New York, Here I Come

“Connor, have you thought much about school?” he asked me. I bit my lip nervously. “Daddy, I wanted to talk to you about that…I really want to go to dancing school.” My dad heaved an exaggerated sigh and I held my hands up. “Just let me finish.” He shook his head. “No. No dancing school in New York. You are too smart to be throwing it all away on dancing. You’d be wasting your life chasing that dream.” His words hurt. I knew he thought it was dumb to dance and thought it was a waste of time but he never told me directly that my dream was dumb. “I’m going to New York,” I stated firmly. “No, you’re not. I’ve already received application letters from Southern Miss and Mississippi State. You’re going to one of them whether I have to drag you there by your ponytail or not.” I stomped my foot and bolted up the stairs. I slammed the door behind and locked it. Yanking my blue duffle from under my bed, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Connor, open the door,” my father demanded. I slipped on my cowgirl boots and snatched my sweatshirt off my bed. “No!” I yelled back. He banged on the door a few more times before giving up. A tear slipped down my cheek. I was scared as hell. I was running away to New York with barely any money, no place to stay when I got there, and not even sure if I would get into the dance academy. It was the biggest risk I had ever made but I was willing to take it because I loved dance that much. I stepped onto my balcony and climbed onto the tree whose branches were drooping next to my window. Once my feet had touched the ground I looked back at my house one more time before running towards the bus stop. New York, here I come.