Notes

It's Not Like You

"Can you believe it?"

"Who knew?"

"Why didn't Christine tell any of us she could sing like that?"  All the ballerinas were ecstatic.

"Meg, how did your mother know?"

They all turned to look at me.  "Well, you know mother," I laughed. 

"True, she always knows everything."  The ballerinas erupted into giggles.

"Christine!" someone called. 

In an instant everyone was clamoring to see our friend who had risen to the spotlight in one day.  I struggled to see over everyone's heads as they crowded around my best friend.  I rose up on the tips of my toes and was able to see just the top of Christine's head.  Dropping back to flat feet I shook out my fe.  Dancing an entire opera en pointe was hard, the shoes had begun to hurt my poor toes a long time ago.  I would have loved to take these torture devices off my feet as soon as I came off stage but mother was a fan of post-performance rehearsal.  It makes no sense in my mind but in her's it does.  "Christine!" I called, squeezing through the sea of red and green.  I ducked under an arm and I think I may have stepped on someone's foot but it's difficult to tell through these rock hard shoes.  "Christine!"  I finally reached her side and hugged her.

"Meg!"  She hugged me back. 

"Oh my gosh, Christine!  You were amazing!" I gushed.  "I mean, I always knew you were an amazing singer but that was super amazing!"

She laughed but was abruptly cut off by a familiar thud.  The little crowd of dancers fell silent as mother strode towards us.  Surprisingly she had a smile on her face.  "You did very well, my dear," she told Christine who was wide eyed at the rare praise.  "He will be pleased."  This she said softer so the others wouldn't hear but I still did.  I knew who he was.  Mother insisted there was no real opera ghost but I knew better. I knew there was something beneath the opera house. I knew mother knew him, was nearly friends with him. So maybe he wasn't a ghost, but the phantom of the opera wasn't normal, that was for sure.

"As for all of you." Mother turned on us. "You call that dancing? Are you aware how many ronds de jambs I saw being cut short? And don't even get me started on you temps de cuisse!" She glared at all of us. "We are rehearsing now!" See what I mean about post-performance rehearsal?

The ballerinas rushed to their places not wanting to risk mother's wrath.  She began tapping out the beat with her cane. Christine stepped away and started walking towards her dressing room. Quickly, while mother's back was still turned, I scrambled after her.

"Christine, Christine, wait up!"  I whispered as loud as I dared. She didn't seem to hear and kept up her quick pace.  She was glancing around, searching for something.  But her eyes were focused upwards as if what she was seeking was in the sky.  She opened the door to her dressing room and stepped inside.  Quickly, before she could close the door, I followed her and grabbed her arm. "Why are you hiding, Christine? I'm serious, you were absolutely perfect. I just wish you had told me your secret, who is this tutor of yours?"

She acted as if she hadn't heard me, still glancing around her.  "Father once spoke of an angel and I used to dream he'd appear.  Now when I sing I can sense him here with me."  Her eyes were wide and though she looked around she didn't appear to see anything.  "Here, in this room, he is softly calling me, hiding somewhere.  No matter where I go I know he is always with me, the unseen genius."  Her voice sounded trance like.  Still holding her arm, I tugged gently to get her attention. She didn't seem to feel it. Something was wrong. What was happening to her?

He's here, the phantom of the opera!

"Christine, you must have been just dreaming, these types of stories don't come true!" I could here my anxiety in my own voice.

Christine didn't look at me. What was going on? Where had my best friend gone? I didn't know this stranger who spoke of supernatural beings following her every move. "Christine, you're speaking in riddles. Please, Christine! You're scaring me, this isn't like you!"

She tore herself from my grasp and began walking further into her dressing room. "Angel of music, my guide and guardian." Her sweet voice sounded strange. From the hypnotized look in her eyes one would assume her voice would sound empty but it didn't. She sounded so passionate about these nonsense words it was terrifyingly bizarre. "Grant to me your glory," she said.

"Who is this angel?" I asked.

Instead of responding she continued.  "Angel of music, hide no longer.  Come to me strange angel."

I found myself saying the words along with her, with far less passion and far more fear.  Who is this angel?

I took Christine's hands in mine.  They were ice cold.  Her eyes snapped to me suddenly.  "Even now he is with me," she whispered.

"Christine, you're hands are so cold."

"All around me."

"You're face is pale, Christine."

"It frightens me, Meg."

Wrapping my arms around her I gave her a hug. "Don't be frightened." As terrified as I'd been a second before Christine was now free from her trance and needed a hug so I pulled myself together. Whoever this angel was, she would be okay. As her best friend it was my job to protect her no matter what.

I was about to ask her who this angel was when the door opened.

"Meg Giry."

Uh oh.  Christine and I quickly separated.  "Yes, mother?" I asked in the sweetest voice I could manage.

"Are you a dancer?" Mother glared at us from the doorway.

"Maybe?" I replied.

"Go practice."

I sighed. "Yes, mother."

I shot Christine one last desperate glance to which she almost laughed and slipped out the door. Walking down the empty hallway though, I felt the strangest sensation. It almost felt as though someone was watching me which was impossible.

He's there, the phantom of the opera.

~ Meg Giry

A.N.:  Hope you guys liked this chapter!  I loved writing Meg's point of view.

~ Meg