Sights and sounds so new it hurt. The slippers were as soft and magical as the first time they were fitted. Comparing mine to the older girls was a dream. One day I would be like them. The pink leotards were so funny, but so magical as well! The tights were itchy though. I didn't like them. We learned awesome things, we learned tendus and plies and releves. It was so much fun! I couldn't wait for the next lesson.

Every year we learned more, but I still felt I wasn't getting anywhere. I wanted to be a ballerina now, I wanted to do all the advanced things that I saw other girls in professional schools doing. They were so young, but they knew so many things I didn't. I didn't understand that to become a good ballerina, you had to give everything. It took me many years to finally commit fully. To be a good ballerina, you had to love what you were doing, but more importantly, you had to work hard at it. You had to have the will to do it, and you had to give up everything to be what you dreamed. The will to be the best.

I'm not sure when my dream of ballet first came to be, but I knew before I was 15 that I wanted to dance in the New York City Ballet. I didn't know how I would get there, or how to do it, but I was going to find a way. I kept my dream to myself, more out of the need to understand just what I wanted than because I feared what others would say. Sometimes I wish that I understood the backlash that would come of voicing my dream.

I started on pointe at the same time as everyone else, but because I was graced with strong ankles, I flourished much quicker than my other classmates. That did little to advance my confidence though. I had the passion, but I didn't have the innate ability and beauty that the beautiful dancer in my class had. I was somewhat jealous of her talent. It appeared she never had to work for it, while I had to slave over every inch I earned. Her long and slender body put my pear-shaped figure to waste. When she danced, it was like watching water move without anything to obstruct it. I learned from her, I learned patience, with myself and others. I learned charity and humility, by accepting my own flaws. I learned commitment and hard work from wanting to be better than her. She unwittingly pushed me to be better than I thought I could be. She was an instrument.

Everything changed when I turned 15.

I don't know how long it had existed, but there was tension in my family. My brother had just finished college. He was gone so long that I knew little about him. I do know that when he came home to visit before leaving for his first job, he had changed. There was such a beautiful sparkle and life in his eyes. It hadn't been there before. Everyone noticed it. My mom confronted him about it and before I knew what happened, she was screaming at him. I'd never heard such anger from her. I was scared. So, I did the only thing I could, I walked away. I ran down our stairs and jumped out of the house. It was raining then as well. I pulled my jacket closer over my broad shoulders and walked as fast as I could. I knew the studio would be open.

I think I was in shock as I walked down the slick, gray pavement. I'd never experienced such anger. It was concerning to view it in such depth from my own mother. My mind replayed the anger repeatedly. Each time leaving me increasingly sick of heart. My stomach began hurting. The feeling you get when you are scared. It feels as though your organs are being sucked into a little ball. I found that the easiest way to release and escape that feeling was to distract yourself, or rather, to express yourself. So, whenever I was worried or frightened, I would run down to my dance studio and dance myself tired. I was oblivious to everything while I danced. I didn't have to think, I didn't have to be worried, I just had to feel.

The studio was hidden away in the old industrial part of the city. The old graying brick building standing ominously and empty against the bleak background. The nice part of being in this place, was the stillness. It was almost always deserted. I could feel alone and at peace for what was usually the first time in the day. I was saddened that I only had lessons twice a week. I only had the second one because my teacher had started an advanced class and I was lucky to get into it. As school became more conflicted and my home life had become tense, I was more and more often escaping to my own little world of ballet.

The rain had become a torrential downpour as I flew into the doors of the dry building. When my teacher first bought the building, she turned the old run down factory into a stylish and modern studio. The walls were replaced with floor to ceiling windows, the floors were replaced and polished to a gleam, and the lighting was replaced with beautiful and bright chandeliers. The place was magical. Regardless of whether this studio did famous and classical ballets, and regardless that they were not professional. There was still something here that spoke of a bigger destiny. For me, or the next girl, or all of us together. Someday we would have what we needed to succeed, but this would always be an important place in our lives.

Pulling my leotard over my unshapely body was always hard to think about. I wish I had been born with my father's tall slender physic, instead I was stuck with my mother's beautiful, but unathletic body. The more I researched and the more I worked out, I was finding ways to create the body I would need to be an accomplished ballerina. I was already noticing improvement in my double pirouettes. I was becoming fit and toned, my balance was improving, and I could stretch farther than any other girl in the school, but it still wasn't far enough. Far enough for what? Did I know what the reason for trying so hard to accomplish this, was? Why did I want it so bad? At one time, I thought it was just because I wanted to be good at something. At another, I thought it was because I wanted to be better than everyone else. Now, I didn't know. I didn't know what I wanted from ballet.

