Several eyes stare at me from the audience setting my nerves high as I create a story through my dance. My group, along with a few students in the higher grades, and I, have been practicing for this show for six months to raise money for our school and the local youth center. We have so far raised about forty thousand dollars, which is amazing but as the main ballerina, I need to ensure people don’t regret donating so much.
Black Beauty, the movie, is full of empathy, kindness, and survival. Doing the ballet is no different. It’s my job to convey the show's emotions throughout, which is no easy feat. It’s especially challenging when I know my mom and my sister are not in the audience. I haven’t seen them the few times I allowed myself to look out to the crowd.
The music picks up, becoming intense, and I try to keep my face soft as I spin before bringing my leg out, then slowly movingit in, making a triangle, so to speak, and bending slightly into a pose.
The music begins to accelerate, and I let my body follow. From my pose, I quickly jump and extend my right arm. My face shows pain and heartbreak before I leap across the stage towards Drake, my dance partner who is waiting for me.
My breathing quickens, and my legs burn, but I make my way towards him, with a ballet turn which is basically a jump.
He catches me, his hands gripping my waist, and lifts me into the air. Then he spins towards the middle of the stage as the music consumes me. I get lost in the story as he tilts me onto my side and I allow my body to go limp so to speak, posing and a few gasps echo from the crowd.
For as long as I could remember, ballet has been my dream since I was three and Mom bought me my first tutu thinking I’d look cute, not believing I’d want ballet to be my life. Even though she didn’t push for more from that little tutu, my dad, he’s amazing and has ensured that I get to make my dreams come true.
He takes me to dance classes, comes to my shows, even if he is a little late, like today. He encourages me every single day, but my mom, she hates myhobbyas she calls it and regrets buying the tutu.
Mom doesn’t see a career in ballet, she thinks my chubby self – her words, not mine – can’t make it as a ballet dancer. If she has it her way, I’d be joining her church at eighteen and marrying the man she sees fit, some do-gooder who would likely bore me to death.
Never going to happen.
The music slows, and Drake slowly brings me back down as I curl myself around his body. He spins as he helps me back to my feet before stopping in front of the audience. I hold my leftarm out and pose with Drake as the crowd goes wild for the performance.
I give a soft smile despite trying to catch my breath and I look through the people until I spot my father near the back, cheering and whistling, a massive smile gracing his face. It takes everything in me not to tear up and drop my smile when I see my mother and my little sister, Elizabeth, are not standing by him and the disappointment hits hard.
They missed another show.
Drake and I bow as the rest of the cast join us, and the crowd cheers louder.
Pride and joy should be filling me right now, but instead, I just feel so much disappointment—because once again, my mom hasn’t supported me. The contrast between what I want to feel and what I actually feel is sharp and painful.
We take our final bow as the curtain closes, and Drake pulls me into him before swinging me around, and I smile slightly.
“You were amazing, Drew,” he crows, and I chuckle as he lets my feet down before he gently presses his lips against mine. I sigh with disappointment…
Lately, that sense of disappointment has become almost constant, even during moments that should be happy.
Drake and I have been seeing each other for the past month after he asked me out on a date after one of our practice sessions. He’s my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and yet I feel no spark with him.
Every time he tries to kiss me, his chapped, small lips just feel wrong against mine.
“So were you,” I say tightly as I pull back and we lock eyes, Drake isn’t bad-looking, I just feel nothing for him romantically. Blonde shaggy hair, five ten and every girl in school wants his attention. I should feel honored, but I feel nothing...
Maybe we’re better off as friends.
“Drew?” I hear my dad call me, and I break away from Drake before Dad kills him and smile.
While I take after my dad with my sandy blonde hair and dark blue eyes, my sister is the image of both our parents, with my mom’s brown hair and my dad's blue eyes.
“I’ll call you later,” Drake mutters, seeing his parents coming our way, and I give him a nod before he walks off, looking back at me one more time. I ignore him as my dad picks me up and swings me around, making me giggle before he hugs me tight.
“I am so proud of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and I hold him tighter, the smell of oil hitting my senses, making me relax even more.
For as long as I can remember, Dad has been working at Rose Hill Tires, a garage in between Hill Crest and Rose Meadows. He has worked his way up to being part owner. I just wish he wasn’t always so late.
“Thanks, Daddy,” I whisper as we pull apart before I look behind him, thinking maybe Mom and Elizabeth were seated elsewhere because he was late, but I deflate.
“Your mom really wanted to be here, sweetheart, but El, she got in trouble again, got caught fighting, and your mom is trying to ensure she doesn’t get kicked out of school,” Dad murmurs softly. I swallow hard and blink rapidly to stop the tears from forming.
It’s always the same excuse. Every time I have something—ballet, dance, or even a school event—my mom is never there. Somehow, Elizabeth always needs her more.
