Moondancer

Do you ever wonder about where you would be if you decided to go on a different path than you are on now? That's exactly what Sandra's doing, trying to get back the ballerina she used to be.

 Moondancer

         Dark strands of brown hair fell into Sandra’s face. At the start of the day, she had pinned it up in a tight bun, but now like her dream, it was falling apart. The warm suds crawled up her pale arms as she moved them gracefully to the slow rhythm of cleaning dishes. Humming softly she gazed out the window and was taken away into her memories. Every movement she made was graceful. Sandra was meant to be a ballerina.

        When she was a little girl, about four, her mother took to her first ballet, Swan Lake. From the last collapse of the heavy red velvet curtains, Sandra knew she was a ballerina. On her fifth birthday, her mother gave her a sparkling pink tu-tu with a matching leotard and shoes. Delighted Sandra danced for the rest of the day. The present from her father was ballet lessons. As soon Sandra stepped on the worn wooden floor, she was filled with doubt. What if she wasn’t meant to be a ballerina after all? Maybe it was just a silly dream, she thought she could just slip on the shoes and tutu and become as elegant as the ballerinas on stage. But the firmness of the studio’s floor brought her back to reality, could she really do this?

        The answer was yes, soon, only after a week of learning, Sandra excelled well above all the other ballerinas. The wood floor turned from being her uncertainty to her confidence. When she felt the floor under her feet she knew this wasn’t a dream, that she really was a ballerina. For many years forward Sandra danced in many performances, but her main goal was always to be able to be the star of Swan Lake, professionally as an adult.

        Then one day, around her sixteenth birthday, her sureness about her future were abruptly changed. She met a boy, he was just as she pictured him to be. Brown hair and eyes almost as dark as the night sky. He was laid back, lets say he fell into the category of bad-boy, he did drugs, didn’t care what people thought of him, and she immediately fell in love. Dropping out of high school with him, she put the Swan Lake ballerina into the back of her mind.

        Now, standing in the small kitchen overlooking the dangerous streets of the trashiest part of the city, she brings the swan lake ballerina back. A hard crease appears in her temple, lost in her daydream, a glass slips from her hand and shatters fluorescent shards across the dirty warped wood floor. She wonders where she'd be if she had chosen to be that Swan Lake ballerina.

Maybe instead,

of the splintering warped floor of her house,

the stage floor would be scratchless and freshly waxed, with rich redwood planks.

Maybe instead,

of the cries of her children,

gunshots,

yelling,

car screeches

and screams

there would be echoing ovations.

Maybe instead,

of a weeks unwashed outfit of worn jeans and black t-shirt,

she would be dressed in a feathered starch white tutu that flowed with her body.

Maybe instead,

of the smell of gasoline,

mildew,

filthy streets,

blood and unwashed bodies,

perfume, sweat, candy and roses would hang in the theater air.

Maybe instead,

of working all day and night anywhere she can, for any price, even as low as a couple dollars,

she would be earning enough money to buy out all the places and more where she works now.

Maybe instead,

of leaving her children to raise themselves, with a poor education and having them live the roughest style of living,  

she could have enough money for her children to go to private school and to have fancy clothes and luxurious toys.

Maybe instead,

of sadly saying she didn’t have any food or money for the children who asked her for something, anything,

she would be signing her name for little girls that she had been like, their eyes full of admiration.

   Maybe if she had waited, she would have found someone else better, someone who wouldn’t leave her with two kids to feed in the middle of a god forsaken city. Someone who would always stand by her, someone she met backstage as the red velvet curtains collapsed with the sound of clapping in the background.

        But she had been in love, and now she curses herself that she ditched her dreams for a boy. If she could only go back in time and show herself where she is now. She put the last dish in the cupboard where a mouse had also made her home. Sandra could have easily shooed the little mouse family out, but something inside of her let them stay. Odette, her youngest approached her and asked in an adult voice,

        “Sandra, is there any food? And if there is any, can I have some please?”

        The way Odette talked and acted makes Sandra want to cry. Her little girl, eleven years old, acted if Sandra wasn’t her mother, but someone who just provides food and shelter. Her older son wasn’t better. He was sixteen now, always out of the house doing something.

        “Yes, there’s a little cheese and bread left from last night, you can have it all,” the quiver in Sandra’s voice was clear.

        Odette nodded curtly and said without emotion, “Thank you."

        Smudges of dirt and scars covered Odette’s beautiful face. Her unusual red hair was in a messy braid down to the small of her back. Bones were visible from every angle of her body. Though you could clearly see the grace that her mother had in every step she took.

        Sandra lost herself in thoughts for a moment. If she had ignored her feelings, made the right choice and became a famous ballerina, she would be teaching Odette ballet, hugging her, singing her softly to sleep and kissing her on her forehead. Sandra closes her eyes, letting a single tear slide down her cheek.

        It's time for a walk, she thinks as she briskly weaves through the furniture to what was left of the door and closes it gently when she is outside. Taking a deep breath, she starts walking, walking and walking. She stops when she comes to the closest thing to someplace nice. It is a public park, littered, and drug dealers and homeless are everywhere.

        She knew that there was no further she could go down into that dark life, but maybe there was a small bit of hope still alive in her. She knew, no matter what, that she is and always will be that Swan Lake ballerina, dancing and dancing until she reaches the moon.

        A slow smile crept onto her chapped lips as she looked into the darkening sky; the moon peeked through the haze of a grey cloud. Yes, she thought, the Swan Lake ballerina was still alive. She was still dancing, and wouldn’t stop until the heavy red curtains of my life close, no matter how sad the ballet was. 

Reviews

[Amy Silverstone]

This is a really beautiful piece.
I love how you portrayed Sandra's daughter!
I also really like the message you're sending out to people :-)

Keep it up :-D

[DropOfPearly]

Thank you!