Ch. 3 On the Pointe

Though my day had barely started, I was already the center of attention. Much to my immediate dislike. I had gotten so used to being ignored that I had grown love it. But it surprised me that even in this town there were so few people in this school. I will be willing to bet there was more students in my ballet school back in Texas then there were in this whole school. Yes, believe it or not I was dancer. I danced with the Houston Ballet. My mother had been the one to get me into it; she had danced Jazz herself but was determined to make me the prima ballerina. At age four, I started classes. Delight filled me, from my hair points to my ballet-toed shoes. Like the leaves and the wind, I was a bird, I was free. Dancing had a purpose, to work with me, so that when we moved, we created a different kind of music. I felt it in my very bones, I would dance forever. I worked and practiced, harder than any student my teacher ever taught. And by age six, I had progressed to intermediate, a level down from pointe.
Back then, my mother's death brought an end to my dancing. My father would no longer take me, and my shoes were shoved to a corner in the closet. Even though my mother's death meant nothing, the only thing that hurt about it was not dancing. At age eleven, I think it was when I needed it the most. Some way of release. But my father would hear nothing of me doing something fun. Except doing things for him. But one day after my love for dancing was long forgotten. I walked past a ballet studio, to my surprise the familiar smells, wood floor and the barre called to me. I went inside only to stumble in on the advanced Pointe class. The instructor had been rude, and after several minutes of me trying to explain to her, I did not know class was in session she shooed me out.
Day after day, I walked the twenty blocks to the studio, trying to get the instructor, Madame Lefie to talk to me. But afternoon after afternoon she pushed me out. And finally, after weeks of my pushing she gave in and led me to her office. I remembered it, vividly.
Her desk had been small and cluttered but filled with colorful magazines, and paper-lined shoeboxes. She then asked me what class I wanted to take. I remember that my mouth fell open. She smiled at this and said that if every girl she taught had my persistence she would be world famous. I remember telling her I had not danced in years, I could not afford it and I had taken the intermediate class when I was six. She snorted at this. Her quote which I remembered\ was 'No one that young could advance that fast'. But none the less, she let me borrow shoes, and said 'Dance for me'. And I danced in her borrowed leotard, and shoes.
I did not even notice the Pointe class was watching. After the years without it, my heart poured itself out with the music. And we moved together.
I ended to a round of applause, only to come back down when Madame Lifie, nodded at me and whispered, 'You can start Monday. For free: you can call it a scholarship. I will supply you with the necessities. I'm going to advance you to beginning pointe'
Ever since then I was comfortable in front of crowds. And today was no different. I had stood in front of them as I would have before. To study their habits, how normal people lived. I could pin point the type of person they were. But standing in front of this group I noticed a slight change. That unsettled me.
But it was the last group of people I saw that had me worried. They were different that's for sure. I still couldn't believe I ran away. But I kept moving toward the parking lot. My car just sitting out of sight below a large tree. Slamming the car door open I jumped into the back seat. Crushing my eyes shut I didn't even bother to close the door. But the feeling of the wind and rain in my socks want pleasant. Sitiing up I snapped the door shut. All the while feeling that someone was watching me. I looked around, but only for a moment. Giving up I laid back down massaging my temples.
All those faces of that last table were familiar. Their smooth cream like surfaces. Perfect, untouched faces , void of emotion. I felt like I had to have seen them somewhere before. I knew I had seen them before. But the last one. The most beautiful man I had ever seen, he was the most familiar without a doubt.
The soft bridge like nose. Not any bumps, nor was it crooked. Smooth creamy skin you just wanted to touch. Skin so light it looked like if it made any contact with the sun at all he'd be burned. Topaz eyes. The color of the perfect gem stone. Bronze hair. So lighty kept that it looked perfect in any weather. Runners body. The perfectly lean muscles, tight corded but elegant.
But I knew that no matter how great he looked it went to his head. Like every other man candy he proboly wanted and could get all the woman he wanted, with the way he looked. And he proboly knew that too. I knew then that I would vow to hate him and then I did. I would hate him forever. I hated him. Period. The people he was sitting with too. Besides one of them. The smallest girl, who I noticed was a little like me in appearance. She seemed innocent in the actions of which those around her took in, well she certainly looked the part. I felt a surge of compassion for her.
I should know them. I know I should. But for reasons I couldn't expalin I could see the last one with a look of pure rage and hate on his face. Angry as he attacked someone I couldn't see.
As I studied this school I now knew the difference. Their were looks of grief on several faces. In my head the idea of tradjedy sprung up once again.
But before I could continue on with this train of thought there was a light knock on my window.