LlaO- This was a little emotion writing that I did when my dance teacher told me that I'm not strong enough to go on pointe. To anyone else, this might not be a big disappointment. But to me personally, this was incredibly heartfelt. And forgive the poor quality, is was a spur-of-the-moment thing. So, please, no flames.
"I'm sorry. It's not you; it's just that your muscles aren't strong enough. Your feet sickle when you point, and you could blow an ankle if you do that on your toes. You understand, right? It's not your fault. Maybe in a year or so you can, but not now."
"Yeah, I get it," I said to my choreographer, containing the tears about to brim in my eyes. I walked out the door of my dance academy, the one that I'd gone to for years before the move four years ago. Another girl sat on the sidewalk, crying to her mom through her cell phone. I waited for my grandmother to finish talking to my dance teacher by walking around the side of her car. Well, my mom won't have to worry about the expensive tuition at the other studio again. If I can't go on pointe now, most likely I'll never go on pointe. My grandma came out and unlocked the doors. I got in the passenger seat and stared out the windshield. We drove home in silence.
"You're taking this better than I thought you would," she said.
"I can contain myself," I lied. A tear rolled down the cheek she couldn't see.
Once we got home, I ran to my room and slammed the door. I stripped of my leotard and tights and put on my softest pajamas. I threw myself on my bed, sandwiched my head between my pillow and my mattress and cried myself to sleep.
Unbelievably, I slept more peacefully than I should have, considering the circumstances. Maybe it was because of my dream. I dreamt that I was somewhere, I couldn't discern where, though. I felt as if someone was talking to me, comforting me. I looked up to see a man before me. I would have freaked out under any other situation, but I felt calm and, (could it be?), happy in his presence. His long ivory hair swirled gently around his shoulders.
"She may not think that you are ready for pointe; but I do. I've watched you-"
"You've been watching me?" I interrupted him. He went on, forgiving that I cut off his speaking.
"—for a while, and I think that you're ready for pointe now."
"But Miss-" Now he was the one to cut me off.
"Your dance trainer does not matter." He extended a gloved hand to me, his long cloak sliding off his forearm. "Come to my kingdom. You can dance your toes off and not be tired. Come with me."
I apprehensively looked at his hand.
He chuckled. "It's a hand. It won't bite."
"But how do I…?"
He smiled at me. "All you have to do is wake up."
And at that moment, I did. I glanced across my room, looking for any clue that the strange, entrancing man was there. I stood up and walked to my window. On the sill, I found a single brown-and-white feather.