last moments of my career.
The warmth of the public, of the orchestra, and of my fellow dancers in the wings filled my heart with gratitude and emotion, and I planted a kiss on my hands and shared it with everyone.
Brian met us on stage with more flowers as Claus caught a bouquet midair, reviving the fervor of the audience. He presented it to me and then held my hand for a final bow.
That’s when I realized we were probably holding hands for the very last time, and a painful lump formed in my throat. In front of me, my mom and dad cried as they clapped from their front-row seats across from the orchestra pit. Peter sat next to them, proud and handsome and beaming.
In two weeks I would be his wife.
And I couldn’t wait.
The heavy red curtains closed, and the crew moved in a frenzy to remove all the flowers and set up Arcangelo, with its uneven ground, hidden lights, dark curtains, and lustrous banner. The piece would wrap up the evening with soul-piercing baroque music.
Smiling at Claus, I squeezed his hand, then let it go.
“I still love you,” he mouthed without a sound before turning to the wings.
Walking in the opposite direction, I tried to enjoy the interest of the well-wishers with grace. Once everyone’s attention had moved to the new attraction, I sat.
Across the stage—in his own darkness—Claus sat too.
On the stage between us, eight couples entered and exited layers of darkness seamlessly and bathed in warm shades of yellow and gold. Their bodies, in minimalist dark unitards, tangled gracefully in intimate duets, filled with flexed feet, deep pliés, and bird-like arched arms that were beautifully contemporary yet impossibly classical.
It will be okay.
Alessandro Scarlatti’s “L’innocenza Paccando Perdeste” announced the end of Arcangelo and the end of the evening. The voice of God, in countertenor magnificence, promised a redeemer with a message of love and forgiveness that touched me—not because I understood the message, but because I believed in the promise. In that moment, I was at peace with everything that was going on. Hellos and goodbyes. The old and the new. The friends and the foes. Yes, it will be okay.
And as one couple was lifted into heaven by a silk drape while three others lay motionless on the dark stage floor, I noticed Claus was gone.