Cross the ribbons, then wrap one around our ankle. Tying my pointe shoes was a constant reminder of my childhood, when I would watch the older girls dance and wish for the day when I could have those shoes. When the day came, I sat on the floor and rubbed the soft satin material in my hands. The sheer strength of the shoe and the strength that would be required to wear them and bend them to my will, was a wakeup call to the dedication I was going to have to require myself to give. That was when the lessons were not enough. I spent every spare minute I had at home practicing, manipulating those shoes to my control and stretching my limbs farther than ever before. I built up strength. I had control.

Going from the back room to the wide-open studio, I walked in the darkness made by the cloud blocked sun. I didn't turn on the lights; it wasn't my time to shine. Not yet. The darkness gave me a sense of aloneness. It made me feel as though no one was watching, that I could be who I wanted to and no one could stop me. There was power in that for me, a power that I could only feel once in a while. I treasured it.

I gently eased my earbuds into my ears and tucked my Mp3 player into my leotard. I put it on shuffle, I didn't care what it played, I just wanted to be lost in the exercises. I warmed my cold wet limbs up slowly. Just reaching slowly, before gradually showing off to myself the sheer strength and flexibility of my body. Externally, I moved through the exercises with flowing muscle memory. I hardly thought what I was doing. I just danced, or rather exercised. Internally, I was at peace. I smiled and glowed. My passion for dance kept my mind warm and comforting. I closed my eyes and felt what I was doing. I concealed nothing here. Nothing was hidden to protect myself. My interior world was visible for the world to see. Anyone would know how much I loved ballet by watching my eyes while I moved across the stage. I was told by my friend that my green eyes glowed with love.

I felt warm sweat start falling from my body. It wasn't cloying, but rather releasing. It felt good to work myself into sweet oblivion. The painful feeling taking my heart was slowly being drown away by the effort required to dance my heart out. It floated away with each gentle and slow move of my arms and each grand jete and pirouette. Every so often I would stop and try and correct the moves that I was making incorrectly or was fumbling and falling. Nerves would make you lose your balance, but nothing else except incorrect posture or technique would cause it otherwise. Rachel, my rival, was often really good because she knew what to do with her head and because she had the body of a ballerina. Two gifts I did not have. I had to start from the ground up and learn all the positions of the head before making them beautiful and flawless. I envied the natural talent she had, but talent alone will not get you where you want to go. You must give it your full effort, something I knew she wasn't doing. I could never understand why she didn't work harder. She had the perfect body for a dancer. If I had her body, I would be taking advantage of it in a moment's notice. But she didn't, perhaps she did not want to pursue it as a career.

I played a slow, but flowing song that I always loved. It had the beat to be an epic and graceful dance song. I had never attempted to choreograph something to it before. I think I thought it was too hard to try. Whatever possessed me to try it today, I would never know, but there I was. Trying all the steps that I had learned and even some that my teacher had yet to teach me. I was mastering the steps. I still couldn't reach as high with my legs, nor did I have the balance that my professional counterparts had, but I wasn't giving up. I was starting from the beginning as far as they were concerned. I had the skill level of a ten year old in the professional world of dance. It was disheartening to think of that fact; I was going to be playing catch up the rest of my life.

My mind was so far from my feet, that by the time I realized I perfected a triple pirouette and that I had an audience, I was already slipping and falling to my feet. Rachel's bright blue eyes were staring down at me with complete adoration and respect. She was a kind girl, although I always thought her self-centered and obnoxious. I soon realized that I was the obnoxious one. She was the one who deserved to succeed in the future, not me. She graciously offered her long slender hand to me. I accepted it hesitantly, embarrassed to be found dancing without any walls. I wonder if she could sense and see the utter confusion and sorrow. I was surprised to find that when I regained my footing, I had grown a few more inches and now she only towered over me by only three or four inches.

"That was beautiful, Angela," her low cultured voice praised. "You should dance like that more often." I tugged on one cable.

"Like what? The silly elephant that I am?" I added with a genuine smile. I wanted to be worthy of her cordiality, but we were as different as night and day and I couldn't understand how we could ever be accomplices.

