Ballerina

Reads: 58  | Likes: 3  | Shelves: 2  | Comments: 6

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 15, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 15, 2018

A A A

A A A


Ballerina

I began dancing before I went to proper school. I guess it was in my blood as both my mother, and her own, had been moderately successful dancers in their own right.

From the time that I could stand and walk I would mimic my mother’s movements. All ballerinas spend a lot of time working out, even when they are not on tour. We did not have a big house, so no room specially set aside. Mom would use furniture as an improvised barre and so would I. I can still remember the faces she pulled at some of my infant efforts but I guess it all went to help the right muscles to develop.

Ballet classes were fun, but they did have their down side. A lot of my fellow pupils were far more wealthy than me, and would poke fun whenever Madame’s attention was focussed elsewhere. I was the smallest, the youngest, and probably the best dancer of the lot. Of course, I never got a major role, not until I was much older. Being short, I was generally confined to somewhere near the back.

After all, ballerinas were supposed to be tall and elegant, not short with remnants of what politely would be called puppy fat.

It was in my early teens that I came into my own, really. I suddenly shot up, growing a staggering four inches in a year. My figure slimmed down as instead of gaining weight to go with the height, I lost it.

When I secured a place in a prestigious company I was over the moon, and so was my Mom. I’m sure I detected a bit of jealousy from time to time, that I was achieving her goal. Gran, although still very much alive did not really understand what was going on. Senile dementia had taken its toll.

Two years I had there before it happened. The ‘accident’! Or was it? Did I slip or was I tripped? Either way I tumbled from the top of a stone staircase, all the way down.

They said I was lucky to be alive but it did not feel that way to me. So many broken bones had me laid up for months on end. Some of the fractures were so severe that they took multiple operations to correct them.

I did all the rehabilitation work, the exercise routines several times a day. My suppleness had gone, along with my strength. My mother tried to comfort me, but I was devastated. Unlike for her, dancing had been my life and I could not imagine life without it. I cried and cried myself to sleep, night after night, feeling adrift, pointless until one day I’d had enough.

I stepped up my exercises, forced my muscles to stretch in spite of the agony it caused afterwards. I would not give in though. My body would have to obey me. And slowly it did regain it’s stretch and some of its strength.

Madame has allowed me access to the studio, all by myself. Can I do it? I don’t honestly know. I look at my reflection in the mirror. There’s uncertainty there, damn it. This is no good! Stop prevaricating and get to it!

 

Defying my reflection I raise up en pointe. Maybe a bit wobbly but I steady myself, stare my reservations down, and pirouette, arabesque and jette my way across the floor.


© Copyright 2018 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

More Young Adult Short Stories