Page 86 of Race to Me

My hands trail along the clean, white walls as I tiptoe down a narrow, dimly lit hallway.

“Mrs. Parks?”

I go further until I step into a large room. It’s empty besides the smooth, light hardwoods and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A string of windows sits along the high side of the far wall, allowing for a sliver of light to seep in.

I walk up to one of the mirrors to study my reflection.

Perfection.

Sadness.

Pity.

Beauty.

Ugly.

Overwhelming emotions cause me to collapse within myself and onto the cold wooden floor. It may be dramatic, but I can’t explain what it’s like to see yourself from every angle in the mirrored room.

I try to regain my composure and turn my head; there’s no escape. But it’s endless, not claustrophobic.

You can see every demon looking back at you, every fear and consequence.

I could lose myself here.

I could dance.

My phone … the bittersweet songs I’ve compiled from Foster’s playlist.

It was always cheering that Mom wanted me to do, even though I wanted more, even though I wanted expression … maybe this could be my thing.

But again, wouldn’t this make her happy?

Stop, Skyler.

Flipping on a sweet song, I attempt to match the rhythm of dancers I’ve seen during nationals, where every form of dance came together for competition. I’ve learned dances for grand galas and for over-the-top parties. Dances ‘every young lady should know,’ as my mother would say.

But ballerinas are so graceful; the way they can pirouette with ease, how their bodies move like the rolling tide.

Calm, dangerous, and inviting.

I twirl my body, keeping my arms fluid yet stiff. I look to myself and through myself as I lose myself for countless minutes.

A string of dangling stars flicker above me, no ... the lights are on.

A clap sounds behind me, and Mrs. Parks walks into the middle of the room. “You’ve got wonderful structure,” She leans against one of the mirrors while I catch my breath. “Give me a few months, and I’ll help you find yourself.”

“Find myself?” I ask, wondering if she could hear my thoughts through the dance or if I’ve lost my mind and was talking out loud to myself.

She nods, adding, “Yes, find your rhythm.” She walks over to the bar and stretches her leg upward, gracefully pointing her toe out. “I can help you, Skyler.”

“No one can.” I reply quietly, unsure what I’m actually doing here.

Why I walked inside.

Why I feel like home in the never-ending walls of this mirrored room that makes me see myself in ways I’ve never imagined.

“Ican’t.” I finally say, turning to walk away from it all.

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