"It was as if you danced and you thought you were alone. You danced like no one was watching and they didn't deserve to know this passionate part of you existed," she replied, voice full of raw honesty and truth. I stared at her, shocked at the depth of her understanding and scared what rumors she might start. Yes, I was scared of her.

"I don't know what you are talking about," I replied, unable to suppress the hint of fear coloring my normal voice. Compared to her musical voice, mine was scratchy and thin. Perhaps it was because I was meant to speak with my feet and body and not my voice. My voice would have to be adequate, because I was never going to let anyone be privy to the secret and special side of me. I didn't want to get hurt.

I started walking away, back to the barre to gently stretch and cool down. I expected her to leave me alone, but she followed me over and began stretching herself. Her eyes never left me, a certain hunger was overpowering in her docile gaze. I felt as though she hungered for the passion I had for my art.

"You have a gift, Angela. Please don't waste it. You not only have the talent for ballet, but you have the passion and the will to succeed. It's rare to see that. Don't throw it away." She turned away while I stared at her with an open mouth. She wanted me to understand that, all this time, she was the one looking up to me? I couldn't believe it, I refused to believe it.

We both stretched in companionable silence. Helping the other without question. I had long since forgotten the explosion at home. I didn't want to think about it now, and I didn't, I just plain forgot about it. Forgetting was sweet, but it was only a way out, it didn't solve anything. It just made me avoid the problem, not fix it, or accept it.

I left Rachel before she had finished her stretching and exercises. I never did find out why she was there. I didn't think she was the type of person who would come in and practice. She had a reason. I guess it was just going to be one of those mysteries that I was never going to know. Stripping out of my sweat stained and soaked leotard, I pulled my partially dried clothes back on. My feet hurt from the brutal strain I gave them, but I was confident I could get home before they gave out from under me. Home, such a conflicted place. Is it strange that so many children would rather be somewhere else anymore? Rather be left in peace in a park, or escaping to somewhere that is normal. Life starts at the home and most homes are not worth living in. The fear began climbing its way back into my body. Spreading from my stomach to my head and feet. Shivers and chill ran up and down my arms. The comfort was missing from the homey studio; it was like any other place now. A tomb waiting to swallow me.

I ran from the darkness threatening to engulf me. I think it was then that I first felt the unmistakable longing to escape the life I lived. I wanted to leave home and never come back. I fought the urge constantly. Sometimes home wouldn't be so bad and I would wonder why I ever wanted to leave, other times it would come back to me in a rushing torrent. All the thoughts and feelings and dreams that I had were not respected and had to be hidden at home and abroad. Ballet was becoming the one place I could be myself. It scared me that dance was my one escape from the mask that had been built around me. What would happen if it was taken away? What would happen if my mom decided that I had enough dance lessons and it was time for something more serious and practical. I would lose the last thing in my life that was keeping me afloat.

The sky had darkened with coming sunset. I couldn't see it, but I knew that it would fall from the sky soon and be hidden until another dawn. The rain still fell. I pulled my knitted sweater closer over my freezing arms. My bag slung over my arms. Turning the corner, I was roughly lifted off the ground. I screamed, knowing that it was unlikely that anyone would hear me. Not half a second later, I knew I had nothing to fear, other than losing a few years of my life.

"Charles!" I yelled, as his fleeing form outlined the wet pavement. I pursued after him. Winding around the soaked sidewalks and alleyways. He was cunning and fast, but I was beginning to catch up with him in speed. I slowed to a gentle trot. Listening for the thump of his incessant footsteps. They rose and fell with the rhythm of a trained athlete. Speeding ahead with light footsteps, I turned a corner street just as I heard his own gait slow considerably. My gentle footsteps could hardly be heard against the pattering of the large drops of rain pelting my face. I timed my arrival as he turned the corner. Jumping into his arms, I was lucky that I did not send both of us to the concrete with broken skulls. We both lacked considerable prudence.

He caught me with scared arms, before staggering and easing to the ground. Falling on top of him and laughing cheerfully for the first time in days. His own rolling laugh pushing through my ears. A soothing balm compared to the harshness of anger filled words. I loved his laugh. It was home.

"Please, please, please never give me a heart attack again!" I exclaimed, smile still pulling on my lips as I gazed down at his sopping face. His eyes filled with glee and mischief. Charles had been my dearest and only friend for more years than I cared to count. Friends came and went, but he was always by my side. We were playmates more than friends. Playing jokes on the other constantly and laughing at the others expense. We rarely engaged in anything deeper than plotting pranks on those we marked as enemies. We were both immature bumbling teenagers.

