April 18, 2001
It was my birthday, the only day out of the year I didn't have to dance, and it was miserable. The presents were all about dancing, new dance slippers, new tights, another pink leotard, and ponytails, to put my dark hair in a bun for the shows. The cake was in the shape of dance slippers, point shoes to be exact. My mother said that I should be able to dance with shoes like those when I'm ten, which only four years away.
My dance-obsessed mother tuck in, and kiss my forehead, "You keep dancing, Clara, and you'll be a great and famous dancer," she said and waked out.
My dad walked in. he was always my favorite parent, he would always convince Mom to let me practice dancing after I opened my presents on Christmas, and he didn't get me things that always related to dance. When I was three he got me my first pair of jeans, not a skirt, and last year he let me read a book for the first time, ever. I remember it was "Little Miss Moffat," and it was the best and only book I've ever read.
"Daddy, what's behind your back," I asked as he sat down on my bed.
"Let me show you," he said and pulled his huge hands out from his back. He held a music box, with a man and women on it, the man was holding the women's hand and his other hand was on her waist. While the women had her arm on the man's black coat and she had her hair in a tight bun with a pale pink headband that matched her short, pale, pink dress. He winded up the gold key and I watched as the two grown-ups danced to the prettiest song I ever heard. They moved around in a circle and turned at the same time. "This dance is the first dance I danced to," he said looking at the music box, longingly "Anyway I want you to have it," he said handing me the magical object. "But, you cannot let your mother see this or otherwise she will break it into a million little pieces." I nodded. "Goodnight Clara and happy birthday."
I smiled as he walked out the room. He shut the door and I winded up the music box. The music started a clear smoke came out of the man and into the shape of a boy my age. He stood by the side of my bed, and look like me. He had brown hair and was my height. The only difference we had was that he had violet eyes, and I had clear blue eyes. "Do you want to dance," he asked.
"I don't know how to dance with a boy," I said, taking the covers up to my nose.
"I won't hurt you"
I just stared at him; his eyes were so pretty and different than mine. He held out his hand and I shyly put my tiny hand in his. He smiled and I got out of bed. "I need to get my slippers," I said and rushed to my bag, but the music box stopped playing and when I turned around, he was gone.