Meeting Daisy

sophistication requires turn-out

Month: Still November.
Date: I don't know! Half way through Nov.
Year: Some year in the 90's

    Ballet was like my occupation. It requires discipline & hard work. My parents first got me into it to cope with their separation. Growing up, my mother was a ballet dancer. Before getting pregnant with me she dreamt she'd become one of the pros. Instead, her dreams were crushed & she's a lawyer, just like grandpa always wanted. Ballet's a very unique sport. Yes you heard me correctly, I said sport. You could look at it as some way of therapy; in terms of expressing your emotions. Maybe Dad's job helps with their emotions. Probably not in a good way, but still.

***

    Click, sip, sizzle. Click, sip, sizzle. Pool table, beer, & Marijuana cigarettes. "New York, New York"  by Frank Sinatra was quietly playing in the background at Billy's. Cal walked in. "Yakob's expanding", he stated. No one really paid attention. "HEY! I'm not fucking around. He's moving up north". Again, nobody showed any response. "Oh & also... Jared took the stash & ran off with them. The fucking rat". The music stopped & everyone turned around. Billy stood up, walking towards Cal. "Where is he? Where the FUCK is he?!", he exclaimed. "There was $500,000 worth of god damn grass in the stash", Dad complained while lighting another cigarette. Duke got out of his chair, pacing back & forth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK", he whispered to himself.

Billy clapped his hands together. "Alright". Everyone looked up. "Forget about it, I'll handle this. Cal, where up north?", he asked. "Boston. Somewhere downtown, obviously", Cal stated. "Find an address & send it to me before noon", Billy commanded. "I wanna leave here by 2ish; get the train. Gonna get our beans back".

***

    "One, two, three, & LEAPPP", said my bitchy choreographer. Everyone at the school was so shady, it's not an exaggeration. I'm the youngest out of my group. Being in a group with older people makes me feel like I'm actually being taken seriously. "FIRST POSITION. SECONDDDD". God this chick doesn't shut up. "THIRRRDD, & FOURTH". I pity her husband. "Do you think her & her husband bang?", I said under my breath. One of the girls next to me gave me the side eye. It was meant as a joke, laugh a little. "FIFTH POSITION & Croisé Derierè". Maybe one day, I'll go to France & this will all be relevant.

    I've always loved ballet. Mom & I would have a tradition every year to see "The Nutcracker" around Christmas time. She always says it's the only time I show external happiness besides watching "Friends". To me, it felt like home. A safe home.

Hours later:

    I'm smoking in my room, icing my bruised feet with Fiona Apple playing on my CD player. Mom said she'd take me to see her someday if she came to New York. I heard she changed up the songs a lot during the concert. Hopefully it's in a good way. Fiona is such an inspiration for young women; I worshipped her. She's like a total badass you see in the movies where they just don't give a fuck. It's like her personality is Uma Thurman's dance moves in "Pulp Fiction". Girls who jam out to the bass guitar & CRASH! What the hell? I thought to myself.

    "Hahahahahahah", some drunk chick laughed. "Shhhhhh, I have people sleeping upstairs so you're gonna have to keep it down", drunken Dad stated. I looked at the clock. What the - BRO! It's 11:30 on a Friday night dude. You're totally buggin.."You just have to stay quiet - oh shit", he said as he caught her in his arms. Now Mr. Winters here has been with a lot of women, but THIS ONE had been the loudest one to go up the stairs. "Shut up! My rooms down the hall.", he whispered as she kept laughing & falling.

It was very rare that his lady of the night slept over, but if they did I enjoyed making them uncomfortable. I'd start off with the line "I feel like I should offer you a drink or whatever". Then I'd ask personal questions to get that extra cringe from them. Eventually, Dad would come downstairs & send me to do something useful.

10 minutes later:
   
This chick was by far the most unattractive moaner I'd ever heard. "Eeek, Eeek, Eeek", she went on. God I would've rather listened to the band Creed than her moaning. After hearing her moan for a while, I wondered what it would be like to have sex. Does it hurt? Would I be like...good at it? So many questions went on through my brain those next few minutes.

    After a while, I decided to go to bed. Keep your eyes closed, it'll convince you to go to sleep, I told myself. Luckily it worked.

***

    It wasn't until around 12:15 when the slut finally left. The fucking faux woke me up. She slammed the door on her way out. "Jesus Christ...", Dad whispered to himself. You could tell how relieved he was that she left. He then opened my bedroom door. Whenever I was little & he had girls over, he would always come into bed with me when they left. Although, technically it was his bed. They were usually downstairs. It was obvious that he felt guilty for shagging girls while his 5 year old daughter was trying to sleep upstairs. I guess he shouldn't feel that way though. I mean my existence fucked up my parents lives.

    He climbed into my bed, putting my hair behind my ear. It's his signature move. I opened my eyes, giving him more of the blanket. He smiled at me. Dad then continued to play with my hair, trying to get on my good side again after what he had just done 5 minutes ago. "I love you kid", he whispered. I usually don't like saying it back because it feels like a shitty drama flick, so my usual response was "Yeah I know". He softly chuckled as he kissed my forehead. "Go to sleep, V."