Page 7 of The Breaking Pointe
It pays off, but only in ways that stand out if you have an inkling of humble ability.I’m grateful for any handouts, but recently, they haven’t been good enough to make sure things keep running.It feels like I’m scrapping by for studio rent nearly every month now. I even picked up a part-time job, waiting on tables for some chump change.
Anything if it means I can continue teaching under my company name:Mayberry’s School for Ballet.
I’ve rented out said space for a little over a year, and within that year, things have only become harder to maintain. The theateristhoughtfulenoughtopayforhalfofthebills,but
with us not being able to gross as much, it’s been scary to think about. I can fill in the blanks here and there, but I’m afraid the unspeakable will finally happen by the holidays. Which is that the owners will sell the building to someone more profitable, leaving the girls and I right on the curb. Thus leaving me and the little ladies shit out of luck.
They’ve been looking forward to their Nutcracker recital, and with my fears possibly being a reality, it might be all I can give them.I’m not very religious, but my parents are. Something that’s pretty important to them is praying.I may not believe in much, but I unquestionably believe that prayers can be answered.Most of mine already have, and that’s created a sense of hope that I know isn’t universal. While I have it though, I should embrace being the opposite of pessimistic.So, until further notice, it’s training and prayers as if my life depends on it.
* * *
When Daniel and I ended things—or rather, when I ended things—it felt like the end of the world.It’s like someone took the biggest, heaviest weight and set it on my chest, leaving it there for me to remove with little to no help. It’s obviously for the best, but I never want to feel that weak again.I feel like the strongest woman alive now when he isn’tinmypresence.It’sevenbetterknowingthatit’s him and not me with the problem.I get to try my hand at being the lady in charge, just like my female peers.Their boyfriends let them lead the way, to be their own person. I envy that.
As I lock the door to the dance studio, I can feel the onset
of the chilly evening air blowing against my sheer skirt that I’m too much in a rush to change out of.With today beinga Saturday,thatmeansit’s imperativetogettothetrain on time.Otherwise, I’ll be waiting an extra hour due to rush hour.I’m not up for being late to my group meeting. I’m pretty punctual, and I like to keep it as such.Nothing bothers me more than someone being late for me—or worse, something making me late. My parents have always instilled that it’s a lousy quality to uphold. Yet some people take such pride in it. I could never be that kind of person.
The wind blows more against my body as I turn around, beginning my journey to the station, each foot moving forward in a rush. I normally put my headphones on, but I didn’t have a second to spare.I’m more tuned in with my missiontogethomeandchangebeforeanythingelse.As a result, I’m stuck listening to the hustle and bustle of the town around me—or what seemed to be activity.Usually it’s more busy around this time, but the sidewalks were almost empty today. Unusual as it may be, it’s making this commute a hell of a lot easier. Alone with nobody in my way.
My sneakers scrape against the concrete beneath me loudly.But then, I notice an echo of steps, sounding like they’re picking up behind me awfully quick.Stopping at the crosswalk, I step to the side, hoping the person goes around me. It’s the worst feeling: that someone is walking so quickly behind they’re only waiting for you to get out of their way.
Just as I do, two hands snatch my waist, pulling me away from the street like I’m a child being kidnapped.With no thoughts, I belt out a scream.
“Noelle, it’s me!”a gritty voice yells as I’m spun around,
adding laughter to the end of his words.
Just what I need.I’ll be late for certain now.
“That’s not funny, Daniel,” I say emotionless as I cross my arms, hiding what I can of my body from him.
“Oh, but it is.”He continues with his small bits of laughter, looping a finger into the strap of my leotard over my shoulder. “You were always so squeamish.”
I shrug his touch away, avoiding the glare of his dark- chocolate orbits. “What do you want?”
I catch his smile fading. “I can’t see how you’re doing? I wanted to see if you got my letter.”
Do I answer honestly? “I did.”
“And?”
“And that’s good for you.Shouldn’t you be on your way somewhere?”
I finally gather the courage to look at him, dead in his eyes. “I am.I wanted an answer.You never get back to me anymore,”hesays,stillholdingontomybody,probably
makingsureIdon’tescape.
“I don’t know, Daniel. What I do know is that you’re gonna make me late for my train,” I spit.
I could be a bitch since we are in public and use it to my advantage.The only advantage in this interaction.I’m possibly risking a lot, but right now, I think I’m feeling spicy.
His tongue glides along his teeth, looking as if I had triggered him.
“I’ll let you go, Noelle.Just tell me.Do I get to see that pretty face of yours in the crowd tomorrow?Just like old times?” He half smiles, bringing a thumb to my cheek.
“Neitherofusgainanythingfrommeshowingup,and
youknowthat.”Ibackaway,freeingmyself.
