Practice Makes Perfect

“I’m not giving up! I’m going to get a platinum award at competition tomorrow!” The girl cried at her dance teacher. She marched away with tears streaming down her face, headed straight to the dance room.

The girl stood in the middle of the big square room. She pressed her hands to her face, rubbing and shaking her head. Trying to rub away the tears and pressure to be perfect. She walked closer to the mirror and stared straight into her owns eyes. A mental pep talk between herself and the girl in the mirror. She tightened her brunette ponytail until it had no chance of falling out when dancing. Then she fixed her black sports bra, untwisting the straps and then tugged at her nylon shorts that were starting to ride up.

She walked backward on the marley floor to the corner of the room where a large black speaker sat. She picked up her iPod and tapped on it forcefully to start the music. From there she quickly ran to the middle of the room and took a deep breath before getting into her starting pose.

The soft lyrical music started, and she began to move gracefully. Her right arm flowed up and then she turned around herself. She danced beautifully but suddenly stopped every movement to stand there and shake her head back and forth. Her eyebrows scrunched together, frustrated.

She sat down where she was and laid back onto the floor, staring at the ceiling. The music continued playing as she sprawled out. Her shoulders started to jerk. She was crying again.

As the music went on, her breathing got deeper. She stayed there until the song finished then slowly got up again. She dusted herself off and wiped away her tears as she ran over to start the music again. She did just as she did before, taking a deep breath and getting into her starting pose. Her right arm lifted and she turned around herself with the music. She kicked, leaped, and pirouetted all across the floor. Everything was perfect from head to toe. Her legs were straight, feet pointed, and arms graceful.

She went through the whole dance and finished with her final pose on the floor. She wasn’t even there for a second before she got up to start the music again, a cycle that happened nine more times.

“Blair, we’re waiting on you to lock up the studio,” her dance teacher popped her head in the room. She stared with tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

She put her hands to the sides of her head squeezing as if she were trying to get her head to stop overthinking. A single tear fell from her left eye, “I can’t leave. I need to be perfect.”

 

xoxo kristal

All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2019 xoxokristal.com || Kat

The Language of a Strict Ballet Teacher

Hair up. Spray the flyaways. Chin up. Don’t pout. Suck in your stomach. Tuck your butt under. Lengthen your legs and tighten your knees. Turn out your foot. From the ankle. Pull your heel forward. Point your toes. Water? No. Hands are dead. Lengthen through the tips of your fingers. Shoulders down. Don’t look down. Chin up. Come on. Horrible. Butt in. Use your stomach. You need to eat more salad. I don’t know how you’re doing that with no coordination. Spot! Spot! Tighten the supporting leg. Tabletop Tutus? Your legs are too big for those. A romantic tutu will cover those better. No smiling. No laughing! Sit in froggy. You need to stretch your hips. No flexibility. Tighten your back. Chin up. This needs to be perfect. Wrists are broken. Lengthen. Lengthen. Fix your hair. Shoulders down. Do you even want to be here? Many other girls would love to have this spot. Point your feet. Land more gracefully. Quiet! No laughing! Tighten your knees. Turn out from your heels. Chest up. Where is your coordination? Get out! Out of my class!

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xoxo kristal

All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2019 xoxokristal.com || Kat