Letters From a Dancer

The First Poem

        Sarah Andrews had opened her dance studio in 2005. It was called Studio A and had five rooms. Four studios and a lobby, which also had an office connected to it. Sarah's students performed The Nutcracker each Christmas for anyone who came to watch, and the girls seemed to really enjoy it. That's why she was excited about their fifth annual show.

        But she hadn't expected so much to come from it.

        Her Advanced Ballet class would be the flowers and the snowflakes, as usual. Except, this year, she had two younger students that would be understudies for them both. Elaine Stesser and Clara Brockwell. They were both only in the eighth grade, whereas the rest of the company was in ninth or higher. Elaine was a practical dancer, very focused. She was not the most talented ballet dancer, as she favored sharp accents instead of gracefulo ones. But Sarah was happy she was joining them.

        Clara, however, was a different matter. She'd been dancing here since 2006, and was very sweet. She had made friends with some of the girls younger than her, but seemed quiet around the ones her age. Elaine, for example, was very outgoing and funny. Clara was almost shy around her, but when she did say something she made Elaine laugh. But Clara Brockwell's biggest problem was her confidence. She did not dance with her eyes up. They were always on the floor, like she was afraid of what she would see in the mirror. She was timid.

        So Sarah had a few worries, but was hoping to boost the self-esteem of the young brunette by giving her these chances.

        The first practice came on a Friday afternoon, it was for Waltz of the Flowers. All the girls showed up, which was a relief. Sarah and her assistant, Ella, were running through the choreograohy they'd planned out in their heads. Emily and Laura came in first, followed by Catherine and Anna. Elaine and Clara came in together.

        After the girls were warmed up, Sarah clapped her hands. "Alright, dancers, line up tallest to shortest on the back bar." The girls obliged. Ella muttered a few suggestions to her and Sarah divided them into three groups. One went to the right, one was opposite them, and the remaining four were the group that would enter later.

        They taught the choreography and were delighted to see the girls picked it up quickly. A few times, Sarah cast quick glances at Eliane and Clara, but they seemed to be working hard and keeping up. After an hour and half of the two hour long practice, the two teachers sat the dancers down in front of them with paper and a pen each.

        Sarah explained. "Girls, we really want to get closer to you this year. We want you to understand that we are approachable and are here for you. We are your friends."

        Some of the girls smiled or nodded. Sarah went on. "So we want you to write down some of your goals for dancing, and we'll read over them and offer you some suggestions on how to improve and complete these goals."

        "That's pretty cool," said Catherine happily. Sarah smiled. "We just want you to know that we care about you."

        Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Clara Brockwell with her head cocked, looking at her funny. She decided to ignore it.

        "So write down what you plan to work on, and then we'll watch the younger girls' dance," Sarah concluded, referring to the other class that was working on their dance in one of the other studios. "And then you will be dismissed." All the girls immediately bent over their papers and began to scrawl. Sarah saw Clara chewing on her fingernail before writing something down.

        That night, after all the classes were finished, an exhausted Sarah picked up the stack of papers and headed home, planning to read them there. The first one she picked up was Elaine's.

       

         1. Turns

        2. Splits

        3. Pointing my feet

        4. Leaps and other across the floor moves

        5. Focus in class

        Sarah smiled. Elaine was always pushing herself, which was something the instructor admired about her. The next one she read was Anna's.

        Finally, after a few more, she came to one with no name on it. Actually, something was entirely different about this one. Two short stanzas, like a poem, were written on it. Intrigued, she peered closer.

                                                     "Approachable," you say.

                                                     "Like lightning," you said.

                                                     "Ever again," you said.

                                                     "Never again," I vowed.

                                                     It has stayed with me always.

                                                     I will give you words to know,

                                                     But not enought to understand.

                                                     That will come with time.

        

        And written at the very bottom, in messy handwriting, were three goals.

        1. Flexibility

        2. Smile

        3. Feel at home.