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Ballet
Miss Taylor watched as two lines of leotard encased girls skipped from one end of the room to the room, none of them showed a sign of flagging and their teacher smiled very, very slightly to herself. She was reasonably pleased with them. Moving prettily and giving the impression your limbs were actually willow branches were very important aspects of being a successful ballerina. If you could do those things and follow orders like an exceptionally obedient dog you practically had it made.
She looked at the girls closely, and glimpsed a motionless girl through a gap in the line. Sarah Williams was wearing pointe shoes that were several sizes too large for her. One of her hands was wrapped tightly around the bar, forcing her knuckles to jut out through her skin. Her free arm was fixed rigidly in the air. Her tongue poked out of her mouth, and her small, china doll like face rapidly turned a blotchy red as she concentrated all of her attention on rising onto her toes.
"Sarah!" Miss Taylor screeched at her, shocking Sarah and making her stumble. She crashed onto her knees, and her face instantly contorted in pain. But she didn't cry. Sarah was not prepared to show the lines of silent, staring girls that stood behind her a thing. The child pinned her bottom lip down with her teeth, and squeezed her eyes shut to black out her surroundings. She counted to herself in whispers to calm down, taking slow, careful breaths from the air. Miss Taylor ran towards her, bending over and reaching a hand down to touch her shoulder "Are you alright?" She asked.
Sarah nodded briskly, squirming to dislodge her teacher's hand.
"Can you get up?"
Without a word, Sarah pushed herself up off the floor. She was slightly unsteady for a few moments, but was soon as upright and secure as a tower block.
"Speak to me, sweetie." Sarah stared at her dubiously after being addressed so intimately. She wasn't quite cynical enough to realize that her teacher was interested exclusively in preventing Sarah from reporting that her ballet teacher was a witch. "Say something, dear. I have to know you're okay or you'll have to go and see the Doctor."
"I'm fine." She muttered, bounding across the room like a gazelle and returning to her place besides Miss Taylor within the space of a few seconds. "See?"
"Okay. Where did you get those shoes from? And don't pretend they're yours, they're practically slipping off."
Sarah didn't answer, scrutinizing her feet instead. Miss Taylor was perplexed when the child smiled, and could only conclude that she was admiring her pretty, cream silk shoes.
"Answer me, or I'll have to ring your father and tell him you've been stealing. Do you want me to do that?"
"I got em from the corner" she mumbled, gesturing in the direction of a large, blue backpack that sat at the back of the hall. Miss Taylor sighed and shook her head when she saw it. Marie Carter's backpack had practically set up home in the practice hall – the poor girl had the memory of a fish.
"Take them off, and put your shoes back on." Laboriously, Sarah began untying the lace of the shoes. She didn't appear to see any need for urgency, and Miss Taylor wasn't prepared to remove the shoes for her. Sarah Williams was six year old, and if there was anything she didn't need it was being treated like a baby.
When Sarah had removed them, she scurried off and recovered her normal shoes, yanking them on ruthlessly. The other girls continued to watch, and Sarah's cold, white face began to turn pink from humiliation.
"You do understand why I shouted at you, don't you?" Miss Taylor asked softly. Sarah stopped, and lifted her eyes away from her shoes, gazing at her with a horrible, unnerving fixedness. The cold intensity of Sarah's stare made Miss Taylor feel like squirming, but she managed to remain composed and told her "You could have broken your ankles, Sarah. You would never be able to dance again if you did that."
Sarah got up, and kicked the floor petulantly with one of her feet. "I knew what I was doing. Besides, I don't want to skip. Skipping's for babies."
Miss Taylor released a sigh "No, it isn't. Professional ballerinas have to practice just like you do. The only difference is that they have to work a hundred times harder. Now, back to the others." She clapped her hands loudly, claiming the class's attention. "Show's over girls, back in line. Go to the bar, I want you to position your feet for me."
Sarah, who had failed to move, piped up "But I don't-"
"Just do what I've asked, Sarah. I won't tell you again."
Sarah sloped towards the bar, finding a place in the line in-between two older girls. She proceeded to irritate Miss Taylor by going through all of the positions before their names were called out. She stood stock and smirked spitefully at the girls that surrounded her as they laboriously moved their feet into the correct positions.
Miss Taylor shook her head in despair. Sarah would never become a ballerina, she was certain of it. The child didn't know the first thing about patience.
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Later, when Sarah's father came to collect her, Miss Taylor took him to one side to speak to him about his daughter. After looking behind her to check that Sarah was out of earshot, she asked "Is there any reason why Sarah might be" she paused, searching for an appropriate yet inoffensive word to use "Unhappy, Mr Williams?"
"She hasn't been causing you any trouble has she?"
"No." Miss Taylor lied. "She just seems a bit preoccupied by something this evening, you know, being uncooperative, not getting along with the other girls. Things like that."
Mr Williams titled his head slightly, mashing his hands together and looking up at the netted ceiling of the gym in an effort to avoid Miss Taylor's eyes. "This day last year, her mother walked out. I'm amazed she remembers, to be honest. I always thought little kids had short memories," his head dropped, and he frowned, blatantly dwelling on what he had just said "Especially for dates, you know. But Sarah-"
Miss Taylor interrupted him, smiling in an attempt to alleviate his anxiety "Don't worry. I understand. It's just good to know why."
There was a lull in the conversation. The only sound was made by Sarah as she performed an improvised tap dance at the other end of the hall, completely oblivious to the adult's conversation. Eventually, Mr Williams spoke "Would you mind me asking your name?"
"Of course not. It's Irene."
They smiled at each other shyly. Years passed before they dared to exchange anything more.
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A.N: And instalment two. I hope it made a good read again. I'm aware that the set up is quite contrived, but still, Irene was either going to be involved with Sarah somehow or her future husband's secretary, wasn't she?
I have never been to a ballet lesson in my life, so writing about one might have been misguided. I will leave it to those of you that have done ballet to decide whether or not my research has paid off.
Please, please review. I love hearing from my readers and always reply.
Until tomorrow!
01/03/09 - updated with changes to dialogue - thanks to Yodeladyhoo!