Toe for Toe

Arriving at the school in her Sunday best, Amelia carried her torn bag made up of curtains and leftover material, held together with straps and stitches. Within this bag held her life, her passion, it was truly all she owned. Making her way up those long stairs that seemed shine within the light of the home she let hand glide over freshly polished wood, her own eyes staring back at her. The sound of the Ballet Masters cane could be heard as it tapped the floor “ “1… 2.. 3.. And 4.. 5 … 6...7 and 8 and 1 .. “ the counting could be heard echoing along with each tap of the cane. Waiting a brief moment a tall woman, older who seemed to permanently have a stern distort to her face gathered up Amelia and led her down a long hallway “ here is where you will sleep, there is your trunk, “ after the gaunt woman looked the girl over she continued “ and where are your things child?” Amelia held up her bundle that was basically all tied together “ ere Miss, it’s all I got “ an almost sneer curled upon the womans thin lips “ I see” she simply said “ you are expected up in rehearsal hall one, hurry it up” she then without any further word simply turned and made her departure, the pale grey dress trailing behind her.

Amelia who was meek in stature and demeanor simply did as she was told, quickly donning her attire with shoes in hand scrambling towards the rehearsal halls. Bursting through the door , dishevelled , not looking the part of a ballerina at all she tumbled into the room with quite a commotion. The noise drew the attention of the entire room who now as daggers stared at the newly arrived. With a gulp and a waiver she stood up quickly while trying to seem a poised as she could, but it wasn’t working. The Maestre walked up to her with his cane and tapped at her shoes “ these need to be on to dance do they not?” the question of course what rhetorical but it didn’t matter, Amelia was fighting back everything she could to not cry. Donning each slipper she then rose stripping off the tattered cover up to reveal very old leotard and tights, they were worn, did not fit her properly being far to big, but it was all she had. With whispers not just from the other girls but the Maestre and other instructors she knew her day had not started off all that well. Once the grueling hours had passed she collapsed against the wall, body, mind, emotions thin. Then before her a pair of pink tights stood, perfect in definition, perfectly shaped and supported. “What are you doing here?” the voice came across from the young girl now berating her “ this school is only for the very best of the dancers, you don’t belong here” she had made it clear her intentions. “If you happen to make it to the workshop at the end of the year understand, that is as far as you will go “ her tone had lowered as it was pointed and cruel. Bending down with lithe fingers she grasped Amelias pointe shoe which now lay on its side atop the wood floor “ pathetic “ she stated “ look it must be held together with glue” letting the older shoe tumble from her hands to the floor she then turned and headed off, her and a few other girls chatting as they made their way.

It was at that moment Amelia narrowed her eyes, she should have been scared, terrified even but she wasn’t, she was now determined. Beyond all hope she had been chosen for this scholarship , due to hard work, dedication, and technique she had been chosen from thousands for this project and she wasn’t going to let them or herself down. Amelia studied tirelessly, late nights, early mornings, taping her shoes just to keep them on her feet, hiding the pain through clenched teeth and broad smiles. Amelia bled each night, her feet were deformed, her body sore but her determination to succeed drove her to this unending and often brutal training to be a perfect ballerina. Days seemed to blend into each other until it was the week of the workshop. The excitement filled the halls, seeming to feed off of each girl to the next, Amelia was quiet keeping to herself most of the day until that fateful evening.

Crystal blue eyes gazed from beneath the trickle of ebony strands coming lose from her tie, a soft tremble upon each breath that quivered the tresses. Amelias gaze landed upon Delia , who commanded attention, her poise, attitude seeped from every pore as she just stood front and center. With each movement Delia displayed perfection, every line was as intended, her flawless costume accentuated her movements creating an ethereal like ambiance to her performance. Amelias hands ran across her old cloth she had sewn from the curtains of her home, comparing in heavy contrast to those that donned Delia. The two were as different as two could be. Amelias heart sank as did her body into the duvateen draped legs on stage right. It seemed her world would spin in a fog of anxiety causing her posture to waver until the music came to an abrupt halt and her name was then called.

Stepping hesitantly from behind the duvateen into the scorching stage lights that blinded her on contact she found the X at center stage. Eyes closed slowly while her body melted into a puddle upon the wood floors. Arms wrapped around her body while forehead touched the wood beneath her tattered dress. There she waited for the music to begin hoping it drowned out the thumping within her chest, hoping that she would be able to dance.

With the beginning tones that are heard there was no movement, until the first pull upon violin strings she remained still but then as if sudden magic cast upon the bundle of cloth there was a tremor. With each violin pull and pulsating tremor she would slowly rises, arms extended out as head leaned backwards, stretching her limbs to their full extension, perfection. The soft tones played while she began her prancing about the stage, the music had infected her, lost within the realm she had painted in her own mind .

Amelia used the entire stage to depict the scene, her body was pale, her hair straggly as if the curls had dimmed over time. The rugged tears and deterioration of her costume showed well the decay of her character while it seemed to dance on it’s own about her form. Amelia allowed the music to envelop her, her movements were on point, seemingly guided by an invisible thread that made it appear she wasn’t even touching the floor. With each breathtaking leap her body seemed to fly, embraced by flawless technique , fueled by the passion of dance.

With the music approaching it’s end she finished on pointe, every limb, torso head, supported perfectly while she did a series of pirouettes spinning faster and faster . With the loud crescendo her body suddenly as if cracking contorted into a series of angles and then fell to the floor in a heap. Music stopped.

There she remained as she tried to catch her breath, she didn’t know how others saw it, she didn’t know if they liked it, but for the first time she didn’t care. This dance was for her. This performance was to prove to herself she could dance just like any other girl at the academy, that money couldn’t buy you passion.