Devotion(2)

I wait a second, holding my breath, but hear nothing. Letting out a sigh of relief, I head toward the back door, slipping out into the cool night air. The dampness of the grass makes my feet a little wet.

I stop and look at the little building that at one time felt like everything to me, the place my mother had built because she finally loved me. She saw something in me that was worth loving for the first time. I’d made her proud. For a time, at least.

Sometimes I can’t get out of that place fast enough. And other times I sneak in to be alone.

I open the glass doors and walk in, sitting down on the cold hardwood floors of the dance studio. I stretch, trying to make my muscles not feel so tight. They ache from being overworked, and what I really need is sleep. But my mind won’t let me have it. The pain in my muscles and the hunger that lingers from missing dinner bite at me.

I know the only thing that will give me peace is if I dance. It’s the only thing that makes everything else melt away. To dance for myself. To not think about the performance I have tomorrow. It’s when I feel most free. No one here to yell at me and tell me I’m doing it wrong. That my feet aren’t right or that I’m not trying hard enough.

When I dance for myself I don’t care about any of that. I feel the music and let it take me. I fall into a world where there are no pressures to be something I don’t want to be, to live up to impossible expectations, no matter how hard I try or how hard I work. It’s never enough for her. But in these small stolen moments, it’s enough for me.

And that’s all that matters. Until she wakes up.





Chapter Two





Aurora





I walk off stage and enter the large dressing room. I have a small part in a large production in New York, and I really like the troupe. But my mother is constantly speaking with the choreographers and directors for me to have more time in the spotlight. She controls every part of my dancing, and although it annoys me, it did get me the opening of the ballet. It shouldn’t make me feel good that I got it because of her, but as long as I’m able to get on stage, I’ll count it as a win.

When I make my way to the small table I sit at to put on my makeup, I’m surprised to see a large vase of flowers. My mother usually has a bouquet for me after every show, but she makes a scene about giving them to me when others are around. Not when I’m alone.

I see my name on the front of the card, and I reach out to take it. But before my fingers can land on it, the entire arrangement is out of my reach.

“I’ll take care of this,” my mother snips and walks out of the dressing room with the flowers. I open my mouth to protest, but the entire troupe enters the room and the place is filled with noise and laughter.

It’s the final show of the season, and while some of the dancers are going on the road with the show, I’ve been pulled.

My mother thinks that I need more training away from home and away from distractions. She said that I would never make the lead unless I took dancing seriously. She said it like dancing hasn’t been my entire focus since the day I could walk.

She’s arranged for me up to have a year-long training camp in Germany. I won’t have access to internet, my cell phone, visitors, nothing. Although it’s not like I have any friends to talk to, but the internet would have been nice. She said I can write letters to her if I want to, but she’d rather I keep my focus on dancing.

She said I’ll have a dancing instructor who keeps me on a strict diet, and I will dance morning, noon and night until I am absolute perfection. She also informed me that she used the money she’d been saving for my college tuition, so this is really my only chance to make it.

I argued with her, but there was no way around it. She said Germany wasn’t refundable, and if I refused to go she’d kick me out. For a few moments I had considered my options. But without a cent to my name and no work experience, my options were limited. I was never allowed to have a part-time job, so I never had my own money. It’s embarrassing to not have anything of your own, but when your life is regimented down to the food you put in your mouth, you sort of get used to it.

When I agreed to Germany, as we both knew I would, I began to dream of a place where I could find myself. Even if it was just a small piece away from my mother’s control. Something was better than nothing. And at the moment that was all I felt.

“Who were they from?” I ask my mother as she enters the room without the flowers in her hands.

“They weren’t for you,” she says while she smiles to the dancers around us, telling them what a great job they did tonight. She’s yet to tell me how well I did.