Helmets & Pointe Shoes

The Electric Player & A Sexist Pig

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Jace Taylor

                I really don’t know what came over me. When I apologized I didn’t want to say a whole paragraph of forgiveness. If I had to do that, then sorry was out of the question. I don’t feel comfortable with being at fault. When I walked into that ballet class, I was expecting it to be really easy. I was wrong. Very wrong. It was probably the hardest class that I had taken.

                Not that I would admit that.

                But still, I was obviously going to need some help with these steps. Football was more straightforward and easier to understand. Ballet was more, how do I put this? More work, more technique, more positions. I had to admit though; I was going to need help with all this footwork.

 When Aylss would present a combination, we would all be so lost. She would come around to all of us and position our feet and arms. She pointed our heads towards the piano and placed our hands on the bar. I felt bad though; she would come to me and squint her eyes as if she couldn’t see me well. I stared at her confused until I realized what she was doing. She rushed me and didn’t waste any time.

I felt bad about what I was doing so I simply decided to say sorry. Yes, I know that I’m the type of person to let her suffer. But it’s not as if she did something. If she really understood the situation she would realize that she didn’t even need to be sad or sorry.

I thought about it as I stripped off my green tights.

“You guys know we all looked like idiots out there, right?” I asked. They nodded simultaneously and shrugged their shoulders. “So does anyone know what we’re gonna wear tomorrow? ‘Cause I’m sure as heck not wearing this again.”

They stared at their outfits and confirmed my statement. I turned back to my locker door and stuffed the clothes inside. I picked up the ballet shoes and decided to put them where I kept the shoes I used for football. I grabbed my jeans and black shirt and jogged towards the showers. I turned them on and let my thoughts wash away.

 (8^8)(8^8)(8^8)

                I walked out of the locker room looking fresh and clean. I didn’t really like being sweaty. The first step I took out in the hall, I knocked into someone. I didn’t feel anything, but I could tell the person I hit felt something.

                “Oww…” Aylss groaned, rubbing the head that had hit my chest. I was a full head taller than her.

                “Sorry,” I said, hoping she would move out my way.

                “It’s okay; I just wanted to say sorry for not telling you what to wear. You kind of looked bad out there today. I just assumed that you would have known what to wear.”

                “Yah, I’ve never taken a dance class in my life and I’m supposed to automatically know what tights to wear,” I answered sarcastically, trying to shove past her. She wasn’t having it. She placed her small hand squarely on my chest and sighed.