The day that Kurt Hummel discovered he wanted to be a dancer he was four years old, sitting in his mother's lap at the local showing of Swan Lake at the downtown theatre in Columbus. He remembered slipping his thumb into his mouth and marveling at all the people on stage, with their pristine costumes, the orchestra in perfect sync, and the well worn but gorgeous Pointe shoes. Yes, most of all he remembered the shoes, because even though the music was captivating, and the dancers were perfect, he couldn't keep his eyes off of the dancers feet. He took in every movement they made, following the kicks high in the air, the pointed toes as they spun and spun, and as the curtain fell at the end of the show he knew. He needed to be up there on that stage.
His obsession grew from then on, he begged his mother and father every single day for his very own pair of ballet flats. He listened outside his parent's door as they whispered about whether or not they should get them. His mother had always been on his side, but his father had his doubts. He was worried the others would make fun of his son for being different, that they would think he was gay.
The words his mother spoke after that were so low that no matter how much Kurt held his breath and pressed his ear against the door, he could not hear them. But that next day at dinner, he was presented with his very own pair of shoes.
The first time he held those shoes in his hand he knew that he would spend the rest of his life making his parents proud, making sure they knew that getting them wasn't a mistake. His mother smiled at him gleefully and his father rubbed his balding head with a small sheepish grin, his cheeks flushed red and the slight hint of remorse in his eyes that Kurt chose to ignore.
It had been four months before Kurt got the courage to ask his parents for lessons. Kurt knew that he was good, but he wanted to be better and grow stronger. He had overheard his classmate Rachel Berry at school bragging about how she was top of her class and would be getting a solo in their recital. Kurt wanted that more than anything, he wanted to dance with other kids and get better and better until he had his very own solo in a recital. He wanted to be like those dancers in Columbus, breathtaking and beautiful and so very, very talented.
Once again his mother had agreed and his father started taking on a few extra hours down at the garage to pay for the lessons, and with those lessons, came a new pair of shoes. Kurt smiled up at his father the night that they were handed to him, and pretended not to notice the shocked look on his mothers face, or the way that her smile warmed the entire room as she took Burt into her arms, pressing her lips to his temple and whispering something that sounded close to "I'm so proud of you.".
When Kurt was six years old they found the tumor on his mother's brain, one they found too late. Kurt once more found himself with his ear against his parent's door, holding his breath to hear what they were saying. He heard his father whispering about medical bills, and how they just couldn't afford Kurt's lessons, and how it just wasn't fair and "Goddammit Elizabeth I can't raise that boy on my own."
Kurt remembered running to his room and crying because life really wasn't fair, he wanted his mother and he wanted his father and he wanted to keep dancing. He remembered sitting on his bed, clutching his worn shoes in his hands and thinking of all the ways that he could make the doctors fix his mothers head so that things wouldn't have to change, so that he could keep all the things that he loved so much.
That was how his mother found him the next morning, curled on his bed with a pair of dirty shoes in his arms and tear stains on his cheeks. He broke down into his tears, explaining to his mother everything that was wrong and why the world wasn't fair and that he'd stop going to lessons because he loved his mom more than he loved dancing, he promised he did. But that wasn't the promise Elizabeth had him make, that promise sounded more like "Kurt Hummel, you will never stop dancing, no matter what anyone says, you do what you love, forever. Promise you'll do that for me. Promise you'll always do what you love."
And he did.
The cancer took his mother slowly, worsening one day and the next it seemed like she was herself again and things would be okay, but then would change mere moments later to almost a stranger that Kurt couldn't recognize. He got so used to coming home from school to that stranger screaming at his father, throwing dishes at the wall, and fisting what was left of her hair between cold, shaking hands. Those were the nights that Kurt would focus on nothing but dance, letting the music almost posses him as he twirled in his room, watching his footwork in the mirror.
Those nights would end with him slowly submerging his feet into an ice bucket, bloodied and blistered from the hours of music deafeningly loud to try to wash out the screaming. He had become so accustomed to the screaming.
On his eighth birthday Kurt came home to his mom, smiling as she gestured to the living room full of balloons and streamers, presents piled high and a familiar grin on his father's face. Kurt had laughed with his parents that night, opening gifts and eating more cake and ice-cream that he could fit into his belly. And that night he fell asleep in-between his parents with the happiest smile on his face.
At eight years old he lost his mother, whose stiff arms still held him in the morning. Whose eyes never opened again to show that delightful crinkle when she smiled. At eight years old, Kurt Hummel watched his father cry as her body was lowered into the ground. He remembered putting his head down and watching his tears fall onto the new pair of ballet shoes that she had picked for his birthday just days prior.
At eight years old, Kurt made a promise to himself that he would never stop dancing.
But he did.
