Dear Little Deaf Boy

DLDB:78

I was ready for the finals chapters to end. The collection of high school stories I experienced to be tucked away in a photo album, or in this case stored in my Instagram archive. I was ready to grow up. Although I heard people tell me about my potential and the brightness of my future, no one ever told me I had a good head on shoulders. I was never assured on having good judgment or intellect.

Instead I was always told I had good feet.

Godly crafted , a good arch, good lines, flexibility, and a perfect point.

    They  were sinfully perfect, and when I touched the ground I left trails of fire. That even the tap of my pinky toe made hell hear heaven, even the devil said amen but I've slept next to the devil, and they'd never mumbled a prayer. Only kiss the ground I walk don.

I watched intently as the junior dancers practiced. They were around ages 11-14 just a few years younger than me. I made them nervous, yet excited all at once. A few of them cracked under pressure falling short of their own expectations in their attempt to out do them.
Their small cheeks ridden out of embarrassment as they scrambled off the floor and out of the way of girls who did opposite. The ones who were eager to be seen executed the given task, not cracking under pressure but turning into diamonds becomes of it, because of the eyes.

     I wondered if they would told the same thing as I. They have good feet. Then I wondered again, about the girls who lost their balance, who scolded the shape of their own feet. To flat to balance the world on their shoulders, they cave. Would they get different shoes harder and stricter one reshaping their feet, crushing their toes all to be like the girl, who was born with them.

The world kept spinning for the girls with good feet. Perfect turns and spins, stepping over the ones falling beneath them.

" Don't stop." I instructed as I walked towards them.  There small bodies continuing to move through the rhythms as if I weren't an intrusion to it.

I stood over a girl who fell, curious as to why she didn't instinctively get up. She held her foot.

" Are you hurt?" Her doe eyes looked at me terrified  and embarrassed. She shook her head no. " Can I see." With hesitation she removed her hands showcased her feet. She didn't wear pointe shoes like the others, not like she was suppose to. Instead she wore ballet flats, wrong in all aspects. The fabrics was thin, ill supported and the sole her slipper was torn exposing the bottom of her feet.

I sighed. I could see why the others girls had good feet.
They could good afford shoes.  The girl wasn't a bad dancer, far from it. She didn't have the same foundation as everyone else.

The music stopped.

The rest of the girls didn't move without my permission holding their posses as they waited for my voice to cut the thick silence with critiques. They knew it was far from perfect, and even though as their teacher that was suppose to matter to me. It didn't seem fair to give them hell about it, not when I could fix the problem privately.

" I'll see you all tomorrow." That's all I said. They looked each other confused unmoving. " You're dismissed." I restated. With that they scrambled not wanting me change my mind and having them do the routine all over again.

" Don't go." I told the girl.

I had the job for nearly a week now, but names weren't something I had grasped just yet. I knew I should have, these girls deserve to have their names known.

" What's your name?"

" C-Cleo." She stuttered.  " I'm sorry about the dance, I know my counts I promise it's just when my shoe broke I-" she suddenly and quickly which took me by surprise.