I walk into the dance studio, sweat glistening on my skin and the nerves evident on my face. I walk the path I have walked so many times before, the exicement still there but sufficating under the apprehension. I enter Room 9 to see my dance teacher and a man that I don't recognise. The next thing I see makes my heart skip... A pair of pointe shoes! That means that I did it, I think. As I walk up to Rachel (my dance instructor) and the man, I smile to myself.
"Sydney?" the man says. I nod in response. "I am Alex" I nod again. He tells me to put the pointe shoes on and I comply, happily to say the least. He makes me do multiple exercises, whilst my dance teacher simply sat and observed, a grim expression placed upon her face.
***
He faced me, emotionless, while my dance teacher stood beside him, the grim face frozen upon her, unchanging. I couldn't stay still, I hopped from foot to foot as though the floor were on fire. Alex began to talk, gesturing wildly as he did, and hitting Rachel in the face at least three times.
Firstly, I just want to apologise. This session has probably upped your hopes and expectations toward whether you are capable of pointe. Technique-wise we could have gotten you onto pointe years ago. However. We feel that you have a bit too much... Fat. For your toes to support. I have heard from Rachel that you have dreamed of being on pointe for- many years. I am sorry to have to break this to a girl who has dreamed of this, but it is just plain unsafe.
I walk out, not bothering to hide the tears that stream down my face.
Have a bit too much fat.
Too much fat.
Fat.
Why?
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Broken Together
RandomThere is always one question buzzing through Leo's mind whenever he leaves for a couple of hours. "Is life always worth taking the risks, climbing the highest, swimming the deepest, jumping from the smallest platforms?" Leo lost his twin sister to t...
