r e f l e c t i o n | 김 남준

Prologue

If you could see your soul tonight

How much would you grieve

For the damage

It has suffered

At the hands of those

Who treated it so badly?

November 16th, 2002

The instructor's feet made no sound as she paced in front of the dancers. Her delicate hands that contrasted the look on her face held a long ruler. Her eyes, icy and sharp, scanned the faces of the children before her. They were all different ages ranging anywhere from elementary school to high school.

Outside the sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange glow on the red trees already shedding from autumn's end. It filtered through the dark grey clouds, the window, and onto the blonde hair of the instructor that was pulled into a tight bun. She looked like she was on fire, only adding to the growing tension and fear in the small dance room.

Shadows of raindrops hammering outside slid down the walls and floor, restricted by the square that was slanted when cast onto the ground.

"Jeremy," she barked without looking at him, startling some of the younger kids.

The brunette's emerald eyes widened as he stared at the floor. "Yes—yes?"

"When you went up on pointe," she started, eyes flashing at him through the mirror before she turned around to approach him. "You let your other leg dangle." With the comment, her hand brough the ruler down on his shin with full force.

The boy shrieked in pain, crumbling to the floor to hold his leg where there would no doubt be a bruise if not broken skin.

She looked up to see the faces of the rest of them, but they only stared at the floor with wide-eyes as they had learned to do.

Except her.

The young girl stared incredulously at the woman, most definitely judging. The boy next to her gave her an elbow in the side as to say don't. But it fell on deaf ears as she continued to stare her down. Needless to say, everyone in the room was afraid for her.

The instructor narrowed her eyes at the girl, examining her blemishless skin, her monolids, her plump lips that seemed to resemble an O.

"Chink," she snarled before asking another aggressive question.

The girl glared down at the floor. She was still relatively new at the school and her English was poor. She didn't understand most of what was being said to her, but she could decipher tone and most definitely racial slurs.

The instructor smirked. This girl had spirit, she'd give her that, but spirit would get her nowhere in that school—that industry. She knew it wouldn't take long to break her.

She continued speaking, slowly making her way over to the girl so she could stand directly in front of her and look down on her while berading her. Something about a pas de bourree left her mouth in the same condescending tone tinged with a thick british accent.

Without warning, she grabbed the girl by her hair and dragged her to the windowsill. The girl screamed and raked the woman's wrist with her nails. It wasn't working, so she dug her nails in harder, aiming on drawing blood. It seemed to work, because before they were even half-way across the floor, the woman let go with a shriek.

She screeched something in English before examining the scratch marks on her wrist that weren't even that bad. The girl shot daggers at her, not needing any words to convey what she was trying to say.

Anger at its boiling point, the woman whipped the ruler across her face, throwing the girl to the ground like a rag doll. She was small compared to the other kids her age, so it was easier to push her around.

The girl clutched at the spot on her cheek that left a horrible throbbing pain in her skin, her jaw, her teeth. It almost made her numb to the other whacks that were delivered to her as soon as she was on the floor. Luckily, the angle at which she hit the girl was with the flat side of the ruler, so it would only leave a nasty bruise.

Other parts of her body weren't so lucky. Her hip was hit with the metal tip. It dug into her skin through the leggings, making her cry out, hot tears stinging her eyes.

It seemed like a lifetime before it finally stopped. She was in too much pain to look up, only continuing to sob where she laid on the floor, blood streaming from the cuts.

"Kailee, control yourself," a strict male voice said. It was Dimitri, she knew. He was no better than the seething woman with the blood-tipped ruler, but he never became as violent as she did.

When the girl looked up, a few of her classmates were huddled around her. "장미아, 괜찮아?" Jangmi, are you okay? an older girl asked. She was from Korea like her, so they were able to communicate with each other.

Her entire body screamed no, but she would never let anyone see that. She managed a weak nod, sniffling as her tears had subsided. "네." Yeah. Jangmi raised herself into a sitting position with her arms, but found that she had to lean to one side because of the wound on her hip.

The kids were all painfully aware of the blood soaking through her blue leggings. Her cheek was already starting to bruise an awful array of blotchy purples and reds as well. "영희언니, 간호사 어딨어요?" Where's the nurse, Younghee?

"나 그녀 찾겠어!" I'll find her! Younghee stood and beckoned another classmate. "Daquan, let's go find the nurse."

The dark skinned boy, brows furrowed in concern, nodded and got up to follow her. The teachers had already left at that point.

It was only Jangmi's first week at the school, and she thought it couldn't get any worse. But over the course of the next nine years, she would be proven so horribly wrong. It would follow her around forever. Just there in the background.

But the one thing it didn't do was break her.

They never broke her spirit.