I remember the day. The look, the feel, the smell. I remember the feeling of anxiousness in the air, smothering me like a damp, heavy blanket. I remember the way my hands trembled, clasped together in my lap. And I remember my mother gently caressing my shoulder in a form of reassurement, the only thing keeping me from breaking down. I remember the words.
"Your USELESS! AN IDIOT! YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT! I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOUR FACE WHEN YOU COME BACK AND CONFESS THAT YOU GOT KICKED OUT OF THE GROUP... BECAUSE YOU ARE A WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP! DON'T EVEN COME BACK HOME!"
But then I hear in my mind, the other words.
"Prove him wrong".
3 single words. For me, it was much more than that. It was motivation. It was said in love. But most importantly, it was said in hope.
"All dancers on stage!" I straightened up, shaking all negative thoughts out of my head. I couldn't afford to let them take over me. Not that day. "Knock 'im dead, honey." My mother whispered to me. I swallowed deeply, and nodded quickly. I pirouetted once and slowly stretched my toes, enjoying the strain it was exerting. "And honey?" She grabbed my arm as I shakily turned around. Her eyes misted up and welled up in a wall inside her eyes. "He's wrong." I smiled wanly and said, "I know." But I didn't. "All dancers on stage, now!" "Bye." I muttered hurriedly, and sprinted lightly to the stage, and stood in my place. A slow feeling of homeliness descended on me as I stood there. I belonged there. It was my home.
It's amazing how things can change so quickly. In the flash of a light, in the glimpse of a blur, in the last note of a tune. That day was the day everything changed for me. From worse to better. From rags to riches. Or was it the other way round? Either way, my life was turned upside down. This is my story.