Sliding off him and to the hard pavement was a messy display of non-practiced ease. Pushing himself to be seated with a wince, I wondered what sort of injury he had sustained for my benefit this time. He knew how to make me smile and he would stop at nothing to make me do it. I offered my hand and grunted at the amount of strength necessary to pull a growing boy to his feet. Looking both ways, I pulled him back to the sidewalk and we continued away from the desolate end of town.

"Honestly, you are becoming so predictable that it should embarrass you," he teased, tone light. I glared at him with heat.

"Explain yourself," I hoped to keep him talking until I returned home, then I would not have to explain the situation that awaited me.

"Well, I can usually predict where you will be at a given time. If you are not at school, then you will be at home, and you never stay longer there than to eat and sleep before you are off to the dance studio. You should just consider moving in there. Hide in the back of the stage and haunt it like ol' what's his name from Phantom of the Opera."

"When did you see that?"

"I haven't, hence the reason I cannot remember ol' what's his face's name." His grin was threatening to break out of his face, a smile tried to break my face as well, but I refused to let it come forth.

"Come on," he snickered, jabbing his fingers into my side and back in an attempt to force me into complying with his wish of seeing my white teeth. "I know it's in there somewhere!" I was laughing too hard to breath. My voice came out a strained shock of air.

"What's where?" I giggled, attempting to escape his incessant grasp. His own voice came out in cute chuckles.

"That adorable smile of yours. Come on, I know it's in there." I conceded at last and gave him a full toothed smile, free of any restraint. He always knew how to make me smile. He could make me forget everything like nothing else except dancing.

He let me loose, I rather missed the distraction. I think he must have realized that because he slung his arm over my shoulders and across my neck. It was more like a hard slap the way he did it, sometimes he forgot how strong he was. He was an awkward teen like the rest of us. All arms and legs and still trying to understand the sheer amount of pain one wrong move could cause to another human being. I was still trying to understand if he meant to squeeze the living day out of me when we hugged, or if he was just that naive about himself. I'm beginning to think that it is just his special type of humor. He unconsciously knows his strength and he just begs indifference. He could get away with feeding me jalapenos and not be missing a head the next morning just because he had the most innocent and sweet smile.

We wandered down the empty streets, swaying around the emptiness. I in gentle rhythm and him in athletic power. The silence was beginning to overpower me. Any minute he was going to understand that something was bothering me. He had that sixth sense ability to understand my moods, but he never knew when to keep his mouth shut. I fumbled for anything to say, but every time I spoke it in my mind, it sounded weird and obvious.

"Something's bothering you," I groaned and leaned down to cover my face, rain pouring off like a waterfall. For once he couldn't be smart and be quiet? Just once?

"I don't want to talk about it," I replied from behind my cage and shelter.

"Hm, then I guess that leaves me with twenty questions-"

"Charles." One step from losing it.

"- Animal, mineral, or vegetable?" I give up.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay!" I yelled, sick of running, yet enjoying the feeling. No, I didn't want to talk about it to people who didn't understand or care. He would care, but he wouldn't understand. I needed him to understand, but it would be pointless to try. Hence the running, I ran because people wanted me to explain, but I wanted more than to explain, I wanted understanding and pity. I couldn't get that.

He stared at me for a few minutes, taking in the sopping wet mess that was my head, the set pale line of my mouth and the conflicted worry in my eyes. I think I broke something in our friendship. An outspoken word was all it took to ruin the most precious things in my life. Both of us were too awkward to apologize. So we walked on, through the deserted streets of the old industrial city and into the newer houses and parks of the rest of the city. The only sound being the splash of rain falling into the little streams that lined the streets and the rolling sound of our footsteps. I already missed the sound of his gentle teasing. My stomach continued to knot worse, what had I done? I just couldn't escape from the problems in my life. I was so close to telling him and making him understand. Just so I could avoid making another problem in my life.

"I'm sorry, Angela. I shouldn't have pushed," he answered, my head whipped to his face, studying the well worn lines of laughter in awe. I had never heard him admit to his inability to be prudent. I smiled lightly in response, thankful that he had overcome himself to speak first.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, I thought it sweet that he had no idea what was going on in my life, but he wanted to make it better for me anyway.

"Yes," I replied, pulling my lips into a thin line. "You can make me laugh."

