CHAPTER FOUR

Chapter Four   

   Dad is already waiting for me when I arrive at the reception.

    He is wearing his oversized sweater, the one that is older than me—way older than me. The sweater was a gift from my mother when they were still a hormonal teenage couple. It is funny how big the sweater is on him now, after so many years and weight gain. I wonder how big it was on him when he was nineteen.

   “Dad!” I exclaim as I fly into his waiting arms. He envelopes my skinny body in a bear hug. He smells of shoe polish and cologne.

    “How have you been, my dear?” Dad asks me, cocking his head to one side with a big grin on his face. He does not mind the fact that his teeth are stained from his many years of kola nut addiction; he flashes a grin anytime he sees an opportunity to.

  

“I am very fine, Dad!” I say. After not getting the role of Sugarplum Fairy, a date with Adam is a befitting consolation prize. “How have you been?” I ask him not out of courtesy or habit but because I really want to know. I worry about my Dad more than the average girl. After the demise of my Mum when I just turned four (too young to even remember it), I am the only family he has. He does not even have a girlfriend as far as I know.

   “I am fine, dear,” he replies, rubbing the stubble on his square chin. He looks extremely fatigued and the bags under his eyes have become a permanent fixture on his face. “I have been doing okay. How has dancing been? Are you pumped to dance the Sugarplum Fairy?” he asks with a bright, expectant look on his face.

    “Hm, Dad?” I say, taking a step at a time as we descend the concrete staircase that lead out of the school building.

      “Yes, Gigi?” He stops and looks at me. His bright countenance falls as he recognises the look on my face.

        “I did not get the role.” I do not look at him because I do not want to see the disappointment that would cloud his face. “I am so sorry,” I whisper, “I tried so hard, Dad. I really did.”

      The smell of Dad’s cologne envelopes me once again as he embrace me and presses a kiss to my temple. “You have nothing to apologise for, dear. You tried your best. If they did not give you the role then it is their loss. You are a great dancer, Gigi and I am so proud of you.”

      Thick grey clouds presses against my lungs so it is hard to breathe. I stifle the wave of sadness and happiness. I feel sadness because I did not get the role. And I am happy because my Dad is proud of me nevertheless. “Why do you have to be so mushy, Dad?” I say in mock complain. I wiggle out of his embrace and take the stairs two at a time. Dad laughs heartily as he follows me.

        “What have you been cooking lately?” I ask as I buckle my seatbelt.

         Dad turns the key in the ignition and the car roars to life. The car was my Mum’s. Dad decided to sell his car and keep hers instead after her death. He has refused to replace it even though the car is barely working. “The usual: beans and bananas, my infamous pineapple and pork sandwich and the occasional junk food.”

      I shake my head like a disenchanted parent would and shoot him a disapproving look. “So you have not been following the meal plan I gave you?”

     Dad laughs. He obviously enjoys it when I reprimand him. “I am no ballet dancer, Gigi. I do not follow meal plans and diets.”

     “At least quit the junk food and eat normal food combinations!” I say exasperatingly.

       Dad feigned consideration then shook his head. “Nah,” he says as he shakes his head, “I will just stick to my wild culinary creations.” Then he bursts into a guffaw as I groan in frustration. “Why are you so skinny, Gigi?”

        “Dad, are you serious?” I yell incredulously, “Have you forgotten that I am a ballet dancer and the career rests on the fate of my body weight and the fitness of my leg muscles?”

         Dad furrows his bushy brows and stares straight ahead as he swivels into a bend. “But you are thinner than usual, Gigi. I am worried that you are not getting enough nutrients for your body. You cannot dance if your body is malnourished.”

         “My body is not malnourished, Dad,” I spit out. I do not know why I am so annoyed by his words. Somehow, I feel like he knows that I have not been eating for weeks now, and the times that I do eat, I heave it all into the toilet bowl. I do not know how to tell him that I love the fact that my ribs are very visible under my skin and my pelvic girdle juts out sharply at my hip. I do not know how to explain the pure satisfaction I get as I watch my waist become smaller and smaller. “It is just the stress of dancing, Dad. It is nothing much.”

          “Well, I am glad that I have the opportunity to get some much needed nutrients into your body this weekend. Just wait until I bring out the grill and whip up some grilled chicken for you!”

       I try to replicate the enthusiasm in his voice and force my lips into a smile. The action feels alien to me. “I cannot wait, Dad!” I could only imagine the greasy calories in grilled chicken and the havoc it will wreck on my progress.