Dancer

Sometimes you dance, sometimes you don't

The first time I danced I was one, barely walking and tumbling about.

I remember my mother picking me up when I fell over.

When I was four she took me to my first dance class.

I watched the tall ballerina's leap about in such a grand way.

They reminded me of swans, and sometimes frogs.

They wore pretty shoes that looked fun to wear.

I could sit all day and watch them dance.

Sometimes a girl would sit next to me watching them too, she'd be around my age.

"They're pretty," she said.

"Yes very pretty," I told her back.

"My sister is a ballerina, I'm going to be one too."

"I'm going to learn here."

"Me too."

Classes for children were different than what I imagined.

We did little stretches, and fluttered about the practice room like butterflies.

I frowned at the girl.

She could lift her leg straight up

I wanted to do that too.

The teachers favored her.

I didn't like that.

My dances were sloppy and uneven

instead of a swan, I was a duck 

A duck trying to be a swan.

No matter how much I tried, I was still a duck

The teachers knew that too, that's probably why they didn't pay enough attention to me.

"Hey how was class?"

"Fine.

"Fine?"

"Yes."

I quit dancing, my mother still made me go to the recital.

I was in the back, hidden from the audience.

An embarrassment.

My face flushed with shame.

At the end my mother came and hugged me.

"You were so good."

I don't think I like dancing much.