"Thy wish is my command, oh great one!" I sighed, some things never changed. The wind rushed by me in soft howls, scattering the heavy water droplets from the leafy trees over our heads.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?" he asked, after pondering his brain for a few moments. My face scrunched up in confusion and distaste. If this was another one of his stupid morbid jokes, then I would spend the rest of the evening chasing him around town. I needed the exercise anyway.

"I have no idea. Do enlighten me."

"To say 'hello from the other side!'" he answered in a sing-song voice. Doing a horrible imitation of the song while he had the chance. Without a word, I took off running after him, slipping and sliding on the river like streams rushing down the sidewalk. I made a mental note to do something evil to him next time I had the chance.

It was late by the time I get back home. The sky had darkened by the unseen sun setting. It had turned to a midnight gray. As I walked up the manicured path to our front door, I noticed my brother's car missing. Mom must have thrown him from the house. We hadn't seen him in almost a year. I was looking forward to spending time with the brother I hardly knew, but he was gone before I could even understand the strange twinkle in his eye.

The blinds were open, but the house was darkened. I questioned whether the power had been cut to our house, or if my family was held hostage inside. I couldn't be sure from my place on the lawn. I guess I wasn't losing much if I went in. I gently pushed the door open; we always left our doors unlocked, we lived in a stable and rich neighborhood of town. Everyone knew each other and kept their distance. I heard footsteps down the winding rooms of our house, I relaxed immediately. Recognizing them as the rollicking ones of my father. Besides his comforting presence; the house was empty.

I walked silently around the front windows, drawing the curtains, and hiding us from view should there be another confrontation. I knew that sometimes Charles would wander around the neighborhood and I had no desire for him to be privy to our family problems. Turning one of the lights on, I pivoted to face the fuzzy outline of my father in the dim light. His ginger/auburn hair was a murky gray in the shadowed light. I smiled faintly.

"I guess it's just us tonight," He looked at me curiously before nodding slightly. I swallowed nervously. "Have you heard from Mom?"

"She called me earlier. Said she would be spending the night at her Mom's house. She mentioned something about a fight. Which, I'm guessing is the reason why Sam is missing as well." I swallowed hard, this time to avoid the tears. I nodded once. Rushing to walk to somewhere I could hide. My father was much more understanding of human emotions than my mother though. He caught me in his arms before I could make it past him and to my haven upstairs. Heedless to my soaking figure wetting his professional work shirt.

"Did they fight?" he asked, as I trembled, but remained silent in his arms. Curling against him in seek of something I couldn't name.

"Yes," I choked out. He offered a pillar of comfort. I knew I was always welcomed there if nowhere else. I think Dad would always believe in anything I chose to do with my life. Not because it was particularly praiseworthy, but because he loved me. He wanted me to have my dream and he would stop at nothing to make sure I had what he didn't. Even if it meant standing up against the whole world. That made up for all the times he wasn't there. His work may not have been very imaginative or creative, but it seemed as though he was constantly gone or working long hours. Which left me at home by myself or with Mom. Which made me feel alone and uncared for.

"Why were they fighting?" I asked, in hopes of wheedling out whatever information Mom had told him. He held me closer, pushing me further into his embrace. I prepared myself for the worst.

"Someday, Ange. You will find that standing up for what you believe in can get you persecuted by even those you hold most dear."

"What does that mean?" I asked, holding his emerald gaze with my equally emerald one.

"It means keep your eyes open and don't let anything hold you back from the truth." Staring at him, I nodded slowly, not sure I understood, but attempting to convince him otherwise.

Our evening was quiet; the peace was just how we liked it. I resembled my father in almost everything except my flaring red hair. We have the same eyes, same face, same disposition, and same temperament. The only thing I received from my mother was her curvy, pear shaped body and her flaming and wavy hair. Whole bottles of hairspray did nothing to tame the flaming mess. I hated those wavy curls.

Later in the evening, as my father retired to his office to do some work, I took to the enticing depths of the smooth hallway from the door to the kitchen. I used the area to stretch at home. I rarely had the perfect space though, because someone was usually around and tripping over me when I tried. I hid in my room when my mother was home. Not wishing to be exposed to the silent scorn in her glances. I pushed and pulled at my obstinate limbs. Begging to forcing them come under my control. The pure joy I received when they did cooperate, almost made up for the stinging pain I woke up with the next day. It never got easier, I just got farther along. What I was learning for dances last year had become my warm up this year.

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